As a child in Kurdistan, I rationed every drop and imagined the rest of the world was blue. The place I envied most was Salt Lake City — a city so sure of its water it wrote it into its name. Then I flew there, the first flight of my life, and landed in a desert beside a lake retreating from its own shore. I had crossed the world to reach the wetter place, and the wetter place was drying too. There is no "there." There is one thirst, wearing different faces.