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*

At the table among my fellows, another bottle of wine is opened, and I look out over the

Pacific, twilight defining the color of water, the shape of it’s sound.

What the rest of the fellows don’t know is that all week long the thoughts have re-surfaced
– I shouldn’t be here…I shouldn’t be here.

“You deserve to be here,” said Regina, “…we all deserve to be here.” She had a nose-ring
and tattoos, but came from an old-school Chicano-family from Los Angeles, and deemed

herself the “wild” one in her familia, all her other siblings already long married and with
children. Regina’s words resonated. More wine passed around.

I traced my finger around the edge of my own glass, seltzer water made to look like clear
liquor, the lime wedge hung on the glass thru the slice down it’s center. I consider the

wine. But more so, I consider how many times up to this point I’ve resisted the generosity
of the world. How often have I rejected generosity, turning the gesture into something

else, something it may not have been? The smile of a stranger, thinking they’re laughing
at me or planning something sinister? A gift given, but oh no, I don’t deserve it, no thank

you.

Why do I resist the generosity of the world? Why do I resist the generosity of this
California, here and now? And what does it say about my own reverse-pride?

I take a long drink from my glass while listening to the laughter and chatter of my fellow
fellows. Fred’s wide smile, Maysam’s enthusiastic eyes; Fullamusu leaning on Regina’s

shoulder as though they are sisters; DeLon’s shy composure and Jasmin’s fantastic
calmness. Who was I among all of them? And who were we here, in this place, given this

opportunity to learn and grown and connect and create?

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