I was just out of college, only three days into a graduate year in England, and I was dragging a heavy backpack and suitcase through the London Underground. I was also crying uncontrollably.
As I struggled to get the suitcase up another flight of steps, I was struggling to understand how my life had fallen apart.
The day before, my uncle had informed me that I was never to speak to him, his wife, or my two cousins again. Earlier, I had made a silly, joking remark. It was never meant to hurt my aunt’s feelings, but it did. I spent the evening in an ugly blue telephone booth, weeping as I spoke to a family friend who lived in England.
The most foolish part was that I did not immediately call my parents. As a 22-year-old who had been raised to respect and trust adults, I believed my aunt…
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