Today I wrote a letter in Punjabi. Thank you, Google Translate. What a powerful experience (unless I totally screwed it up and am sending him an envelope full of gibberish). The script is beautiful. If I weren't a lost cause when it comes to language, I might attempt to learn it.
I am currently writing letters to individuals who came to the United States from India, Cameroon, and Brazil. Three men from three different continents who made the journey to this country only to be locked away in immigration detention facilities. I don't know all the details of their stories, but my heart breaks knowing that theirs are only three stories. Three out of so so many stories.
A friend's spouse recently received her American citizenship, and he told me of a discussion in which she pondered that had she come here from a different country with a different last name and a different color skin, her story might not have gone the way it has.
I'm sure my letters do very little to provide hope or a sense of humanity, but I will continue to write them nonetheless.
To spread joy.
ਖੁਸ਼ੀ ਫੈਲਾਓKhuśī phailā'ō
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