New Discoveries

The Next Chapter continues here.

I hope you'll join me :) 

The Wise One

It's an acknowledged fact that as we get older, we are supposed to get wiser.  We make mistakes. We learn how not to approach situations. We get better at picking ourselves up, brushing off the bruised pride and starting all over again. We become more intelligent. We learn to fight back. And when to keep quiet. When to say exactly what we feel. And when to tell a little white lie.  We learn about who we can trust. And who we should steer well clear of. Who can hurt us. And who we should let in. When to fill our face with food. And when to force ourselves to the gym.

It's a journey. An emotional rollercoaster. And in the midst of it all, we sometimes lose who we are. Our energy and passion gets left behind. I realised this recently whilst I was sifting through some old poems I wrote and found this...

Paint the world with your words
Enrich it with your soul
Surrender what you have.
Pollute the grey of everyday with
All the colours of the rainbow
Breathe a cloud of warmth over the cold-hearted
And then declare this world truly wonderful.

Yes, it's naive. My sixteen year old self was oblivious to the way the world really works. But for a minute I wanted to be her again.  I wanted that untainted perspective back. That blind passion and determination.  I know she's still here somewhere. She's just buried under all the excess baggage we like to call 'getting older.' And it's ironic really because she was the wise one.

Lost.

They say grieving is a process.  Today is not one of the good days.  For once I'm finding it hard to put into words what I feel but if I could summarise I would probably say I feel lost.  Lost in the sense that someone has pulled the rug from beneath my feet.  It's as if a piece of me is missing.  And without it, I'm not sure who I am anymore.  This bold statement may sound a little overdramatic but I'm going to try and explain.

My Ba was a little piece of India sitting by the front window.  She always wore a sari.  She prayed five times a day.  She knew every spice in the kitchen cupboard and had never even once followed a recipe.  She was my culture.  She was my claim to being Asian.  And now she's gone I feel I don't have a right to label myself 'Indian'.  So I feel lost.  Like my sense of identity has been taken from me.  Because without her, I'm not really sure what I'm left with.  Logically of course, this way of thinking makes no sense.  My heritage is the blood in my veins.  It's the colour of my skin.  No one can deny a gene pool.  But somehow that's not enough.

These past few weeks, I've learnt that it's not about where you come from but who you come from.  The people in our lives are the ones who define us.  They are the ones who teach us right and wrong.  They give us a sense of tradition and they mould us into the people we become.  If we contemplate every action we do and every word we say, we realise that everything has been learnt from someone else.  So it's not surprising we feel such a great sense of loss when somebody close passes away.  Because they have been our teachers.  Our leaders.  Our conscience.

But now she's gone.  And I can't attempt to speak to her in Gujarati.  I can't ask for her biryani recipe. I can't ask for help when trying on a sari.  And nobody else knows.  So I'm culturally clueless.  And without a sense of ethnicity I feel empty.  It's an identity crisis.

So I have a plan.  I'm going to India.  I'll buy a one way ticket if necessary.  I'm going to learn the language.  The culture.  The cooking.  I'll stay for as long as it takes.  Because relying on Ba in order to claim a culture was wrong.  But I refuse to let it all slip through my fingers.

I once read that it's not about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself.  I couldn't agree more.  Because relying on a gene pool to label myself Indian was lazy.  And as much as our family dictate who we become, there comes a time when we have to take control of our own lives.  We must take responsibility and make our own choices.  So I'm making the choice to become an Indian in my own right.  This is my mission.  And Ba, I'd like to think that you'd be proud.

In God We Trust

It's been a rocky road with God and I.  Despite coming from a family of believers, it's never really clicked.  My regular attendance at Church meant I could recite any story from the Bible and run the Mass service itself if ever required.  Islam also opened its doors as I visited the mosque every Eid and became familiar with the ways of the Imam.  But something was missing.

I would kneel, sit, stand up, close my eyes and repeat the words everyone else seemed to be feeling.  But I didn't feel anything.  I was pretending.  And I felt like a fraud.  So as soon as my parents would permit it, I stopped going.  And honestly, I haven't really looked back.  Until now.

I recently found myself in a church in Rome.  The Basilica in Sao Paolo to be exact.  It was indescribably beautiful.  But it wasn't just the intricate paintings on the walls or the shiny marble floor.  Buildings don't normally take my breath away.  It was something else.  And I found myself thinking that if God were to exist, this is where he would live.  And He's been on my mind ever since.

I have many reasons for the lack of religion in my life.  Firstly, I do not wish to be told how to live.  I am the only conductor in my existence.  If the recent death of my grandma has taught me nothing, it is that life is far too short.  And I don't want to waste a minute following the orders and commands of anybody, let alone an interpretation of a book written several lifetimes ago.  I don't believe in following anything except my own heart.  And occasionally my head.

Secondly, I don't want to use anything as a crutch.  It's an incredibly pretty thought to imagine that death allows you to transcend to an eternal paradise.  An idyllic world where you shall be reunited with all your friends and family.  And the only reason you haven't been able to come right away is because some girl ate an apple.  Of course this is a much more attractive philosophy than the idea of your anatomy disintegrating into the earth, and that being IT.  The end.  If most people were given the choice between these options, I feel sure what they would choose.  And I don't blame them.  But I don't want to just pick the fairytale because it's easier.

Thirdly, this may be the reason that angers me the most: the fact that your ascension into this picture perfect world above the sky is dependent on your actions.  The promise that if you treat people well, you shall be rewarded.  My argument is that you shouldn't have to bargain with someone to ensure they are a good person.  Did God have so little faith in us that he had to promise a beautiful afterlife in order to ensure we behaved ourselves?  I believe you should be a good person for no other reason than because you want to be.  And this may seem unrealistic but so does the idea of Jesus turning water into wine.  So if I want to believe in something, I'll believe in the idea that people do not need a reason to be good.

But as much as I state all these reasons, I can't deny the fact that I'm a little envious of those who do feel something.  I thought if I ever felt anything, I would embrace Him.  That wouldn't mean rushing off to the nearest Church or buying a yashmak.  But it would just mean knowing that there was an Other, a Something.  And being able to be comforted by this.  But I can't lie to myself.  However, I've been hoping and wishing for a while now and then it suddenly clicked.

God is not going to come down and reveal himself personally to me.  I may never witness a miracle.  Or find a definitive answer for things the world cannot yet explain.  And yes, religious theories may all be a fairytale.  But the point is that you have to believe.  That is why it's called 'faith' and not 'knowledge'.  Because nobody really knows.  And nobody feels anything...at first.  But the beauty of it is that they believe anyway.  And allow themselves to dream and wish and hope.  And when you consider religion like this, it's almost magical.

So I'm going to have a little faith.  And this doesn't mean my days will be dictated.  Or I'm looking for something to lean on.  Or I need a motive to behave myself.  I'm just going to start believing in believing.  Watch this space.

Western Wellingtons

I believe there is and always will be a social stigma attached to the phrase 'arranged marriage.'  In the western culture in which we live, people automatically seem to envision a timid bride meeting the groom on the morning of their engagement and consequently being marched down the isle by her overbearing parents.  Certainly, the occasional horror story in the media has done little to oppress this image.  It seems it's only those who are immersed in the asian culture who really understand the procedure of an arranged marriage.

The 'arranging' is done by the parents or grandparents.  Or more often than not, the gossips in the family.  The gossip: that one person who knows everything about everyone.  It wasn't too long ago that one so-called gossip in our family arrived with a wad of 'CV's' which he enthusiastically placed in my cousin's lap, much to her disgust.  The pile contained a selection of worthy suitors living in India, or perhaps as the more cynical person would say: those looking for a one way ticket to the west.  My cousin couldn't dispose of them fast enough.

Yes, this is how it begins.  From a CV or conversation amongst family members.  It's a favourite activity for the elders who love nothing more than matching a son and a daughter within their network and tightening those family ties.  And then the wedding preparations can commence.  Amongst the younger generation, it seems to be a fate either dreaded or accepted.  Very few seem to want to fight it.  This is with the exception of my own dad of course, who was insistent on marrying my 'gorra' (white) mother in spite of Mumtaz, the asian bride my grandma had so readily picked out.  It is only recent experiences that have taught me how rare my Dad's decision really was and the strength that it would take to break away from those ancient family traditions.

But in spite of my experiences, it may surprise you that I'm not entirely opposed to the idea.  Certainly, it's a route I have and will continue to explore.  Sure, it's not the conventional way of meeting your future husband.  But having a meeting arranged by your grandma sometimes sounds slightly more appealing than shouting over drinks in a nightclub.  It's an interesting perspective on dating.  Although perhaps there are more surrounding family pressures.  But as long as you never pursue someone purely to succumb to your grandma's wishes, who is to say it's not a successful road to the happily ever after?

Personally, I am not even close to the mindset of being married.  There is so much I want to achieve for myself before becoming somebody's wife.  But the point I'm trying to make is that I believe it's important to be open.  It seems there's a certain snobbery that comes with living on this side of the world, even if it's only subconscious.  We tend to believe that eastern traditions are backward and inferior to our own.  But if given the chance to understand, we're giving our world a whole new dimension.  It's changing attitudes such as these that could contribute to the downfall of discrimination on a universal scale.  So instead of marching in with your western wellingtons, try embracing what the east has to offer.  And you may just be surprised.

Believing in butterflies

In my twenty-one years of living, there are only three people who have ever given me butterflies.  The kind of butterflies you feel on a rollercoaster when you’re so pumped with adrenaline the rush just makes you want to scream.  Or that buzz when a plane is taking off.  It’s a powerful feeling and underestimated in my opinion.  I feel I’ve been fortunate to even experience it once.

Of these three people, I would like to tell you about one.  The other two shall remain anonymous I’m afraid.  Let’s call him number three.  I was fifteen and in central Rome sitting on a bench eating gelato and watching the traffic go by.  I looked up from my ice cream to see a stranger looking straight at me.  His eyes were piercing me so intensely that he may as well have been sitting right beside me.  And boom, there were the butterflies.  He was sitting on his motorbike in the traffic queue.  The traffic moved, I blinked and he was gone.  And that was it.  It could only have been ninety seconds at the most.  And then I was left with just a memory and a fast melting ice cream.

You are probably thinking I have seen too many picture-perfect Hollywood movies.  Or that I was in Rome: one of the most romantic cities in the world and thus the easiest place to fall in lust with a complete stranger.  Or that I was a fifteen year old girl with raging hormones and a newly found interest in the opposite sex.  Believe me, I have considered all these options.  But a part of me still can’t help but question why I had such instantly strong feelings for a stranger.  And why circumstances meant that it didn’t amount to anything.  Number one and number two have at least been explored.  But with number three I felt robbed.

A friend recently stated her belief that the purpose of life is simply to experience.  Perhaps she deserves more credit for her wisdom.  Because analyzing the ‘what if’s’ can drive you crazy.  And trying to find a meaning when there isn’t one is just exhausting.  So maybe it was just a magical moment.  And the rest I will never really know.  Because life is just a string of isolated incidents we attempt to piece together through finding a meaning.  And trying to squeeze sense out of everything would be a waste of time.

But I would be lying if I said I no longer believed in the magic of fate altogether.  I’m currently visiting a friend in Rome for a few days...

Leaving the luggage.

Everybody's got baggage, whether it resembles that huge suitcase belonging to a family of four on a cramped train ride or a tiny piece of hand luggage on an intercontinental flight.  Either way, we're all going somewhere and inevitably the pieces of our past come with us.  It's a blessing and curse.  You would truly be an idiot if your mistakes didn't alter your actions in some small way.  But you would also be a fool to build up the bitterness until the frown lines on your face become permanent.

I'm ashamed to say I'd forgotten the difference between bitterness and wisdom.  Sometimes there is a fine line.  I was trying to turn my life and people experiences into lessons.  I wanted to become a different person, a new person with a harder exterior to protect the bruises.  So the new people I met were lucky enough to meet the new superficial version.  But soon I began to realise that the actions of the people of my past wasn't the fault of the present people.  I wasn't giving them a fair chance.  But most importantly I realised that the past shouldn't define you.  It doesn't deserve that power.  Of course, it should hold some importance but not riddle your entire existence.  Because you'll miss the best that the present has to offer.

They say live every day to the maximum but that's difficult when waking up to shoulda woulda coulda.  I'm really not helping myself.  And as much as I would like to believe everything happens for a reason, I'm struggling.  So I'm trying to find the wisdom and bury the bitterness.  Because life is too short.  And when some people aren't fortunate enough to get tomorrow, we really should be more grateful for today. 

The Unknown

So it's not worked out as planned: the hunt for a graduate job.  I've been avidly applying and searching for months now with little actual progress made.  I was frustrated, fed up and a little frightened of the uncertainty in my future.  It's been an endless road of panic and worry.  I just knew I needed to get something.  I needed to know what was coming next.  Because from being four years old there had always been the next homework deadline, essay, GCSE, A Level and finally degree.

Education is a gift but also a prison.  And I feel I've been a prisoner of the education system for my entire existence.  So perhaps it was only natural to panic when there isn't a teacher stood at the front instructing you.  Or an essay you need to write. Or an exam to pass.  After May, I become the boss.  I've paid my dues to the institution.  And for the very first time, what comes next is entirely my choice.  This is what freedom feels like.  And the fear is actually just starting to convert to excitement.

Because what you do with your life should be your choice.  I'm only disappointed I've waited 21 years for this opportunity.  The opportunity to write exactly as I choose without the constraints of an essay title.  The opportunity to unleash my own creativity without fear of it being oppressed, condensed or quashed altogether.  The opportunity to go in whichever direction I see fit.  So as much as I feel something will be finished in May, my life is just beginning.

And I've got a newfound appetite.  I want to try red hot chilli's and tamatangas, see the Golden Temple and learn how to meditate, change somebody's life and fall in love the proper way, earn some money, get standing tickets at a concert, find religion, get published....I could go on but that would be telling.

So now I see the focus on becoming employed was so narrow-minded.  And I was a scared little puppy who has finally been let off the leash and wanted to cling to the stability of a nine-to-five job to avoid the fear of the unknown.  But now I find myself staring at the blank space ahead and the only words that come to mind are: 'this is your life now, so what are you gonna do with it?'  Watch this space.

The Sheep and the Shepherd

I would quite like to live in a hotel.  To have the freedom to come and go as you please and the constant changeability of your neighbours.  Having the ability to 'check out' at any time when it all gets too monotonous.  The beds are always made and the bathrooms are always clean.  There is a pleasant impersonal feel.  You are the guest.  Use the facilities and then leave.  Be ready to hand over the keys to the next person.  Because life resembles a hotel.  People come and go.  And material things are just that...things.  When it's time to go, you don't take any items with you.  You leave with what you came with.

I'm currently opposed to living in a house.  Because there is something quite permanent about being tied to a bedroom on a street.  It gives a sense that we have to belong somewhere.  And in my opinion, it's better not to belong.  We should float from one location to the next, absorbing the different noises and smells.  Living and learning.  We were not born to stick to one place or one group of people.  We were meant to be free.  To have the option of dipping our toes into any ocean we please.  And when we find somewhere we might prefer, feeling free to go for a swim.  Treading water is not something we should become accustomed to.  Always keep moving.  Keep learning.  Continue to try new things.

Absorb your surroundings like a sponge.  Travel.  Try.  Taste.  See things for yourself.  Make your own judgements.  And if you have only one rule, let it be to never follow the crowd.  Do what you want and say how you feel.  Because you have something different to bring to the world.  And compromising this would be a tragedy.  After all, no sheep ever changed the world.  So don't be the sheep, be the shepherd.  And treat belongings like the furniture in a hotel.  Useful but of little real value.

A Candle in the Wind

So I recently watched My Week with Marilyn.  For those of you who haven't heard of it, the film documents a week in the life of Colin Clark, a love interest of Marilyn Monroe. Through Colin we are given a window of insight into the world of Norma Jean (Marilyn Monroe).  We see her not as the sex symbol that has been so boldly portrayed but as a soul, a person, a human being.  I was enlightened.

I, unlike the rest of the world was not a Marilyn fan.  I didn't understand why we were giving so much credit to the person who was arguably wholly responsible for the phrase 'dumb blonde'.  I was irritated by the voice, the walk and the entire persona.  In all honesty, I didn't even see the attraction.

But I was intrigued by the film.  And I think a part of me wanted to be enchanted in the way that the rest of the world had been.  And I was.  I was captivated.  It wasn't just about the beauty though.  If it was simply appearance, her legend would have died long ago. It was something much more rare than that.   Something else that I still can't seem to define.  It would probably be known today as The X Factor.  But all the enchantment I experienced came secondary to the overwhelming sympathy that I felt for her.  I surprised myself.

She was a shell of a person.  The Marilyn the world knew was just an act, a one dimensional character.  She wasn't real.  Reality showed us a lost little girl who self-medicated to cope with the pain of portraying the 'person' people wanted to see.  She was a cash cow, a money maker.  Men either saw a business opportunity or a sexual object.  One of the lines that stayed with me from the film was a quote from her agent stating 'we keep her on the pills because she's easier to control that way.'  Marilyn was used and abused by almost everyone in her life.  It was a true tragedy.

However, I am not as naive to assume she was a complete victim.  We are all in control to some extent of our own lives.  But she seemed so driven by her desire to be loved that this dominated her entire existence. She floated through life, from lover to lover never feeling good enough for anyone.  She once said that when her lovers realised Marilyn Monroe didn't exist, they'd quickly lose interest.  Norma Jean wasn't who they wanted.  And so she sacrificed Norma Jean for the sake of Marilyn Monroe who was just a falsity and a lie.  As a result she became an icon but lost the person in the process.

There is no doubt she has become a legend.  But through discovering Norma Jean, I don't feel her legend is something to be celebrated.  She was sad, lonely and desperate to be wanted.  She was consistently moved from different foster homes as a child, suffered three miscarriages and three divorces.  Her one wish to be truly loved in life was never fulfilled.  The natural sparkle she possessed was persistently poked and prodded to create the persona of Marilyn Monroe.   She was made to be what others wanted.  A sexual object.  A glamour girl.  A bimbo and at times, a joke.  She forgot how to be Norma Jean.  But the most tragic thought is that she didn't feel that she could just be herself.  She never realised that her natural beauty and talent was more than enough to give to the world.

But she did not live in vain.  If we ignore the pretty pictures and iconic images we can really learn something from Norma Jean.  Be true to yourself and never let the world define you.  You should define the world.

All Mixed Up

I've always appreciated the value of surrounding yourself with people from different backgrounds to your own.  I like to believe that we embrace friends who present different experiences and perspectives.  So collectively, we learn from each other and grow both in tolerance and understanding.  We broaden our horizons.  Our worlds merge.  We gain the ability to converse with any kind of person in any given situation.  This was my theory.  But recent experience had perhaps shown me otherwise.

A conversation with a male black friend about relationships lead to his declaration that he 'wants to date white girls but marry a black girl.'  Honestly, I was appalled on several levels.  Firstly, to be told that white girls were not good enough to marry.  Secondly, to his aversion to mixed raced marriages.  If you are an avid reader of my blog, you'll probably have read In the Mix, where I declare my love of my Irish and Indian roots.  Of course I am aware that not everyone is in favour of mixed race marriages but what shocked me was the fact that these opinions were not those of an obscure political party but within my own friendship group.  I couldn't believe it.

I couldn't believe that a member of my own generation at university, mixing in a multicultural educated environment held this perspective.  I appreciated that he told me the truth.  But I would be lying if I said this didn't change how I felt about him.  I took offence.  I was disgusted that he couldn't see the soul beyond the skin.  I was disappointed that he feared the unfamiliar so much that he has vowed to just 'stick to his own.'  But perhaps what burnt the most was that he considered it better that his babies were purely black rather than of a mixed origin.  As if mixed raced babies are somehow of less value.  It felt like apartheid was occurring all over again.

But there's a few reasons that comforted me.  Firstly, love transcends everything.  In the end even if she has one leg or is half chinese it doesn't matter if there is enough love.  And this might sound like a fairytale to you but I've seen it for myself.  Love breaks all barriers and gives you the strength and the courage to face the unfamiliar.  Love is what saw my Irish mum buying Indian cookery books, wearing a sari and visiting a mosque.  Love is what saw my Indian dad renewing his wedding vows to my mum in a Catholic church because he knew how important her religion is to her.  Love is what I grew up in.  So petty preferences about the colour of your skin seem weak and insignificant in comparison to the richness of love.  

Secondly, it might surprise you that I'm not severing all ties with this friend and have decided to keep him around.  My wish is that he falls in love with the unexpected and can find the audacity to follow his heart.  Or at the very least I can eventually change his mindset.  But refusing to be his friend would just mean I am as intolerant as he is.  I refuse to fall to that level.

Finally, I know we're winning.  By 'we' I refer to the mixed race minority.  The fact is we are the fastest growing ethnic minority which really does speak for itself.  So change or get left behind.  Either way, this is the way the world is developing.  Deal with it.

  

Stained Glass Windows

I used to think getting hurt was avoidable.  But the truth is we're all broken.  In some form or other. Because nobody is exempt from feeling.  But with some people, you would never know the damage behind their smile.  The pain they've endured and the challenges they've faced could produce a bestselling novel.  And simply by being here, they are survivors in their own lives.

It never occurred to me when looking for a role model to just simply open my front door.  It's the ordinary people that overcome those extraordinarily harsh situations that is so inspiring.  And they do it with a cheery persona and a strength that I can only admire.  I have no idea how they find their fuel to drive them through each day.  

I'm in awe of them.

There is a saying: 'people are like stained glass windows- they sparkle and shine when the sun is out but when darkness sets in, their true beauty is only seen if there is a light from within.'  Perhaps the true beauty comes from the broken bits.  And it's not about avoiding the pain but possessing the strength to smile through it.

Resolution Number Two

Sometimes you just have to let people go.  When too much has happened and the relationship has been poisoned.  Sucking out the poison would take every last breath you've got.  And you're just not willing to give that much anymore.  With letting go comes a sadness.  You feel like you've failed.  But deep down, deep enough to be able to deny that the thought might even be there, you know you've done the right thing.

Because you have to put yourself first.  And not feel guilty about it.  It's self preservation as oppose to self sacrifice.  And from the outside it looks like the spoilt choice, the easy way, the escape route.  But it's actually harder to face the end.

And for a while you're angry, frustrated, irritated.  Upset, devastated, tearful.  But somewhere amongst the tears and the venom you find forgiveness.  And it really is magical.  It takes all of the bitterness away.  It cleanses your soul ready for the next person to come along.  And you're brand new again.  But an updated version.  Stronger and smarter.  But you haven't forgotten what happened.  Because forgetting the hurt would be forgetting the lessons you learnt.

And maybe in time you'll be able to remember the parts that weren't poisonous, the sweet bits.  But for now, moving on is enough.  Moving on with a revised edition of yourself that will no doubt change again when you hit the next big wave.  But now you know for sure you can survive it.

Resolution number two: don't bask in the bitterness.  Forgive, but don't forget.

Resolution Number One

Sometimes I wonder how much difference there is between how others perceive you and how you view yourself.  I'm sure all of us have been in a situation where we feel we've been misunderstood or not left the lasting impression we would like.  I'm unfortunately always in danger of giving out that accidental death stare.  I was told it would make any stranger run in the opposite direction but I didn't quite believe it until I saw it for myself on a home video.  And then I didn't want to be friends with me either.  It was the kind of glance you would wish on Stalin not an innocent stranger.

Yes, my frightening facial expressions are my cross to bear.  But I'm sure you've got one too.  Whether it's exuding that accidental air of arrogance, nervously telling appalling jokes or not saying anything at all it's never plain sailing when we first meet new people.  I once met a guy who used to touch his face every time he spoke to me.  Not only was it immensely distracting but I struggled to maintain a conversation without wanting to touch my own face too.  Weird.  He's now a friend and the face-touching is a thing of the past.  Just as he now laughs when I stare.  We worked through it.  

And I believe I've found resolution number one of 2012: reserve your judgement.  Not forever, just until a later date.  Because we've all got our quirks.  Our funny twitches that make us unique.  And at first glance, it might not look particularly appealing.  But stick around and let them prove you wrong.  Because friendships are sometimes found in the strangest places.  People may just surprise you.