Do you ever think about the legacy of your lineage?

The paradox of being an only child to a large family weighs heavy. The situational gravity is compounded by an orally shared ancestral history, sans a written record. Born and raised by villagers of a small country, asking about family history usually leads to answers like “your grandpa was born three days before the heavy storm during olive harvesting season. It was the year that the neighbors’ chickens laid a record number of eggs.” A life full of experiences that are quite hard to fathom in an advanced nation, yet somehow endearing.

A holiday alone? An entire village of open doors. Missing sugar? Just ask your neighbor. Need a little distraction? Maria has the latest issue of town gossip - and it’s piping hot! Generations of shared Christmas recipes and hand-me-downs. Mom sending you to pick up a fresh batch of bread from the baker, while she harvests the apples and mint in the backyard. Mornings were for climbing up a citrus tree with a book, where the branches joined forces to create the most comfortable nook - disturbed only by the sound of the neighbor’s son running into the garden with cups of fresh milk. Nights were for curling up on a mattress on the patio floor, tranced by the bright moon and stars galore - dozing off to the harmonized noise of chatter around the crackling fire pit after the dinner roast.

Now that my family has immigrated and westernized, these rarer slips in our conversations remind me of the starkly simpler life that lies on the flip side of the coin. While these moments humble me, more importantly they empower me. I ask myself, what will I do with my life to honor them and their journeys? What will I contribute to my family’s long line of successes, accomplishments, and legacy? With plenty of unknowns, one thing remains clear… as I learn to forge my path, standing on the shoulders of giants, I know I must be courageous, dauntless, and always seize the day.