If it was our parents’ dreams to come to the states and educate us, what should our dreams be? Where does the heat, the drive go, once generational destinations have been arrived to? Does diaspora mean lost, or spread apart? I imagine it as the latter. I look around and wonder if it’s not our dream, but rather, our responsibility to return to where it all began. But what would that mean for our children? The children of the diaspora? How lost will they be if I’m still grappling with my roots, clutching one world in my left and another in my right. Can I plant both? Nurture both America and Ethiopia at once? Will those plants feed me once they grow? What if one takes more out of me than I can ever give? Was Atlas a volunteer?