It was a strange time in my life

Being home is such an odd experience. When I'm away, I always forget how beautiful it is here- but there's so much about this place that is haunting. So much I kind of just wish I could forget, even if it's important. I don't want it to define who I am, but when I come home, I remember all of it.

I gave a tendency to be very deeply affected by things, and I internalize these things for years- particularly violence and loss. Recently I've been able to sort some of this stuff out, but it's a process. I feel like I backtrack when I'm here. I'm also never sure if i'm challenging myself or torturing myself, because I have a penchant for both, and it's hard to discern between them sometimes.

I come back here for my family and for my friends. I'm lucky to still be very close with many of my best friends from high school, but this place feels less and less like home. Especially as everyone I love has started to move away. Home is scattered, and being home makes me feel pretty scattered too.

and i believe that seeds grow into sprouts

On page 35 of Assata Shakur's autobiography there is a short paragraph where she notes the first time in her life when she started to learn subjects in school as they related to each other. Up until that point, her education had been composed of completely compartmentalized subjects that followed no pattern or logic. It wasn't until fifth grade when she was taught about how things connect to each other- how art relates to history as it relates to philosophy, and so on. Assata said that it is this disjointed form of learning that "produces people who don't have the ability to think for themselves and who are easily manipulated." We're all taught to look at things in isolation from everything else, rather than as part of bigger, systemic, institutionalized structures. This is how the world actually works, but we're indoctrinated to see it otherwise. It reminded me of Marilyn Frye's birdcage metaphor:

"Consider a birdcage. If you look very closely at just one wire in the cage, you cannot see the other wires. If your conception of what is before you is determined by this myopic focus, you could look at that one wire, up and down the length of it, and be unable to see why a bird would not just fly around the wire any time it wanted to go somewhere. Furthermore, even if, one day at a time, you myopically inspected each wire, you still could not see why a bird would gave trouble going past the wires to get anywhere. There is no physical property of any one wire, nothing that the closest scrutiny could discover, that will reveal how a bird could be inhibited or harmed by it except in the most accidental way. It is only when you step back, stop looking at the wires one by one, microscopically, and take a macroscopic view of the whole cage, that you can see why the bird does not go anywhere; and then you will see it in a moment. It will require no great subtlety of mental powers. It is perfectly obvious that the bird is surrounded by a network of systematically related barriers, no one of which would be the least hindrance to its flight, but which, by their relations to each other, are as confining as the solid walls of a dungeon.

It is now possible to grasp one of the reasons why oppression can be hard to see and recognize: one can study the elements of an oppressive structure with great care and some good will without seeing the structure as a whole, and hence without seeing or being able to understand that one is looking at a cage and that there are people there who are caged, whose motion and mobility are restricted, whose lives are shaped and reduced."

Anyway. I was reading Mia Mingus' blog today and I happened upon a post where she talks about intersectionality in a pretty tangible way that I really appreciate. The post calls simultaneously for solidarity between movements and identities as well as acknowledgment and celebration of the differences amongst individuals present in a particular movement or identity. That was a mouthful, but I think it's a really important consideration. I think people are quick to resort to identity based politics rather than issue based or coalitional politics. I think within movements, people are also prone to assuming common narratives and/or experiences of all individuals that claim a particular identity, which I think is a really dangerous assumption to make. It obscures many of the perspectives and lived experiences of individuals in that particular group, and is something i've experienced a lot- both within and beyond the walls of my college. Actually, I found a great video this afternoon of a student at Middlebury who discusses her experiences as a Woman of Color on campus, as a part of a series that looks at the experiences of WOC who are "attending an elite liberal arts college." (i have my own contentions with that wording, but i'll hold off on that for now.) I recommend that everyone check it out.

On a final note, I wanted to post this picture from The Sartorialist. First off, I applaud anyone who can pull off bright yellow. . . but what's with the name "harem pants?" There are a couple of issues I had with this posting. First off, the super controversial and unexplained caption that accompanied it: "I won't get into the religious and political issues of this woman because the romantic in me wishes that we all could just get along. I hope we can discuss her style and self-expression for the its genuine nature and celebrate the differences that keep this human family so interesting."




Issues? Please, enlighten me about her issues, i'm absolutely dying to know. I won't even touch that one. I don't really think the following sentence remedied anything.

Second off, I'm always apprehensive about cultural appropriation that isn't self-aware in any way. I'm not talking particularly about the person in this picture- but I've been seeing and hearing a lot about 'harem pants' lately and it's been a little difficult for me to stomach-- possibly because they've become a fashion forward item for those who can pull it off (which isn't very many people). They've been appropriated from clothing such as the Indian salwar kameez- which I grew up wearing. (Note: this picture is from 1870, so this has been around for a while.) It's hard for me to be comfortable with this kinda thing when the same people who didn't even try to understand my culture growing up; who 'othered' me and made me resent it as a kid; who made fun of my way of life; who contributed to my internalized standards of a beauty and culture that I could never attain because of my nationality and skin color; are now appropriating parts of my culture- my clothing, religion, traditions, food, everything- because they're 'in style.' It's one thing for this to be done in a way that is self aware and that honors and understands different traditions and experiences- but it's another when it becomes absorbed, appropriated, erased, and/or exoticized. Like the person who gets an 'ohm' sign tattooed on their foot. It's a beautiful symbol, and it makes you seem really wordly... until you realize the significance that having such a sign tattooed on your foot has in many Asian (particularly Indian) cultures. Then it turns into something pretty disrespectful. These are all too familiar experiences of Orientalism that i've grown up with, have internalized, and am just plain sick and tired of.

So, I guess what I want to say is that people should feel free to wear their 'harem pants' and get their ohm tattoos. But only if they step outside their comfort zones and challenge what they know and don't assume they know everything already, or that their way of knowing is the right way- or the best way. There is no 'right way.' I'm constantly learning things about both the American and Indian cultures i've grown up under, and i'm still unpacking all sorts of internalized bullshit that i've been packaged with these 21 years. I have yet to perfect either identity, and I certainly never will- but I'm okay with that. I'm an American in India and an Indian in America, and i've had to deal with that in-limbo state my whole life. But it gives me perspective, and I appreciate that- and it's only been the past five or six years when i've really begun to appreciate myself.

riches and wonders

I am healthy, I am home, but I have poor impulse control

“All Hail West Texas” is a forty minute sound bite of three (long) years in my life. As Liza says, it’s like an explosion of heart wrenching nostalgia– with whiskey goggles on. Might be why I quit them both for a while, at least superficially. I think I'm at a better point now, though I prefer Jameson to anything else, and still can't listen to The Mess Inside without needing to catch my breath. Incidentally, home is a parallel: while a lot has remained the same, much more has changed. Home itself has changed too, both geographically and sentimentally.

Blogging is strange for me, but I'd like this space to become sort of a portfolio or scrapbook of everything I am interested in, and all the things that I do. It'll be about my thoughts and experiences navigating through this world. I would like it to be a part of my process.