My father had consumed the stories of others and the flattening narrative framed by the media for so long that I sometimes wonder if, when he lowers his gaze as the border control officer turns aggressive, there is a part of my father that has believed what the world has said about him. That it was not made for him. That in choosing to move here, he reached for more than he was originally allotted, and though he has worked to form a beautiful life, though he has lived here longer than he has lived elsewhere, he is still borrowing his place, walking through the world the way a man who knows he
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