waking up to a soft breeze, warm weather, bright sun.
drinking turkish coffee with my grandfather, hearing his stories - his ever so silly and ever so serious stories.
eating the best Iraqi food ever, served with love from my grandmother.
to new Nikon macro lenses and fresh pita.
to wearing sundresses every day, to uncontrollably massive hair.
to all the little things.
the little things.
that make the 24 hour delay, the stress of almost being bumped to another flight, the uncomfortable seat between two large smelly men, the anxiety, the turbulance, the lack of vegetarian options all worth it.
it's my family, it's my home. it is fucked up and messy and imperfect, but it is mine. it is true. it is in my blood. and no one can take that away from me. and i can not take that away from myself. it is with me always.
to peace in the land of perpetual war.
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