My dad keeps talking about visiting countries with mountains. Lately, Albania has captured his attention. I wonder what it is about them, maybe a lifelong familiarity. A keen reminder of all that’s been overcome. He often talks about an inhuman strength, one that could ward off tornados, stop hurricanes from reaching. But what if our end is self inflicted. Migrant survival often looks like tearing our own dreams down. Witness us, we’ll continue to drum while we climb.
Made me miss my dad and think about how he would video tape every vacation growing up and how we have multiple copies of VHS’s at home. About how kids act so much more animated on camera. About how lucky we are to be able to capture something so fleeting. How joyful moments can be recalled with such melancholy. How nausea inducing nostalgia is sometimes. How illness es on to our children and we see the signs but we still can’t…
