Thanksgiving

I am English in America. I am a recovered anorexic. Suffice to say, thanksgiving is an unfathomable knot for me.

I asked, 'What do you do at thanksgiving?'

I was told, 'We eat.'

I asked whether there was an element of gratitude.

Multiple parties laughed. Some shrugged. I was told giving thanks was cheesy; they fed back that you might, if you had kids?

I read a little and spoke to some of my more left-wing friends. It turns out the holiday has deep roots in colonialism. The colonialism which continues to oppress the people who were here first. In a giftshop on a reservation, I leave saying, 'Happy Thanksgiving'. Thoughtless; I curse myself.

Spirals of regrets around a holiday that isn't mine. This feeling is alien and it sits on me as I pick at carrots with gravy from a paper plate.