Heritage

  • Lift up your eyes and see Windy Gusts o’er ocean corn: Prairie Vanishing.   Lift up your feet and soar; Clouds stooping to harvest rain So farmers adore.   A village swallowing cornfields—small enough that both city limits are on one sign—isn’t much of an attraction. To most of the country, the...

  • It is early in the morning, and my eyes remain closed. The room is small, antique, made of solid rock, dark and cold, but filled with the life of my family. My mother quickly comes to the small bed me and my sister share. Her warm, plump, comforting hands wake me. She quickly tells me in a very...

  • Just before I turned the knob of the door that would lead me to the family I hadn't seen in 9 years, I took a deep breath and berated myself for being so nervous. This is your family! I said to myself. No need to be nervous. I finally turned the door knob and went inside with my 2 sisters and...

  • “It’ll be great!” my father exclaimed with enthusiasm. He was referring to an elephant riding attraction he heard about earlier that day. We were in Thandwe, a small village in the Southeast Asian country of Myanmar. Myanmar was where my grandfather was born, so my father and I felt we needed to...

    Tags: Asia, Heritage
  •  The world reopens. Kekik and Cumin spices rekindle their piquant friendship as their aroma fills the air. Pashminas hanging in the dimly lit store fronts regain their color. Vendors sing out like the birds overhead as they resume shouting to every potential customer passing by.  HONORABLE MENTION...

  •            The mountains beckon.            No, wait. Not just them. Green blades of grass pressing flat with bounding wind beckon. Meadows shimmering with flecks of dandelion seed beckon. Hundred-karat crystal blue skies strung with gentle wisps of clouds and free-flowing sunshine floods the...

  • Warszawa’s crimson and white, Narodowy Stadium—National Stadium—flashed past the window as I was overcome by a shallow slumber. When I awoke, we were nearing the Polish periphery. Our intercity bus hobbled across the worn, narrow country roads. Content storks nestled on the rooftops with their...

  • I slowly drift out of a light sleep and glance out of the plane window as we descend into Managua. I notice the endless expanse of Lake Managua that could easily be mistaken as ocean. The volcanoes, jutting out of the tropical landscape, lush and imposing, oblivious to the fear and awe they evoke....

  • We rumbled down the worn dusty road passing families on mopeds, donkeys carrying bundles of grass and battered taxis. The silhouettes of rocky hills and desert dunes stood silently resolute against the clear night sky. The dark road brought us to a small farm village called Al Feshn three hours...

  • Paved roads turn into gravel roads and gravel roads turn into dirt roads; the pickup truck leaves pavement behind, entering an abyss of pebbles and mud and ditches. I hold onto the metal handle bars in the back of the truck, determined to keep my equilibrium as the wind pushes and smacks me from...

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