For The Love Of Her Brother

For the past several weeks, my Mom's older brother has been very ill, and after a lot of debate, she finally decided to fly to Kerala, India to see him today. The reason for the back and forth is because she undergoes injections once a week to treat her many allergies, which include dust and other airborne allergens. My Uncle has the same type of condition, and never had injections or any other similar treatment; this most likely contributed to his current condition. Mom told me that when she visited him last fall, both of them coughed so much that they sometimes did so in unison; one of their hired drivers even commented on this during a day trip he accompanied them on. Now, my Uncle is in the hospital, and my Mom is risking some of the progress she has made with her health so far to visit him in India, especially during the monsoon season. I know that she must go see him now, in spite of the obstacles.

Mom has always told me that her older brother helped and guided her when their own parents were unable to do so. He has a wonderful combination of compassion and intelligence, which my Mom and so many other people admire and respect him for. When they were younger, my Mom and her older brother were lucky enough to live together when they had to move to their uncle's house. Living in that environment was very difficult, but they relied on each other for support, love and friendship, especially during their darkest days. Mom remembers him walking hand in hand with her to church when she was three and a half years old, playing hide and seek in a rubber tree forest when she was six, and standing up to their father when she wanted to become a nurse (rather than a nun or a wife) at the age of seventeen. My Uncle is more than just her older brother; he is her hero, advocate, and dearest friend. I really admire their relationship, because it is special and beautiful.

My Uncle has always had a talent for writing, which is where I think I got my interest from. There is definitely something to be said about hereditary influences, especially since I don't know him as well as I would like to. The few times I have been lucky enough to visit him were great, because he is one of a handful of relatives from my parents' generation who speaks English very well. When I met him as an adult, I noticed how his eyes would light up every time he talked about my Mom, or was in her presence. They have had some ups and downs of course, but the love and respect they have for one another is stronger and more deep-rooted. Thousands of miles have kept them physically apart for long periods of time, but their relationship remains in tact. So while I am a little concerned about my Mom going to India because of her health issues, I know that there is no way she can stay away from her brother during his present crisis. He is a lovely human being with a great intellect, who also happens to be one of my Mom's greatest influences. For that, and so many other things, I am forever grateful.

Starting the New Year with a New Dream

What is your dream for the world in 2014 and your part in it? Wisdom from the incredible 98 year old activist, author, philosopher and national treasure Grace Lee Boggs.

We are shaking the world with a new dream from Sacred Resonance on Vimeo.

Apartment Hunting Tips

I am thinking of moving from my current apartment to another one at the end of May, although as of right now I have not found anything suitable. It may or may not happen; it all depends on what is available, if it is a right fit for me and my needs, and if the money is right. I was thinking of making a change for more convenience on my part, but if it does not work out, I will not worry about it. I just want to see what is out there, and so far the pickings are slim.

For any of you in the market for a rental property, there are some basic tips to that will make your search easier to navigate, while also narrowing and possibly complicating your choices. They are as follows:

1. Beware of realty/brokers’ fees, unless you can afford it. This fee, which usually equals one month’s rent, is paid to the listing agent at lease signing, in addition to the security deposit (also equal to one month’s rent, or more) and the first month’s rent to the Landlord. If you want to avoid paying realty/brokers’ fees, look for apartments advertised by the owner or by leasing offices in apartment buildings. This will eliminate the need to pay out more than expected if renting through a realtor or broker.
2. If the price is too good to be true, then maybe it is. Renter beware when signing a lease to an apartment, house, condo, or any other property; if rent is extremely low compared to others in the area, it could be because there is a problem with the rental in question. Is it in good shape? Are tenants responsible for all, some, or none of the utilities? How will these affect monthly expenses?
3. Be annoying and ask questions. Before touring an apartment, ask questions you want to know the answers for. Questions about noise pollution from neighbors and other nearby elements are a good place to start.

Do you have apartment hunting stories to share? If so, please share them!

Thoughts on Parenthood

My cousin and his wife just welcomed their first child into the world, and my family and I are sending good wishes their way during this happy time. They are a sweet and loving couple, and their new son is a well-deserved blessing in their lives. No matter how bad things can get in the world, a baby’s birth always evokes warm and fuzzy feelings and hopes for the future in me, even if these moments are fleeting. After all, babies do not stay babies for long, and the love between parents and children is tested for a lifetime.

As precious as each baby’s birth is, I know those who should never have children. It sounds severe, but I think everyone knows someone who is completely incapable of being a good parent for a variety of reasons. I know quite a few people who had children because they wanted someone to always love them, or because it was a last ditch effort to hold on to their marriage or relationship, or because it was what they were told was the normal next step in their lives, regardless of their inclinations. I have observed that none of these reasons are the right ones, and these parents tend to pay for their faulty logic later on. Not all of them are villains; they just have to grow up with their children to learn what parenthood is really all about.

To be a positive parent with the right amount of strictness, humor, and ease is an extremely difficult balance to achieve, especially when there can be more bad days then good. Single parents who do it on their own and succeed amaze me; of course I know that having a support system within the family and/or community is the key to raising a functional and productive child no matter what. I also believe that successful parents should be idolized far more than movie stars or famous athletes; they are the everyday heroes who make all the difference in our world.

What are your thoughts on parenthood today?

Like A Child

Sometimes I miss being a child, especially during the holiday season. I would not say I had spectacular Christmases and New Years when I was younger, but I did have more genuine excitement about those and other holidays throughout the year. I would not want to be a child now; I liked the television shows and toys of my youth far more than I usually care to admit. I also liked how playing outside was quite common for me, much more than it is for children now. Still, there are moments of pure contentment children have, and regardless of the generation gap, I do miss them.

I was reminded of these moments this past weekend, when I met two children at a local store I go to occasionally. I met them once before, and found them to be adorable and a bit shy. This last time I saw them, they were playing with their Pokémon cards and chasing each other around the store when they felt like it. Then they overheard me talk to their parents about how my cousins used to trade Pokémon cards as children, and that broke the ice. The boys approached me to show off their cards with great pride, asking me if I recognized the characters shown on them, which strangely enough I did at times. They enjoyed talking about how they trade the cards at school with friends and each other, but not in a spoiled, overindulged way. I liked talking to them about their world, which is full of fun and curiosity.

Maintaining a similar sense of fun and curiosity as an adult is hard, but I find I can savor the moments when I have them now, and appreciate those I had as a child. Christmas was never really about Santa Claus for me; it was about the Nativity story, the tree and decorations, Christmas carols, and of course, presents. Now I add retrospection of the year that has passed, and think about the year to come. I am an adult, but the inner child remains within me.

Happy Holidays!

Long Distance, Birthday-Style

My mother just celebrated her 60th birthday, and when it came time to give her a gift, I found myself at a bit of a loss. What do you get for the gal who has everything? (By which, of course, I mean, the woman who has me for a daughter?) I actually had this thought in my head (in jest, of course), and after I got over that particularly egotistical moment, I realized that there was actually a bit of merit to my initial reaction. Here's how:

My mom lives halfway across the country from me, and one of the things that makes her happy is when she gets to see me (of course) and short of that, when she gets to talk to me on the phone. But, there are only so many things you can talk about on the phone without repeating yourself, so I had a new creative idea of how we could share an activity together long-distance. We are both nerdy, bookish, puzzler-types and we both enjoy word and logic puzzles like crosswords, Sudoku and picture logic.

My idea was that if we both had the same puzzle book, and started the same puzzle at the same time, we could call one another when we got stumped and it would be like we were sitting at the same table working on a giant jigsaw like we often do over the holidays. I thought it would be a nice piece of me to share with her.

She was very excited to receive the gift (because while she doesn't truly have everything, she doesn't need more stuff, either. Who does?) and she appreciated the gift of my time as much as the gift of the puzzle book (which, let's not lie, saved me some moolah). Even though we haven't started our shared puzzles yet, I am also really looking forward to calling her tonight to see how it goes!

I'm sure once we get on the phone we will revert to the old standbys--(Mom: How was your day? Me: How's Dad? Mom: Sold any books lately? Me: How's Dad?)--but the puzzles look like fun, too, and it will be nice to be together for a while, even from a distance.

Touching Things Past*

The following was originally posted on February 8, 2010. It is being re-posted as part of our CHICKS ROCK! Holiday series:

I'm a little bit of a history geek. I was a history major in college, and I really enjoy historical fiction, historical films and other things along those lines. I love to dive into some other time or place in the world and try to get a handle on what was going on then and there, what people might have thought and felt way back when about one another and their lives and their place in the world. There's something about knowing what has gone before that feels deeply important to me.

Thinking about it recently, I know that there are two sides to my interest in the past--one is intellectual and the other is more personal/emotional. I do have the desire to really know this world--in a sweeping, epic, global sense, where I begin to understand the cause-effect relationships that have led us toward the wonderful and vicious, beautiful and horrible experiences we collectively face day to day, now.

Within that massive base of knowledge, there are individuals. I think about my grandmothers, and the disparate lives they led that somehow, miraculously came together to create me. One of them lived through the majority of the 20th century in America, and while I knew her as a teenager, I never got to know her as an adult, when I could have really asked the questions I now want to, about her life and the things she personally witnessed within the history that I know so well in terms of dates, facts and situations. My other grandmother lived her whole life in West Africa, a place that I am connected to, but know less intimately. There's a wisdom there that is somewhat outside my grasp, but I long for a taste of it.

So, I read lots of books, and look at lots of pictures, and try to imagine what I can about these women, and the many like them whose lives and work set the stage for my own world. I feel that I'm still looking for the truth of those experiences, and I don't know if we today can ever really touch it, but it's nice to believe we might be able to come close.

Taking the Time, Today

I recently attended a memorial service for an elderly acquaintance--one of those pleasant affairs where the focus is on celebrating someone's long, fruitful, achievement-packed life, rather than mourning the tragedy of what is lost. Far from being sad, the festivities (I think it's safe to call them such) filled those of us present with joy and thanksgiving for having known this particular gentleman. People who knew him much better than I did offered touching eulogies and affectionate tales of his many adventures in his 95 years on earth. Turns out, he really got around!

In the midst of all the happy and poignant conversation, it struck me that it would have been nice to be able to speak about this man as more than an acquaintance, but as a friend. Our paths crossed regularly in the past nine years or so that I'd known him, and we exchanged the sort of respectful pleasantries you would expect from dialogue between a twenty-something woman and a ninety-something man. There was always something about him that intrigued me, his gentle manner, his intelligent observation of the world around him, his warmth and kindness. Yet, I found him slightly intimidating at the same time, because of his age and his declining health. Maybe I simply felt afraid to "bother" him, in case he needed his rest, or didn't want to dwell on stories of his youth.

As a lover of history, it always fascinates me to talk with people who lived through events I've only read about. Born in 1915, this man lived through the better part of the 20th century, with a ground-level view of some of the great eras and events of his times. I wish now that I could have found the courage to approach him, to invite him into conversation with me, because I think he would have come along willingly, and maybe I wouldn't have had to work very hard at all. I must admit, I crave contact with that sort of wisdom, and so often it is hard to really imagine that it will be gone sooner rather than later.

Do you have any older adults in your life who you'd like to sit down and have a good chat with? Maybe today is the day to give it a try.

Helping My Neighbor

Most of us have the desire to help those who are less fortunate than ourselves. Giving donations to charities that assist people in developing countries is what many of us have and would be willing to do, but what about those living in our neighborhoods? After all, those who need real help of all kinds live everywhere. My neighbor is one these people, and I am wondering how I can best help her.

At first, I was wary of her. Several months ago, I heard my new neighbor ranting in our common hallway for no apparent reason, which really put me off. When I met her for the first time, I realized that her mental and physical ailments impair her behavior. She talks incessantly about her disappointing relatives, her overwhelming health issues, and her cat, who she has a love/hate relationship with. I was shocked to hear that her family never visits her, especially since some of them live nearby.

As the daughter of Indian immigrants, I was raised with the understanding that the young take care of their elderly family members when they cannot do so themselves. Surprisingly, part of me understands why my neighbor’s family members are not interested in having a relationship with her; her erratic behavior is overwhelming at times, and while she has always been kind to me, I have heard her have frightening verbal arguments with others. Dealing with someone who is unstable and has mounting health care bills could be too much for those who have their own financial and personal issues to deal with. Still, I could never completely abandon a relative of mine in such dire circumstances.

My neighbor should not be living alone. I know there are many services for the sick, disabled, and elderly on public assistance, but I have no idea how good they are or if she is willing. In the meantime, I will continue to check in on her, even though I know it isn’t enough. I just hope I will never be in a similar situation when I get older. It is a frightening thought.

Friday Forum: Guiding Our Girls

Shifting the focus from women to young girls, what are the lessons you try to teach the girls and young women in your life? Most of us have younger sisters, cousins, nieces, children, grandchildren, etc. that look up to us. Do you teach them about feminism or women's history? Do you help them make major decisions? Are you a mentor, officially or unofficially? It'd be great to see some of your responses.

Touching Things Past

I'm a little bit of a history geek. I was a history major in college, and I really enjoy historical fiction, historical films and other things along those lines. I love to dive into some other time or place in the world and try to get a handle on what was going on then and there, what people might have thought and felt way back when about one another and their lives and their place in the world. There's something about knowing what has gone before that feels deeply important to me.

Thinking about it recently, I know that there are two sides to my interest in the past--one is intellectual and the other is more personal/emotional. I do have the desire to really know this world--in a sweeping, epic, global sense, where I begin to understand the cause-effect relationships that have led us toward the wonderful and vicious, beautiful and horrible experiences we collectively face day to day, now.

Within that massive base of knowledge, there are individuals. I think about my grandmothers, and the disparate lives they led that somehow, miraculously came together to create me. One of them lived through the majority of the 20th century in America, and while I knew her as a teenager, I never got to know her as an adult, when I could have really asked the questions I now want to, about her life and the things she personally witnessed within the history that I know so well in terms of dates, facts and situations. My other grandmother lived her whole life in West Africa, a place that I am connected to, but know less intimately. There's a wisdom there that is somewhat outside my grasp, but I long for a taste of it.

So, I read lots of books, and look at lots of pictures, and try to imagine what I can about these women, and the many like them whose lives and work set the stage for my own world. I feel that I'm still looking for the truth of those experiences, and I don't know if we today can ever really touch it, but it's nice to believe we might be able to come close.

Generation Gap

I've recently decided that, in this day and age of quickly-evolving technologies, the time span that determines a "generation" has gotten much shorter. Instead of twenty-five or thirty years, a nearly complete cultural turnover happens in just five or ten. Cell phones. Internet. Facebook. It's all happening so quickly.

These technological instruments of connection were barely around when I was growing up. I graduated from high school without an email address, and without internet in my home. I graduated from college having never held a cell phone. Online social networking didn't exist as such yet.

My brother, on the other hand, is just five years younger than me. When I hang out with him and his friends these days, I feel old. Like actually almost irrelevant, old. The lingo is different. The attitudes are different. The volume of "friends" they claim is radically different, and the substance of those friendships is different -- or at least it appears so from the outside looking in. But by all normal standards, we're part of the same generation.

Facebook is the best example. I see the site as fun, but it makes me uncomfortable at the same time, because this "Friend" business is a little overstated. To me it is entertainment, perhaps a marketing tool, but certainly something shallow, only the façade of actual connection. But my brother can argue with me for hours about why online sites represent a very real and meaningful way to connect.

I don't like the idea of social networking as a replacement for actual physical contact. I don't like the idea that having lots of contacts is celebrated over connecting deeply with a small group. But I guess, at my age, I'm right on the cusp of realizing this change, because so many of those who are coming up behind me don't see what the issue is.

Which "generation" do you belong to?

Inupiaq Voices

I watched a documentary recently that rather blew my mind: Nipaa Ilitqusipta - The Voices of Our Spirit, produced and directed by Rachel Naninaaq Edwardson. The film screened in NYC and features the Inupiaq community in Barrow, Alaska. It studies the history that led to the decline of their language. Personal interviews illuminate the struggle to reclaim a language whose loss began a few decades ago when Native American children were pulled from their homes and forced to attend assimilationist boarding schools. In that environment, they were denied their traditions and made to feel shame about their culture. Consequently, those indoctrinated couldn’t bring themselves to teach their language to their own children.

It’s a uniquely Inupiaq narrative, yet, by chasing the story of one specific culture in one small corner of the world, the film touches on universal themes of home, family, self, and the search for identity. I sat, slightly weeping throughout the film because it hit pretty close to home.

I admire the film’s ability to touch emotions in someone who has no knowledge or experience of the Inupiaq culture. I was utterly caught up in the narratives, and I felt that the film was somehow telling my story, or at least part of it. The part that wishes I spoke my father's language, or my maternal grandmother's. The part that wants to travel to far reaches of the world and feel that I belong.

I'm finding I'm not alone in this feeling. It doesn't seem to matter what culture we have in our backgrounds - young Americans of many flavors are searching. Wandering. Hungry. Something has happened. Something has kept us from learning these truths. Something has happened, and we are being robbed. I wonder if we spend our entire lives hunting for puzzle pieces – a collection of words, thoughts, feelings, experiences that’ll tell us who we are and what it all means. I watch a film like this and I realize that, no matter how far I’ve come, I’m still searching. There’s a history that I carry, which I feel, but that’s ultimately unknown to me.

Where else should I be looking?

Friday Forum: Looking Forward

For the final Friday Forum celebrating Women's History Month, we want to know what hopes you have for our daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters and so on? What do you want for the women of the future?

Yesterday Stories

I love hearing people's stories -- the strange, exciting, dramatic, crazy adventures they've had. It's such fun when, in conversation, you happen upon a topic that reminds someone of a moment that happened months, years or even decades ago. I find a special joy in these moments when they occur with people much older than I am, who lived through the moments I read about in history books.

In the few weeks since my book came out, I've found myself talking to many about the 1960s. (My novel is set in 1968 Chicago.) When I describe the book to people who can remember that time, they light up. They always want to tell me where they were and what they were doing. I talked to people of different races who participated in civil rights demonstrations, and one woman who desperately wanted to, but was too afraid to step forward. I talked to a white woman who had attended Black Panther Party political education classes, and another who traveled to register black voters in Mississippi. Amazing stories!

Some of these revelations came from people I've known for years. Yet, I had no idea about this corner of their pasts. Now, new doors have opened between us as a result of these conversations. I've discovered stories lying under the surface that were there all along, right under my nose. I would've loved to hear these anecdotes while I was writing the book, hungry for material, emotion and experiences to weave into my characters.

So, I find myself wondering why these things never come up. I don't quite know the answer, but I think it's mostly because I never asked them. And many people aren't comfortable sharing certain things when they're not asked. Especially when it comes to topics related to race, I think. Or maybe it's the 1960s itself that's become taboo. All the progress we've made in civil rights and race relations seems to have made people feel like it is something that no longer needs to be talked about. Not so, friends.

My resolution? I'm going to make it a point to ask people for their stories. Starting with all of you:

What were you doing in 1968? 1978? 1988? 1998?

Too Young to be Ageist?

I recently went to my usual dental practice, but for an appointment with a new partner in the practice who I’d never met. So I’m sprawled in the chair, waiting, and this gorgeous, grinning guy walks in, who looks to me like a frat boy, one of my younger brother’s friends. My first thought was: This is the professional who’s going to drill my teeth? My second thought was: Can’t be. He’s too young to be a dentist.

My third thought was mortal embarrassment. His diploma was hanging on the wall in front of me. Clearly he’s qualified. So what’s my problem? Have I suddenly gotten old? I’m not one of those people who think young people are less accomplished. In fact, I often take umbrage when people qualify my own achievements with “for someone your age.”

I’ve always considered myself to be a young person. I moved ahead a grade in elementary school, so I was always at least a year younger than my classmates. Even today, most of my friends are older than I am – some quite significantly so – but we get along fine. I tend to pride myself on having accomplished relatively a lot in my “young” adulthood, but have I already crossed over into plain old adulthood? I’m still a couple years away from thirty, but I’m living a grown-up life that isn’t likely to change much for a while. Still, there are days when I feel like I’m playing house and sooner or later summer vacation will come along and I’ll get to go home to my mommy.

I wonder about the line between young and old. When do you cross it, and how do you know? Is it just in how you feel? How you act? How others see you? Or is it a combination of these things that give your age a certain meaning?

I have no idea how old my dentist is; I couldn’t bring myself to ask. It doesn’t even matter. It was simply shocking to me that I even began to wonder.

How old do you feel?

A Helping Hand*

The following was originally posted on Oct. 14, 2008. It is being re-posted as part of our CHICKS ROCK! Holiday series.


A while back, I was talking to a friend of mine about mentoring. We agreed that, when done right, mentorship is a powerful thing. We were both able to point to at least a couple of women in our lives who seemed to enter at the right time and nudged us along in our development. They continue to steer us in the right direction without feeling pressure to give the "right" kind of advice, and without us feeling that they're telling us what to do.

Then our conversation turned to the other side of mentorship. Mentorship programs can sometimes feel forced: you are given one person who is supposed to be your guide, but sometimes has no connection to you. They don't understand who you are. Maybe they can give insight from their own experiences, but there can be an impersonal quality that pretty much defeats the purpose of having a mentor in the first place.

I bring all of this up because I've been thinking about my own unofficial role as a mentor in other people's lives. The idea of joining an official mentorship program has always seemed strange to me, but I do want to help other women fulfill their potential.

Organic or not, having a mentor must be better than having no direction at all. Being a woman, especially a woman of color, is challenging no matter what field you want to go in. And, of course, there's the personal connection. Even if a relationship feels somewhat forced, at least there's one there, right? At least there is somebody out there who actually cares about you and the decisions you make.

I feel that it's my responsibility to lend a helping hand, because there was somebody there to help me. But how do I go about doing that? How many of you can say you've had a mentor in your life? How many of you have been a mentor to somebody else? Was it part of a program or did it develop naturally? I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts.

Passing the Turkey

My parents are coming in for Thanksgiving again this year. Thanksgiving has become my holiday, ever since I cooked my first turkey for my parents and brother in my tiny NYC studio apartment eight years ago. Ever since, I've remained the host of our T-Day meal. Even when we've been at my parents', it's still my show. I cook, carve, bake, and serve. And I love doing it.

I have fond memories of the big extended family Thanksgiving, cooked by mom and aunts and grandma, while the other adults watched football, and we kids scrambled around in the backyard until called. We set a cheerful table and the food appeared – a warm, delicious smorgasbord of dishes not to be seen again for a year.

The original magic of Thanksgiving is somewhat gone for me, now that I know how the stuffing gets into the bird, so to speak. But in its place, I've come to cherish the ability to create something pleasing for people I love. I've done it enough to feel comfortable, even confident, and to put most of my performance-anxiety aside. I no longer worry about ruining the bird (wouldn’t be the end of the world) or keeping people waiting to eat (it can ever be perfectly timed). I have finally hit my stride.

Each year, I find myself begging less and less wisdom from my mother’s experience. My mom doesn’t enjoy cooking, so she was happy to hand this off to me. Neither of us looked back. But I notice something larger going on. The rolling of generations. Soon enough, it’s likely I'll be "mom," and she'll become "grandma," and though those titles seem far away, we have already taken the first steps down an inevitable road.

I contemplate this while chopping and basting: the passage of time, and the changes we must go through. It’s a good feeling – nostalgia for what was, and anticipation of what might be ahead. A torch is being passed, from one generation to the next. Though, I guess in our case, you could say we're passing the turkey.

A Helping Hand

A while back, I was talking to a friend of mine about mentoring. We agreed that, when done right, mentorship is a powerful thing. We were both able to point to at least a couple of women in our lives who seemed to enter at the right time and nudged us along in our development. They continue to steer us in the right direction without feeling pressure to give the "right" kind of advice, and without us feeling that they're telling us what to do.

Then our conversation turned to the other side of mentorship. Mentorship programs can sometimes feel forced: you are given one person who is supposed to be your guide, but sometimes has no connection to you. They don't understand who you are. Maybe they can give insight from their own experiences, but there can be an impersonal quality that pretty much defeats the purpose of having a mentor in the first place.

I bring all of this up because I've been thinking about my own unofficial role as a mentor in other people's lives. The idea of joining an official mentorship program has always seemed strange to me, but I do want to help other women fulfill their potential.

Organic or not, having a mentor must be better than having no direction at all. Being a woman, especially a woman of color, is challenging no matter what field you want to go in. And, of course, there's the personal connection. Even if a relationship feels somewhat forced, at least there's one there, right? At least there is somebody out there who actually cares about you and the decisions you make.

I feel that it's my responsibility to lend a helping hand, because there was somebody there to help me. But how do I go about doing that? How many of you can say you've had a mentor in your life? How many of you have been a mentor to somebody else? Was it part of a program or did it develop naturally? I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts.