Houses are such iconic representations of the American dream. Can you talk a bit about this dream —who owns it, and what happens when the myth meets reality?
Even though my mother bought the yellow house when she was 19 years old, it proved nearly impossible for her to maintain it over the years. In its disrepair we dreamt of better, more solid houses, all of which lay beyond our grasp. After the house was demolished, we all fought to get my mother the federal money owed to her so that she could rebuild, but the grant money that my mother ultimately received—eleven years later—from the federal Road Home program wasn’t enough for her to afford to buy another house in New Orleans. Four hundred thousand people were immediately displaced in the aftermath of the flooding; many of them have yet to return, even now, fourteen years later. We know there’s unequal access to the so-called American dream. And in these times, especially, not everyone born in or immigrated to this country is deemed American enough. What does it actually mean to be American, though? Many of us are caught striving—believing the country is a meritocracy when it has proven time and time again not to be—aspiring to positions beyond our actual lot. The attempt to align these warring ideals/positions and geographies can lead to internal implosion, which is perhaps why shame manifested in me as a child.