the day after thanksgiving, i find myself ensconced in my robin-egg blue apartment, reading
george lamming's "the pleasures of exile." this was a title i chose from my pile of exam books primarily
for its title, hoping to counteract the last conversation i had with my mom. while trying to share with her the sense of emotional alienation i was feeling, thinking of all the family back in new york, around the most inviting table which marie-hélène and micah had set, she said - in what i am hoping was a very tough love sort of wisdom: "well, i have already given you many warnings of exile..."
and perhaps it is this line that i am trying to navigate: the line which inevitably draws together the multiplicity of the exilic experience - the hybridity and the isolation.
what does help to serve as a beacon during this navigation is this sort of email which i received from my advisor in bloomington: "...Just to say I'm thinking of you. Trust you didnt' forget Thanksgiving..., or Bloomington..., or a friend that loves you. I'll call soon..."
a buoy for which i am grateful
and perhaps it is this line that i am trying to navigate: the line which inevitably draws together the multiplicity of the exilic experience - the hybridity and the isolation. 
1 comment:
and we, of course, didn't forget you. there was indeed an extra chair, and an extra place setting bought and saved just for you, just in case. you are always with me even when you are away. and in those extravagantly festive gold rimmed wine glasses, the family table raised a glass to its exploring member - you - in paris. we missed you, but were so happy you were experiencing a new and different thanksgiving.
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