In the late morning yesterday, steeped in the news and furiously scrolling through Twitter in bed, sleep deprived and vacillating between anger, frustration and hopelessness I thought about dads. My dad, who never had the emotional vocabulary in any language to describe the specific identity crisis that would plague him all his life. The dad I interviewed last week, who works with political asylum seekers from Hong Kong and who feels conflicted about how he encouraged his daughter to fully assimilate in Canadian culture - as if she had any choice otherwise.
I cannot begin to say
I cannot begin to say
I cannot begin to say
In the late morning yesterday, steeped in the news and furiously scrolling through Twitter in bed, sleep deprived and vacillating between anger, frustration and hopelessness I thought about dads. My dad, who never had the emotional vocabulary in any language to describe the specific identity crisis that would plague him all his life. The dad I interviewed last week, who works with political asylum seekers from Hong Kong and who feels conflicted about how he encouraged his daughter to fully assimilate in Canadian culture - as if she had any choice otherwise.