Randomness is fairly rife in my life at this moment. Men have come and men have gone, relationships of consequence have not been formed. When I read about how "randomness and uncertainty is at the center of how the universe is put together" I have no trouble scaling that down to the microcosmic level - me. I also come to the sobering realization that nothing about my life will ever makes sense to me because I don't have clue about laws of quantum mechanics.
That a herd of sheep could rescue me from my pitiable ignorance fills me with hope except for a niggling detail of execution - getting hold of a herd of sheep to spray words on the backs of. However, a good Samaritan has taken the care of that and given the likes of me a new kind of IChing.
It is a nifty little sheep randomizer - poetry generator. Now I am being the impossible to satisfy end-user. I wish I could pick my own words as well so the sheep could talk specifically to my situation instead of spouting wisdom of a fortune cookie at a Chinese take-out.
An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...
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