Monthly Archive

I am very liberal with the term ‘home’. When I am living on campus during the academic year, I refer to my parents’ residency as ‘home’ - but as soon as I return to northern California, my tiny campus becomes ‘home’.

Most of my childhood was actually spent in Texan suburbia. I remember the house fairly well - the way the outside looked. I keep in touch with a couple of people who still live there so I remember random details about the small suburb of the large city I grew up in. But do I feel attached to Texas in any way? Do I consider it home in any way? Nope.

I was born in San Francisco and went to high school in the Bay Area. And although my heart feels very warm when I think about the bay area, I feel very removed from it. I commuted to school so I never had the chance to explore the town my parents now reside in very well - there isn’t much to know and I like the feeling of familiarity but I don’t feel an overwhelming attachment to this place.

I thought this is the way everybody felt. And now I realize more and more that people are very attached to their homes - the locations they consider home. They feel “at home” in certain spaces - it isn’t just a temporary space where they move their things.

But this is how I feel. After I moved out of Texas I have metaphorically lived out of a suitcase. Locations are fluid. They have sentimental value - there are stores and restaurants I miss seeing and I love my parents’ home. And there was a brief time where my parents’ home was home. I feel comfortable here. But it feels like I’m visiting whenever I’m here. Maybe it’s because I don’t have siblings that live here. I didn’t build a life anywhere. I just lived my life in a few select places, in a couple of lovely little houses.

Then I went back to India. Even using the phrase “back to India” should say something about my relationship to the land. I wasn’t born there - I’ve been there 3 times. I was 1 yrs. old, 12 yrs. old and then I went last December. I’m not fluent in Hindi, the language the community where my grandparents live uses, I don’t feel connected to most of South Asian and North Indian culture. I don’t identify as Indian-American because of culture or religion. I am very unread on the history of the country.

But it feels like a home. There is a sense of belonging that I feel in the air, and in the community. I’m fully aware of my outsider status there - I’m not trying to give up my U.S. citizenship privileges and problematics by proclaiming my connection to the so-called motherland (I feel uncomfortable using this term - does anyone have an alternative? Maybe just ‘homeland’). But I do feel connected to that location in a way that felt new.

Salman Rushdie has a collection of articled and essays entitled Imaginary Homelands and he explains this term so wonderfully:

It may be that writers in my position, exiles or emigrants or expatriates, are haunted by some sense of loss, some urge to reclaim, to look back, even at the risk of being mutated into pillars of salt. But if we do look back, we must also do so in the knowledge — which gives rise to profound uncertainties — that our physical alienation from India almost inevitably means that we will not be capable of reclaiming precisely the thing that was lost; that we will, in short, create fictions, not actual cities or villages, but invisible ones, imaginary homelands, Indias of the mind…

While I think Rushdie refers more to the immigrant community that looks back at their home, and more specifically people who are exiled from the homeland, I feel very strongly about this statement. Home for me, is just a narrative. An important narrative, yes, but ultimately, just a story, just a series of memories that makes up a blend of overwhelming nostalgia and trauma.

Only recently have I stopped feeling so unsettled about this. I felt so thrilled at being able to “diagnose” my relationship to this sense of home and homeland that most people around me seem to have. And then I just felt scared.

Now I realize that I still have many things to learn and that part of growing is building one’s own home. And it’s fine to have many homes and a nearly-fairytale vision of one’s homeland. We should hold on to these things if it is what makes us feel safe.

Home is about the people. I can’t help feeling like as communities become further linked and connected, and national boundaries become more blurred, home will only grow as an imaginary concept and we will have to start thinking of home as the multiple spaces where our heart may reside.

To those of you that do not know, I am quite a fan of the television series, “The Office”. I will not go into details about why I enjoy the show because I already have (although, the wit and commentary on the show has depleted since I wrote that post. But that conversation is for another time and another blog).

For those of you that watch the show and have not seen the season finale, do not keep reading. Big spoilers begin here.

In the last 10 seconds of the show, Jim asked Pam out on a date. There he is, in the interview room in New York, and he sees this little note that Pam gives him and he thinks about the conversation they had at the beach. And there is Pam, speaking to the camera, and Jim walks in and says “What are you doing for dinner tonight” and then says “Great. It’s a date”.

Let the era of Jam begin.

I’ve always been someone who becomes extremely involved in whatever I’m watching- I cry in movies, I brace myself at the edge of my seat during season finales. And by the end of this episode, (I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this), I found myself flushed with happiness at these two crazy fictional characters finally getting together. Lord knows they both deserve it.

I love the “will-they-won’t-they” shows on television. Although this cannot be the only factor as to why I watch a particular series, it is a large part of why I watch “The Office”. Pam and Jim are characters that are built to be loved by everyone - and it goes without saying that Jim has a huge amount of appeal, both in the show, and as a character. I needn’t explain why. Let’s just say he has a case of the “Charming Man” (also, another post).

But what I want to flush out right here is something that has been floating around in my mind for nearly a month.

The media gave me a false model for how I thought relationships were supposed to work.

I always believed that if the timing wasn’t right, it would eventually be right. That if a man ends up breaking your heart, he’ll come around later on, begging to be forgiven. That if you fall for your best friend, you’ll come out stronger at the end and totally happy for him and his partner. That sometimes, running back and telling the truth about how you really feel will pay off.

Ah silly brown woman. How stupid you were to think those models worked for you. How silly that you did not factor in timing more, and circumstance more, and politics more and things like racism and sexism more. How wrong of you to think that straight men turn to romantic gestures and grand confessions when they want to win over a loud and rigid and thick-skinned heart.

Before I went to college, I just assumed I would graduate with a significant other. I thought I would spend my four years dating lots of people and having complicated but not melodramatic relationships that were founded on the utmost respect and communication and understanding. We would move in together in our 20s, and maybe one day get married. He would follow me wherever my life after college took me.

But of course somewhere in the midst of my third year I looked around my small liberal arts college and realized that this little fantasy could be no further from the truth. And there are two parts to explaining why.

The first part is that when you’re at a small liberal arts college filled with predominately white, upper middle class, straight men, you find that there is nothing the majority of the student body wants more than to live a consequence free and commitment free life. Relationships are hard to find - they become complicated by the small student body and by the general suffocation that the campus provides. Dating is nearly impossible. And reputations are carried through the campus pretty quickly. There is a very small percentage of students that want to be dating the militant with high standards.

Let’s sidebar very quickly so I can say this: having “high standards” falls at about the same place as having “thick skin” - both are part of survival. Both are things that I want to embrace and here’s why. Respect, a consciousness of one’s own privileges, (the list can of course go on), those things should not be considered high standards. They should be considered standards. Give-ins. Factors that help me decide who makes the cut.

The second part is that I realize that my version of the picket fence house cannot co-exist with the way I want to grow as an individual and as a brown woman. I can’t get married when I’m in my 20s. I can’t even be in a relationship while I’m in my 20s. I still need time to figure out what I’m doing! And that’s ok. It’s lonely sometimes, and frustrating often, but it is definitely ok.

Timing is a funny thing. It can really change the course of who we get to know and who we can build relationships with. The more I think about it, the more I feel that loving other people and being loved is really about solidarity and compassion for one another, about making sure that there is a constant dialogue about the issues that oppress us and empower us. That we learn from each other.

The academic year has ended so I am on my way to consistent blog writing once more. Last summer, my blog was a staple to talk about everyday things - it has transformed into a space for me to write about how larger political issues and politics of particular issues, have come to affect my everyday life. Finally, a direction. Finally, this little blog has a sort of theme - I no longer feel guilty for writing about myself and my life as much as I want. If people do not want to hear about these things, there are many other bloggers in the internet sea.

I want to write about two things.

I watched my best friend in the whole world and two other very good friends graduate last weekend. Each is going off to do wonderful things and I hope to keep in touch with all three.

I once got very offended by a comment that a (now) very good male friend of mine made. He said, “You’re really bad at dealing with change”. There it was, out on the table. And part of the reason I resisted this comment so much is because it’s true. I find myself dragging my feet when it comes to closing a part of my life and approaching a new phase. This is why a few weeks before graduations, the end of academic years, birthdays, inevitable break ups, etc., my stomach gets knotted and my heart curls up into the fetal position.

This year however, there was a bit of growth. Last year my goodbyes were long and hard to do and made me cry and blubber on my way out the door. This year, despite the difficulty in saying goodbye, they were short and civil. Had someone filmed the goodbyes, they might have thought I was cold and didn’t particularly care about these people.

Had the camera continued on into the privacy of my room, it would have recorded me sobbing loudly (I cry quite loudly - none of this delicate tears streaming down the face. All out, hyperventilating, can’t-speak crying. And I embrace it). Then I blow my nose, wipe my face, and walk out the door to whatever meeting or dinner or airport I need to be at.

What I’m getting at in this poorly written, unimportant post (I’m a bit rusty on the blog writing, so hopefully people will cut me some slack) is that heartbreak is exactly that. It is our heart breaking, silently within us until it can no longer contain itself and it explodes into tears and shakes and fear and wailing in our rooms. It can make us ill and it can even kill us. It can make us forget to eat and when we do, we cannot taste.

But what I’ve come to realize is that heartbreak is more than break-ups and goodbyes. It is the everyday, the nostalgia for our homes and our families and our friends. It is the pressure put upon our steadily pounding hearts by white supremacy and patriarchy and heterosexism. It is the comments we hear on the streets and the insecurities we feel in our skin that can break our hearts.

All of the women of color in my life have broken hearts. They cannot be mended because they were shattered the very moment they were assigned the labels that weigh down on them that we desperately pray will not matter.

This said, let me also now say that these same women have thick skin. Often I think we want to hide from this thick-skinned description. I know it makes me think I am unfeeling and too cold-hearted. I think the reality is, we need thick skin to survive. Thick skin is what helps us to put food on the table and to tape up our broken hearts. It helps us to feel safe in a world where we are constantly threatened by various degrees of violence.

I can only hope that every person whose heart is broken by the day-to-day can find spaces where they might temporarily strip away their thick skin.

I’m back. I’m writing. I’m trying.