Letter to my children: On Being a Tourist
/Dearest Beloveds,
As you both know, I grew up in a city. I walked to school crossing concrete sidewalks. The orange glow of the streetlights on my bedroom ceiling at night lulled me to sleep along with the clattering engine of the 96 bus. Every Saturday morning Baba, Tia, and I would walk to the Eastern Market to buy eggs, drop off Baba’s dry cleaning, and, once I was old enough to notice, to gawk over the artisan vendors.
Commerce was all around me.
Read More