What stories will we tell of these crazy times as the USA ventures into yet another war in the Middle East? So much has changed since arrival in my adopted homeland in October 2003. My collective American family has fractured, just like my own birth family. My heart aches for other immigrant families that have fractured with the government’s policy to arrest, detain, or deport family members who are undocumented.

We are told that they are animals, criminals, and rapists. They are eating our pets. They steal our jobs: jobs we don’t want, by the way. The stories we tell ourselves. Such separation and loss are devastating and traumatic for our immigrant families under attack. Their stories will haunt us in years to come.

The loss and abandonment I’ve suffered over the course of my life have shaped the stories I tell. What had I done wrong to be abandoned by the nuns, my husband, and my mother? Was I such a bad person? As a believer in reincarnation after death, I considered the possibility that I must’ve committed a grave sin in a former life. The kernel for the plot of my debut novel, Under the Tamarind Tree, came to life in my imagination.

The stories we tell ourselves.

Many questions about this fictitious former life came to mind. Had I abandoned my family in this former life? What were the circumstances surrounding the event? Who suffered the most with this irresponsible and selfish act? How could I make recompense to that person? What would be my fate after rebirth?

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