And so, inevitably, my symptoms of panic returned: this time, with perfect resonance, taking the form of hyper-ventilation: a constant gasping for breath. I was thirty-seven years old, and it seemed to me that I was right back where I had started, seven years before. The Wasteland was all around me, and I was living in it again. But beyond a vague

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Navigating the space between stories puts us up for an immense challenge. We must seek the others to find hope and support when that which we love falls away, rediscover how to grieve for what we lose and praise what is lost, and learn how to remain alive in the face of death. To not resist being wholly taken by awe at the birth of spring, because ... See more

Is the grief I have felt, sometimes, in this writing, a kind of transmitted nostalgia—a mourning for what was lost, against the narrative of progress and accomplishment that characterizes most contemporary stories of our diaspora? I think sometimes of the villages where my ancestors lived, which I have visited for only a few days in my life. And I

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