PJ Temple

The everyday of immigrant families. Of fitting in, of glaringly standing out. In spaces of being, hurting, thriving. Our existence is in all and everything.

The psychology of it is layered and a part of who we and what the world around us becomes.

Sitting at the airport for four hours before my flight because that’s what the chaos of the moment is, uniformed shifty eyes hovering over unpaid staff trying to keep smiles on their faces.

But there are always, or almost always, spaces for gratitude. Like on this day, as I sat, I was reminded that the sun does eventually rise again. We rise again. Over and over, love rises again.

When religion is absent of sanctity, tradition without care, discipline without compassion.

From my upcoming book on the psychology of being raised on guilt, and seeking identity despite it.