Stories only happen to people who can tell them.
Allan Gurganus
I must be able to tell stories, because stories sure as shit happen to me a lot.
26 years ago today, I landed at the International airport in Houston with my parents and older sister. A scrawny 13-year old wearing peach colored jeans and a green bootleg Adidas t-shirt, walking towards the airport exit as the reality of a move halfway across the world started sinking in. A few minutes later, I was sitting in the back of my uncle’s Ford Aerostar minivan, thinking that the sky outside couldn’t possibly be real because it was so much bluer than I was used to seeing it through the smog of my home town in India.
Looking back, I often marvel at how lucky I am that things worked out as well as they did, considering how little I knew about the world I was now living in.
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