Dancing With My Angry Self

I’ve been dancing with anger for some time now. Perhaps it’s been on simmer for years, finally coming to a boil after a contentious election cycle. Maybe my hormones are shifting. Perhaps it’s an awakening. The why isn’t important. Whatever the reason, my anger and I have gotten to know each other very well over the past…

American Elegy

This is not an elegy for America, the beautiful; America land of the free. It’s not an elegy for  geography, latitude and longitude, tectonic ’tis of thee. The land, blooded and let, bartered for pretty trinkets, stolen for a woolen blanket and a few bottles of booze–she will remain. Purple mountains majesty, fruited plains. Red…

If You See Something, Say Something

When my kids were small enough for peek-a-boo, they’d sit, a chubby toddler hand across their eyes. “Can you see me?” they’d squeal, peeking through their fingers. To them, the logic was simple: if they couldn’t see me, surely I couldn’t see them. A year ago, I found myself in a situation with someone waxing lyrical…

A Migrant By Any Other Name is an Expat

My family and I are migrants. More commonly we are referred to as expats. This is despite the fact that upon closer inspection, we actually meet the criteria of migrant workers more closely. Yet expat is how we identify ourselves as well as those we know. I suspect it has a lot to do with the…