Where am I From?
Letter, as written to June.
21st of January 2025.
June,
Professor Bruce thinks, and mentions it whenever he can, that my academic interests are best served elsewhere – that I am meant for the humanities. He’s a bit creative with how he pitches this. “Joel, are you still in Engineering?” “Joel, have you decided to join us in the French department?” “Joel, I think you might make for a good journalism major.” I don’t see him often these days, but I still appreciate the care and concern evident in his queries. I can feel him trying to understand my past, my motivations, what makes me tick, why I am here at KU, and, ultimately, what I want to make out of this, life.
Even I find these questions a difficult ask; the years, with their travels and heartbreaks and hopes, have made it complex. Still, I know that I owe it to Bruce, you, others who I am yet to meet, and myself to, at least, elucidate the foundations upon which Joel was raised. Where I am from.
So here we are.
I am from Iya and Baba, my maternal grandparents.
I am from their warm gaze, their unyielding hope and trust in the good of the world, their outward, even unreasonable, expression of care.
I am from the evenings they spent counseling and troubleshooting trivialities for the church community.
I am from their resolve to neither speak nor wish ill on supposed enemies.
I am from Iya’s warmth and bubbly love – even towards the one whose driving faults sent her husband to an early grave.
I am from their 8th attempt raising their own – benefactor of the learnings from faults made with others, including my mother.
I am from my mother.
I am from her then-stoic, now wistful expressions of love.
I am from her blameless response to my endeavors – stalking but not directing, querying but not commandeering.
I am from her sense of duty – contending with over-eager students and parents well into the night, even at the expense of her own sleep.
I am from her refusal to burden me, even till today, with tales of her perseverance.
I am from my father.
I am from my past – structured, turbulent, yet fortunate.
I am from previous daring escapades that would have nearly left me drowning.
I am from bursting out at teachers, being unruly when the class or community didn’t offer what it said it would, fighting when no one else would.
I am from sharp, intense companionships, labored exits, and the indecisiveness often ascribed to playboys.
I am from young accolades, the potential at academic triumph, the hope of winning the local game – as large as it got.
I am from the ignorance that the world would always respond to the cards I played – as long as I played the ones it wanted me to.
I am from the I can do betters and the I will do betters and now is this better enough
These days, I am slow.
I no longer want to be part of the puzzle.
What is even the puzzle?
To know more, learn about our people and their communities.
To help, and erect institutions to fervently chase and fix those concerns.
To find more meaning here. And if there isn’t any, I want critique, consolidate and, ultimately, impress mine – whatever blend it is then.
Patiently and in one sitting,
Joel
Love this! Such a sweet piece of writing