Bridges are an experience unto themselves. Effortlessly, I’m in two places at once, and it’s invigorating. More than that, it’s comfortable. I have always lived in the middle of things, at the junction of various stories, traditions, cultures. I worry sometimes that being surrounded by so many ideals is what left me, ultimately, with none. I’ve picked up little pieces from each, souvenirs I carry. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to build from the scraps: American, Bengali, Welsh, Hindu, Punjabi. Pieces of me are walking all the roads at once, trying to find the spot where they all meet, where a whole me can take shape. But then again, maybe I’m looking for a definitive spot that doesn’t exist, that doesn’t have to exist.
When I stand on a bridge, I am finally, physically, where I have always been. Bridges are the gentle reassurance that sometimes, nowhere is some where. (And that’s okay.)