Story of a life

 I just finished reading "The Paris Library". It's been some time since I read a book that I wasn't able to put down. Partly because of the engaging factor of the book and partly because of who I have been, who I have reverted to, found, and become over the past week or so. I have been on vacation in the Rocky Mountains for the past four days, leisurely traveling north through the curt Amarillo, TX, idyllic New Mexico, and Colorado Springs Garden of the Gods. I have been to Denver, shopped at Costco, and even had the Costco pizza from Denver. It tastes just like Texas, Nevada, or Maryland Costco. In a way it's disconcerting. Moral from the book: you're not just a mother, you're also a woman. More later.

 Love for country. What is it?  Patriotism? I never would consider myself a patriot in the colloquial sense of the world.  What is a country? Piece of land, defined by borders, arbitrarily drawn lines, sometimes 'natural', sometimes artificial, constantly in flux yet imagined to be permanent. people dying to safeguard them, to honor them, wasting precious time and resources fighting to uphold what these lines mean to them. Everything I believe in stands against borders. Open borders. No passports or visas. Global citizenship. People of the Earth. That's who I want to be considered amongst.  Yet. The pain. Of separation. Cruel parting and forced separation. Our storied become lessons and anecdotes for generations to come. Like my grandmother's story for my friend. What will my story, my life, my lived experience be? Will anyone ever understand it? Will anyone ever be able to access the pain that I live through? The thorns that I walk on every day, as my heart lays res...