Tonight, I watched my children dance in the churchyard under the palm trees, surrounded by scurrying geckos and warm sea air.
I thought of the richness of the childhood moments they will remember from this place – the lilting accents of their grandparents, the swirling nod of their cousin, the raucous cricket games of their uncles. I thought of the losses and gains this reality will imprint on their hearts – the comforting ability to store their hearts completely in one place, the blissful assumption that the world in front of them is the only one which matters, the conflicting knowledge that their lives root themselves deeply in both the expanse of the Midwestern cornfields and the hurdy-gurdy of an isle in the Indian Ocean. I thought of the ‘normal’ they will take for granted – seeing the whole entire world as just around the corner, playing in a world where three-wheelers and taxis are both viable means of transportation, learning to make cookies with Grandma and chapatis with Aththa.
They don’t know any of these things, of course. Continue reading










