i had a dream about expatriation, which set me to thinking about all the dreaming i held inside of me and how much of them would be fulfilled. while i strongly believe that a part of my soul lies in argentina, or somewhere like it, i also know that i won't be leaving the united states anytime soon, one of the reasons being that i don't want to leave my first generation parents stranded between three continents. i think about artists like marina abramovic, who lived among migrants and spent three months walking the great wall of china, and wonder if i could ever commit to my work with such intensity. i've been bargaining for a while against the artist's lot of instability and destitution, but with the lot now thrust upon me, the life of an artist is sounding its siren's call again. looking out at it is like looking out at the pacific ocean, a profound, dangerous territory that glitters on the surface. the advent of another day finds myself staring at it with deepened longing.
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