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.
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
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.
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.
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