fine line 4:40

“Many people are afraid of having large desires. Desiring something is a journey of getting deeply vulnerable and incredibly uncomfortable. When we desire something, we are revealing an aspect of us that is tender and lives inside our body. But often that thing we really desire, we are also deeply afraid of experiencing. There is this dissonance between what we really desire and what we are willing to trust that we can have, own, or be. Dripping with desire for something different and uncommon requires masterfully giving death to all the parts of you that are easily distracted and thereby blocking the desire from manifesting. Because when you meet your desire, you actually get to know your true self and honor your spirit. Likewise, placing your attention on the people, places, or things that aren’t serving, just so you can avoid doing the work to meet your desires, is kind of betrayal of your soul delaying your evolution. Too much time wasted on wishing and being distracted and not enough allocated towards following through.”

“I learned about it almost by accident. We had received an assignment in school to fill out a family tree. I came home, a bit baffled by the assignment (fill in some names? that’s it?), and became more baffled still when, after asking my parents for help, it turned out that most of those branches on the family tree were going to have to remain blank. I implored my parents to try to remember. I became desperate, begging them to just make up some names. (I was about to receive a lesson in ethics and family history all at once.) As delicately as they could, my parents told me my mother’s parents were orphaned when they were young. That my mom’s aunt, who helped raise her, was not actually her aunt, but a member of the makeshift family that formed in the Beirut orphanage where my grandparents met and grew up. I remember asking what happened and being told that there had been fighting in a country called Turkey, where my grandparents were born (yet another revelation: they weren’t even from Beirut!). That bad things had happened and many people died but my grandparents survived. That they were little when they were found and rescued and taken to Beirut. I thought about my grandpa. My always smiling, cuddly dede, who only had one eye and whom I loved more than anything. Who wore a beret, snuck me candy bars, and sang funny songs to me while the bombs fell that time we visited Beirut. It all suddenly became too much. I just wanted to finish my assignment. I asked for just enough information to include in a note for my teacher. And so, I scrawled on the bottom of that half-empty family tree, “I couldn’t fill in all the names because of the Armenian genocide. One million people died but my grandparents survived. You can ask my parents.””