The adults on the tour bus interrogated me about American politics and culture: Could I explain the Black Lives Matter movement? What was my opinion on economic opportunities for Asians in Silicon Valley? Did I think Americans were fake because they were always smiling? Who was this Justin Bieber person?
All we have for divine guidance in this world are the stories our parents pass down, the hope that the rituals we think matter actually do. It’s both comforting and terrifying how fallible our gods are.
I think of my grandmother sometimes and wonder what hypothetical good it would do to come out to her at this point. “It’d probably kill her,” my partner says. The truth is that I am not ready for another version of my grandmother, one who might reject me, just as she is not ready for another version of me.