{"id":"fb2cfa5f8ea8076bbe2e52b085ec8d8d85ee19556eaba1f0744e166d028a64a7","pubkey":"50c59a1cb233d08d5a1fb493f520c6b5d7f77a2ba42e4666801a3e366b0a027e","created_at":1738736293,"kind":1,"tags":[],"content":"It’s a strange thing for me to hear/listen to people who don’t have a connection to a place, speak about people moving as if it’s not a big deal. When I’m home, I can see the history etched in the hills. I can picture my people making camps beside the rivers. I can see them moving from one camp to another, depending on the season. To force me to move is like asking me to never to speak to my mother again, or to feel her eyes upon me, or her smiling at me. This also doesn’t mean, that I’m tied to that place forever, and that it is mine to do with it as I please. No, it’s always been there to share, to reap its benefits in way that sustains us, and our children. If I choose to leave, that’s different. That’s a choice. A difficult one, but one that should be left to me. Not some man sitting behind a desk, imagining what life I should live. The life he chooses.","sig":"d4b95429218a2444bddaedaa8edad5b8c0fae914bee23f30a505227900be5e84ff548ef0a94cd41bab498d3d0369611728e5568e7f5b6608d31aec48ded3c8f4"}