Tonight I’m grappling with the joy of having my child vaccinated and the sorrow that comes with remembering every Indigenous child that was ripped from their family and suffered in silence at the hands of a genocidal system that continues to wreak havoc to this day.
I’m thinking of my ancestors from places like rural Punjab and Aligarh who fought against Colonialism while simultaneously benefitting from it. I’m wrestling with the tension from these revelations.
I’m struggling with an ambivalent mix of gratitude and grief. Of weight and unbearable lightness. Of wanting to re-emerge while simultaneously wanting to hide in isolation from a cruel and selfish world.
Like so many others with immigrant ancestry who are settlers on this land, I am drowning in the space between mourning and indifference; trying to find words while knowing that words are never enough.
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