heritage
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How Langston Hughes Inspired #TweetYourThobe
Langston, I am finally at the table, eating with everyone.
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Smoke Screen
I am an oracle who, while dispensing answers to all those who seek them, cannot predict my own future.
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Death and Rebirth: Armenians in Jerusalem
When I was young, my grandma told me that Armenians are distant descendants of Noah.
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Love, Marriage, and the Bicultural Identity: Talking with Huda Al-Marashi
Huda Al-Marashi discusses her new memoir, FIRST COMES MARRIAGE.
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The Fraught Business of Identity: Nicole Chung’s All You Can Ever Know
All You Can Ever Know insists that the stories we use to understand ourselves should be allowed as much complexity as the truth dictates.
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Seeking Terra Firma
To truly know a land is to become it—to embody its storms in your bones, taste its dark soil beneath your nails, know the tangled history of the people who walked before you.
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On Making Wishes
It is true that I’m talking to a photo, but I’m not crazy. Neither am I a durochka. Fools are oblivious, at least those from my childhood fairy tales. I, on the other hand, am perfectly aware of the problem.
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Mothers of My Diaspora
It paralyzes me to think about the sacrifices my family made before I was in my mother’s womb. When they came here they knew they would lose a part of their language, their memories, their sanctity of self.
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TORCH: Lessons From My Grandma on Language and Silence
The sounds I made were pleasant to my ears, but that’s all they were to me. I was too young to understand what culture and heritage meant, too young to understand the reasons behind memorizing ancient poems.
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: The Savage Mind, Pt. 1
The violence came in and we were not just in danger of being victims of it. We were in danger of being violent ourselves.
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Falling into Fear
I knew that just as the country was reverting, so was I. Every face now seemed a potential enemy and these were feelings I had not felt in almost twenty years.
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Multitudes: The Practice of Forgetting
I want to say it must matter. Because history is erased from our veins when we allow ourselves to forget where we came from.