I entered Sri Lankan Tamil politics simply by telling my own story and listening to family and community stories. My earliest childhood memories were of Jaffna (Yalpannam), Sri Lanka—the place after whom I was named. My bedtime stories were of the struggle of Tamil people. Of gatherings tear gassed. Of riots. And of my parents along with the rest of our community, standing up for our rights.

It was a beautiful June day in 2012. Thousands of demonstrators participated in a silent march down Fifth Avenue to protest the New York Police Department’s Stop and Frisk policy. We marched under trees, past the Guggenheim and the Met lined with weekend tourists. We were Quaker activists, Muslim associations, civil rights organizers, labor union members, families from grannies to babies, student groups, queer youth, global coalitions, church leaders, and ethnic, cultural, and racial justice organizations, amongst others. We marched silently, reflecting the growing alliances between these groups, demonstrating the intersectional effects of this destructive policy. 

This was my world, where the city met the pulse of irrepressible wildlife, where my parents and their friends created a Muslim community from scratch. It is this world and the leaving of it I recreate in my writing.