a zucchini is not a root

I have been spending more time with my refugee friends lately because I’ve missed them. I took three matriarchs grocery shopping on Friday night and, after an evening of laughter in the produce aisle pronouncing “zucchini” in English, I realized just how simple and meaningful life is when I am with them. Time doesn’t matter, laughter is the best form of communication, and linking arms is necessary. The following day, twenty of us went to a multicultural festival in Allison Hill--kids flew kites and ate candy while moms laughed and sought shade. Things like these don’t negate the fact that at the check-out line, sometimes there isn’t enough money on their EBT cards or sometimes people in their neighborhood will hurl insults or rocks at them, but it makes a difference. Love is stronger than our fears. Entering into another’s struggles matters. Blowing bubbles disarms almost all situations. "Zucchini" is arguably one of the silliest words in the English language. I have accidentally developed roots and belonging in this small, beautiful, dynamic community of Burmese refugees in the second poorest neighborhood in Harrisburg.