In grateful rage

Sometimes, being a daughter of the diaspora, I look at simple things like the food I am eating and am reminded that we never stop straddling our two worlds.

Migrant children live their entire lives interweaving their first memories into, or out of, their current daily motions.

They may eat their Ontario eggs with a Lebanese pita and strawberries from California picked by their brothers and sisters probably labeled illegal. They look at an avocado and get overcome by the realization that it has grown in Mexican soil that sustained ancestors so different than their own.

Food has this profound place in our lives where what we eat is constantly renewing and rebuilding us; and therefore changing us daily.

And in those many subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways, in grateful rage, I am reminded of what we have lost and what has found us.


If you are also a child of the diaspora and feel like you constantly straddle two worlds, click on the ❤ on Medium, so everyone knows we out here.