I really can't believe that my last few (and ancient) posts were about all things urban and health care reform - who was I kidding? I fill my time with far more frivolous thoughts and activities to leave everyone so bored. I appreciate it if you were actually interested in any of last posts, but I must admit that the whole thing left me feeling quite uninspired for the last, oh, 4 months.
I may have been on some quest to make note of the more serious things that interest and inspire me, but then I quickly realized that I am so bored most of the time that serious just won't do. This revelation might have something to do with the fact that I have been in somewhat of an existential funk about the meaning of my life (or lack thereof), and am waiting to discover the Matrix or something. Whatever I normally have to share seemed, in short, completely and utterly ridiculous.
To my credit, I have been rather busy with these minor little hobbies called a full-time job and a part-time Master's degree program. I had completely run out of steam by September - any thoughts or stories that I could have shared sputtered and died before I could spit them out.
If this seems like one big, lame-apology of a post that still isn't saying much, well, it is. Just trying to get my creative juices flowing again, especially since I have a nice, long winter break from school to look forward to, and get psyched about talking to myself in the blogosphere.
Sounds so Jetsonian, doesn't it? This wonderfully quirky and interesting professor once gave a guest lecture on this topic, and I was sort of hooked. I've been meaning to read up on Despommier's work every since, and was pleasantly surprised to see an op-ed by him in the NYT today. Read more about A Farm On Every Floor.
Despite my declaration today that I don't really like talking about healthcare, I did think this would be a helpful site for people to take a look at and receive some sort of reality check in case they are having nightmares about "socialized" medicine and the government plotting with Pinky to take over the world:
I've been pretty quiet lately, having been preoccupied again with nerdy pursuits in Epidemiology and Healthcare Finance. I did, however, want to poke my head in to announce the release of a nerdy book I've eagerly been awaiting - The Heart of Power: Health and Politics in the Oval Office. I never imagined when I first started exploring public health as an undergrad that it would be the hot topic it is today. I know you might expect me to discuss healthcare reform more passionately on this blog, but well, you're wrong. I don't really like talking about such things - its highly academic for me and I still feel rather ignorant despite being in a Master's in Public Health program. Also, I'm clearly just insecure about my opinions. So instead, I'll recommend some enlightening books for us to all smile and nod over. Enjoy.
The Fourth Urbanism - No, we are not talking about a new dimension of reality here (although that would be nice). We're talking about a potentially fourth "school of urbanism" in addition to the existing three - New Urbanism, Everyday Urbanism, and Post-Urbanism - neatly described by Frank Gruber's article (Part 1) in The Huffington Post.
Chicago Design - I used a time machine to travel back to preschool and just stare at the pretty pictures in this piece on the celebration of architect Burnham's 1909 Plan of Chicago. When I finally had the heart to read and digest, I felt the need to go back to my Urban Studies texts on the history of the city of Chicago and become fascinated by a place other than NYC. A pretty picture for this blog:
If you are obsessed with good food and wonder why a hamburger costs less than an apple, you might be interested in learning more about Community Supported Agriculture in NYC. Don't know what that is? Community supported agriculture is a new (or not depending on how you view the modern food industry and how people "used to" eat), and developing model of agriculture and food distribution which is meant to reconnect the individual/consumer with the farmer/producer. CSA's have sprung up nationwide, allowing individuals and families to receive weekly shipments of fresh produce directly from local farmers. I'm desperate to join one, but have no idea what to do with a whole boxload of fresh fruits and vegetables (and sometimes dairy products) - feed myself for a month and store it in a an icebox since I have a studio-friendly skinny fridge? Alas, I may have to wait a while before it makes sense to join one.
To find out more, visit the link above or read up on some Michael Pollan. Happy food.
Cities fascinate me. Of all the relationships we manage in our lives, the one we struggle to maintain with our cities is the most fraught with love and hate. Last night, I loved my foggy, warm city where I could get a frozen hot chocolate at 11 pm. This weekend, I will hate my city for its random subway service changes that I can never seem to keep up with. For the last few weeks, a friend and I have been feeling the need to take a break from it all, the life, the pace, the noise, the endlessness of it all. The Earth Mother in me needs to hear the crickets and gaze at the stars as she falls asleep. Eventually the City Chick will takeover and want a a frothy, overpriced latte. We work with cities, and they constantly allow us to keep up with all the changes within us.
As an Urban Studies major, I was rather clueless. My classmates were advocates of community supported agriculture and the bicycle-friendly city, while I explored issues in urban health. My choice of major continues to raise a few eyebrows and questions, and sometimes even I contemplate how in the world I didn't end up a Biology or Psychology major. Over time though, I saw how "urban studies" is really the daily fabric of our lives, whether we live in cities big or small. And so I've decided to start placing what I find relevant about all things urban under a category of its own. I suspect that many will never fully understand Urban Studies (an interdisciplinary field that is so vast to begin with) or find it legitimate - hopefully this will help.
My first contribution is an article from the NYT, The Self-Service City. In often undetectable ways, our cities are evolving away from their traditional definition, and I wonder how this reflects the cultural and political evolution of the city dweller. It remains to be seen - and studied!
One of the things I have not done enough of in life - travel. It's a real pity, and completely, totally, utterly my own fault. Amazingly though, wanderlust hasn't really hit me yet, but I think I'm getting there. And while I would love to share my future experiences with someone, I think it would do me some good to do a little traveling on my own first.
I have no reservations about this, but did wonder if I should feel any restraint about the more exotic destinations that might friends and family might gasp at if I ventured alone. To tell you the truth, while I'm rather adventurous, some unfortunate good sense has always kept me a bit on the safer side of things, especially as a woman. So when I read Q&A with Beth Whitman, a Woman's Perspective on Solo Travel in the NYT, I felt a bit reassured about all potential a future trip holds for me.
So, where to? That's the real question, and I'll have to think hard about it. My friend K has what amounts to a world tour planned for us, but I think a few baby steps would help first.
A fellow blogger just informed me that Buffy the Vampire Slayer can be viewed on Hulu.com! Oh, my, goodness. I absolutely cannot wait to watch her kick some butt again while I sip ruby red grapefruit juice in my pajamas. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
Seattle apparently has not seen rain in 30 days. Don't cry for Seattle, because New York has decided to steal the title of Rain City. It wouldn't be wise to leave the house without an umbrella, and some of us are contemplating pharmaceutical assistance in getting through these gray days.
Today was all gray sunshine - alternately rain/cloudy and sunny, and one of my favorite kinds of days. Being the fool that I am and feeling that it was perfect sitting-in-a-coffee-shop-kind-of-day, I ventured out just as the clouds gathered to sit in and write. I was under the false impression that I had an umbrella tucked somewhere in my fashionably oversized handbag. I was also wearing flip-flops and a silk shirt. Luckily, the Hungarian Coffee Shop is only a few blocks away, and I arrived heroically drenched and cutely helpless. I now know for sure that I don't actually like getting caught in the rain and that I don't think I actually like pina coladas either.
The gray has been doing wonders for my creativity and contemplation. I also decided it was high-time I took charge of my roaring 20's and set out to accomplish something other than the usual socializing, studying, or cleaning. What inspired me so? I've been struggling to achieve a balance between my social butterfly and loner ways. It seems that I am always surrounded by people and often when I am, I'm struggling to escape somehow to my UWS cave so I can walk around in mismatched pajamas, sip ruby red grapefruit juice, and catch up on my reality TV. And yet, when I'm by myself, I can only take it for a maximum of 1 hour before wanting to commit myself to a mental institution. The grass is indeed always greener on the other side.
The rain and some poor planning have canned the day's more interesting possibilities and so I sit here with a latte by my side to discuss Christine Hassler's "10 Tips for Twenty Something Transformation" from The Huffington Post. The piece confirmed that my just-past-quarter-life-crisis is here to stay for at least another 4 years until I turn 30. Teenagehood was well-documented and understood, college was the best of times and the worst of times, and people will practically let you get away with murder during those years. But what happens when you're a 20-something? There are so many balances to strike, and we receive so many mixed messages about how to go about doing so. Slightly embittered by these realities, I offer my take on these 10, well-meaning tips:
1. Be present - Stop obsessing about the future and focus on now? There is no such thing. All anyone wants to know about are your plans for the future. When you are a 20-something, everyone assumes you have exciting and profound things in store for yourself. If we are to do that, then don't we have to think about the future? Life is what happens when you're not looking and planning, supposedly, but where I'm coming from, if you stop planning you might as well fall of the face of earth. Additionally, family will simultaneously tell you that you've had your fun and need to think about your future mate and the future of your reproductive system, and that you are also too young not to enjoy yourself. Not being absent isn't so difficult, but being present can be an arduous task.
2. Stop comparing - This is like one of those computer error messages that neither you nor the IT guy can understand. Female 20-somethings are especially hard-wired to ignore it. Anyone who gives this advice has likely been luckily enough not to suffer from the comparison syndrome and probably isn't in the position to advise a 20-something.
3. Stop caring about what other people think - Ditto.
4. Tune in - Paying attention to our intuition and gut feelings translates into following your heart, which many of us learned early on is a trick answer and not the way to go. I for one see signs everywhere, and so my instincts are not always very reliable. We've also been groomed not to trust ourselves, only to learn from the results of testing ourselves. I don't know if I have an antenna to really tune in, or how to fix it if it is broken.
5. Don't wait for permission, approval, or validation - Agreed that at some point in your life, you have to stop looking to others for the green light and go with whatever your gut, brain, and heart have concluded. This tip, however, simply ignores the array of social influences we're slammed by everyday, family being the most notorious one. You're lucky if your family really is crazy and its in your best interest to ignore them. Not so much if they're actually alright people and you have a decent relationship with them and sometimes, they actually know what they're are talking about. Then, you're kind of obligated to listen to them and subconsciously seek their permission, approval, or validation. Also, again, for female 20-somethings, validation is big - don't underestimate it.
6. Make choices - Today's twenty-something has an upscale problem: an abundance of choices which often leads to making no choice at all. If decision making is a weak skill, find ways to build your decision making muscle. Resist the urge to call your friends and parents when faced with a decision. Make little choices each day on your own, without consulting anyone else (unless of course your choice directly affects another or others)- I'll admit that I have a hard time with this one, but it just takes practice. I have chronic indecisiveness, but after some choices turned out okay, the rest have gotten a little easier. There are definitely way too many options in today's world, and some of my friends and I have discussed the pressure to make the right one - simply because the world is at our feet and we should be able to. We can be so afraid of making the wrong decision, and there is so much information that the decision-making process has practically become a hobby for some. But it's alright, because to be a great 20-something you also need to follow #7:
7. Make mistakes - I'm pretty good at this one, and I'm not petrified of making more. However, I would like to reduce the number, or at least the amount that is statistically significant. I do believe that everyone absolutely must leave their comfort zone at some point, and I'm quickly approaching that moment myself. Time to push again, and I can't wait.
8. Do things alone and 9. Build your tribe - And here are those diametrically opposed pieces of advice and the conundrum of the greener grass. Today was supposed to be one of my many exercises in Being Alone. I realized though, that like regular social planning, Being Alone requires some effort as well. If I hadn't woken up at 12:30 pm, for instance, I might have actually been able to make it to The Cloisters or the Hayden Planetarium at the Museum of Natural History. If I had plans that actually involved other people, I probably would have been a little more on top of my game. I did, however, have lunch by myself at a wonderful little crepe shop on Columbus Avenue, to which I feel like returning for dinner. And I can, because I'm by myself and there isn't anyone else around to care.
A little anecdote here. During my college years, one of my good friends, A, was also one of the most co-dependent people alive on this planet. A was one of those closet loners, like myself. On the surface he was kind of the guy to know, and a sort of social glue. But the truth is, all A needed was himself and one other person to tag along and validate his life observations. That was usually me. This relationship suited the middle child in me just fine. My resistance was often futile and superficial, and I was more than happy to let someone take charge and throw an element of surprise into my day. Post-college, I thought there might be something unhealthy about this friendship, but when A moved away and it changed, I longed for it again.
I have been this way most of my life, to a fault. I'm selectively selfish on my own, but that usually comes with becoming upset about something else. It's usually not an organic selfishness. I'm sort of like Julia Roberts in the Runaway Bride, and I don't like Julia Roberts or any of her movies (for the most part). She was sort of a chameleon who changed according to the man she was with (which is not exactly my problem, but you get the idea). That scene where she is trying to figure out how she likes her eggs really got to me. I still don't really know how I like my eggs, but I've been thinking about if for years. This might explain a lot.
But I digress. So, I'm supposed to build a tribe, a network of those beyond my family and immediate friends. Networking is soo overrated. Especially since I'm also supposed to be on a diet and not be eating out so much, whether alone or with others. But my tribe, my network, the social foundation that wil make or break my future existence! What about my exercise in learning to love myself and enjoying the world alone? Which is better, or healthier? Buckwheat crepes or an industrially-produced, under-500 calorie meal from Fresh Direct while I keep up with the Kardashians? And dude, what of my non-existent plus-one? Despite his non-existence, everyone is really worried about him. But I need that Fresh Direct, home alone, along with a tribe and network, to snag him. Yet, I'll never be happy unless I'm happy by myself first.
If all of the above seem as hypocritical and generally messed up to you as they do to me, I propose Tip #9B - Build an island. Then become one. And don't move.
10. Be of service - Right on, seriously. About the only thing I feel like doing lately is helping someone in need, a complete stranger who could care less about my portion-sizes and reproductive system, and who would just appreciate some company and a smile. This is why I am far more curious about those I don't know than those I do. I certainly need to give back more - it seems to be the only relief from the self-absorbedness that is being a 20-something.
I rush off now to balance my Alone day with dinner and a companion because hey, I didn't have a pastry with my latte, and at least running between green and greener lawns is good exercise.
A car glides to a stop across the street and I’m not sure if it’s my ride. The right blinker - blinks. Am I about to be harassed by a jolly old creep of a man in a livery car, or is that San I spot behind the wheel? I pretend to be on my cellphone to ignore imaginary driver trying to pick me up. Now I spot a hand waving in front of the wheel, and blinker flashes again. I run to the passenger side and pop myself in. I wonder if my doorman is questioning my whereabouts on this drizzly Monday night – its 10 pm, and does he know where his residents are?The watchful eyes of our dorm security never seemed to have left me, and I'm always slightly sheepish in front of my doormen when late hours are involved.
Did I imagine I got into a car with San or is it really a cab driver?Because before I know it we are careening down Central Park West and the girl is cutting off cabs left and right.There’s no traffic and the Upper East Side looks sad and empty.We’re on our way to the Waldorf-Astoria to meet our dear friend T before she begins a career in the foreign service and is shipped off to Nowhere Near Us. San will be driving back to New Jersey after this short stint as cabdriver, so I offer her a cookie and she offers up some new desi tunes.Our big gripes are the potholes, parking, and a pitiful attempt to muster up enough energy for a warm and sweet goodbye.
The whole scenario is not very becoming of us.We park in front of St. Bart’s church and I am confused – I thought St. Bart’s was a whole other kind of paradise.We trudge towards entrance in our non-Waldorf attire when it hits us –
Last we checked, we were 13.This is clearly no longer the case, at least in the way the case has presented itself to us.
We have no idea what we are doing in front of the Waldorf-Astoria at just past 10 pm (since San, aka, cabbie, utilized those driving skills to the max) on a random Monday night.The digital picture frame we bought for T is like a hot potato in our hands, and we want our homes and our beds.San has been making daily treks between 2 states and an island, and I have full-blown insomnia.How is that we’ve barely gotten through one day only to contemplate how we’re going to get through the next?When, why, and how did we fast forward so quickly, and does it have anything to do with the fact that San drives like a Pakistani cabdriver instead of a Pakistani business student?
But then a European tourist takes one last photo of all of us together in NYC. He’s kind and rather particular, and takes a few shots before getting it right (he thinks) – so that the “candles are in the frame.”
We crack up – no, we giggle.Last we checked, we were indeed 13.But maybe we can afford to ignore the years in between because there we were, three great friends still giggling together over nothing and everything - check.
The Universe has been sending me mixed signals, even when it's done by the numbers - literally.
In sharp contrast to the suggestion the that I'm not emitting the right so-called-Vibes towards the opposite sex and thus quickening the speed at which I shack up and reproduce, my recent Numerology report accurately diagnosed some of my gravest personality ailments.
Don't ask why I have a Numerology report. I told myself yesterday that cramming for my finance exam at the last minute wasn't going to help, so I decided to attempt another type of financial analysis on Numerology.com. Truth be told, I'm sort of kooky, earthy, and new-age like that. But mostly, I wondered if I was missing something about myself, and those awesome little Google ads that show up in your Gmail are like giving a mouse a cookie.
I was suspicious about the meaning of my Life Path and Expression Number (8 and 4, respectively) but my Soul Urge number (6) was like, whoa. Finally, someone (Thanks, Mr. Blair Gorman of Numerology.com) seemed to understand that it's not that I don't have good vibes to send - in fact, they are all fantastic and too many of them are out there! In all my earnestness towards life, I have no mystery or sex appeal and am unacceptably, undesirably, and horrifically all too - available: Your soul urge is to nurture and take care of others. You love people and believe the greatest expression of your inner divinity is through teaching and guidance. Many of you are very maternal or paternal at an early age and are often regulated, by default to the role of advisor or therapist in your social life. Unfortunately your willingness to take on other people's burdens threatens your romantic relationships. This is because you are often perceived as a friend or a helper rather than as an object of desire. The result is that many sixes end up with broken hearts simply because others simply could not recognize their empathy as being an expression of love and desire. Part of your challenge in life is to learn how to make yourself more sexually attractive to others. Often this means learning the brutal rules of the game of love, which in courtship often mean practicing a certain kinds of power plays and being mysterious. The mistake that you often make is letting yourself be too available to the person you are trying to attract. As the object of desire realizes that you are willing to be there for them no matter what, they take it for granted that you will settle for less. It is often a six who will spend a year comforting someone they are attracted to in the hopes the person will recognize their good heart, only to be dismayed when they are thanked for all their kind support and the person moves onto a romance with someone else. Your candidness and forthright manner is also a drawback romantically as others are turned off by your dogmatic approach. As you tend to discuss everything about yourself with a member of the opposite sex, there is little mysterious or sexy about you. Spilling your guts does not help you professionally either, as it encourages others to steal your ideals. Part of your inner struggle might be fighting your urge to connect so intimately with every single person you meet. One way to combat this is to make an effort to be a little more stand offish and play your cards close to your chest, especially when it comes to romance. As you are a very sensitive and compassionate person you tend to take things very personally. When others let you down you have a tendency to retreat from society and nurse your wounds. Often when a six decides to play the victim in a relationship he or she is met with very little sympathy or help. This is ironic as sixes are so eager to help others and comfort them when they are down and out. The cosmos presents you with this type of situation so that you are forced to heal yourself with the same type of focus and devotion that you use to heal others. If you feel yourself succumbing to a tendency to isolate yourself or find yourself succumbing to addiction or depression your best course of action is to forget about yourself entirely and go out and make an effort to help someone less fortunate than you. This teaches you to be helpful to people you are not attracted to as sixes have a way of only making themselves useful to individuals that they find attractive or desire. The very highest calling of your soul urge number is to renounce sex and relationships altogether and devote your life to a religious or spiritual practice.
If you want to know a second truth, this fits in nicely with my vision of helping those less fortunate than I in Africa or India in my 40s and eventually adopting the one poor child who just spoke to me like none other. While my life revolves around people and a the-more-the-merrier attitudes towards them, I've always secretly wondered if I might not reach my true potential if I did exactly that.
If you want to know a third truth, it's that I consider myself highly spiritually evolved (something else confirmed by Mr. Gorman) and thus miserably suited for living a conventional if comfortable life. Yeah, I'm so over it all that I can barely get through it. So mature that I can't dumb myself down to the level necessary to bear it. Too idealistic. Too romantic. Too trusting. Too everything. And now on top of everything else, too available.
I get it - I really do. But the point missed here is this - I'm only candid, forthright, and dogmatic when I've been given some sort of greenlight to be so, and when someone is responsive to this "dogmatic approach." So how can this make me too available? I want to think about it more, but it's a vicious cycle and makes my brain hurt, so I'll move on to a more interesting aspect of my Soul Urge.
Truth #4 - I'm certainly rather maternal and have really just always wanted to take care of people. That wasn't meant to be funny. In fact, it is why I tried to pursue medicine - twice. I've come to terms with the fact that there may be other ways I can follow that calling, if we want to call it that. And it's also true that the reason I find myself making it through at times is knowing that there are people far worse off than I, and rather than mull over myself, I should put my high evolution of spirit and mind towards helping them instead. I don't know if I can ever denounce all that I have, but I can certainly appreciate it to the max and at some point move on.
In sum, it appears that I'm too maternal, spiritual, earnest, and available for my own heart or reproductive system to handle. And so, for a little experiment of a while at least, I'll have to place some importance on being unavailable as well. I can be all too good at that, too, I have a feeling - let's see if it is possible to strike a balance. If not, Africa, here I come.
They did what? They killed off Kutner? Or more precisely, they made Kutner kill himself off of House? Wait, what's this I hear - Kal Penn made the show make Kutner commit suicide so that he can go work for Obama? What is going on, and why did I encounter this strange tragedy at 7:45 am while enthusiastically working out on my spanking new elliptical? My love-hate relationship with Kal just reached new anxiety levels.
So yes, you heard right. Kutner may have committed suicide on "House" - or he may have been murdered, or something else truly mysterious happened to him and House won't rest until he figures it out, not because he cares about people, but because he loves puzzles. In any case, no more Kumar/Kutner/Penn to charm me. I'm convinced this is a big fat conspiracy to deprive me of my favorite TV characters - let's not forget what happened to Gary Dourdan of CSI last season. I'm still sour about that one.
But clearly, Gary was having some issues. Kal, on the other hand, has decided to help Obama save the world, and I'm both irritated and jealous. I mean, seriously, who doesn't want to work for Obama? Wouldn't you quit your job and go work in his administration? Kal appears to be a smart guy from what I've read, and so in many ways, I applaud him for leaving a rather successful actor career (thus far) to become an associate director in the White House office of public liaison (read about it here), where he will be working with the Asian-American and arts communities.
While I'm not 100% sure what that means, I do know that I can name at least 10 fine Indian-Americans who could have filled that spot. It's not that I think Kal isn't qualified - in many ways, he is actually an ideal candidate for such a position, particularly since he is one of the few, if only, mainstream Indian-American actors. But it did make me wonder what sort of process led to the decision that he fill it. Also, I feel kind of bad for all of those artsy Asian-Americans out there for whom this would have been a plum position and opportunity.
Missing Kuttner won't be fun, but stalking Kal in the new administration like will be - intern, anyone?
Henry Alford is one lucky goat meat-eating dude who would definitely meet one of my few requirements . Goat meat parathas in Jackson Heights! Goat meat tacos at Cabrito! Jamaican curry! Goat ragu! Such delicacies even I have not had the good fortune of experiencing. I have, however, been eyeing the tacos at Cabrito for a few months now - I might have a restaurant review/goat meat love letter up soon!
What happens when you visit your parents for a mere four hours one fine Sunday evening? You get ambushed. Or rather, if you are my parents, they cloak you in their guidance-counselor fog and coax you into spilling the beans when you thought you had none. Add a dose of self-imposed Jewish guilt. What you end up with is the basis for a non-traditional, independent film on the second-generation immigrant experience.
One fine Sunday evening while visiting home, my dad indicates that he would like me to sit in the front seat on the way to dinner. A mere forty-five seconds into the drive, he pops the question: how do I feel about meeting people, and what am open to (or not), given that they are receiving "references" for me?
Don't ask how I failed to expect the unexpected in that particular moment. I was tempted to lash out and use my imaginary middle-child card. Instead, my inner zen erupted an unstoppable flow of lava into my veins and I answered every question calmly, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm and defeat, and perhaps a dose or two of cynicism.
The truth is, I realized I was 26 and have no more cards to pull, and that my dad was, in short, nice. All he asked is if I was open to the idea, and even worse, the truth is, I am. To me, meeting people is meeting people, as long as no one is forcibly dragging you to the altar. From here on, however, our conversation bordered on the comical and I wasn't quite sure what dimension of reality I had suddenly entered.
By the time the lava had calmed my inner nerves, I was able to muster a watery "ok" in response. Thinking he was getting away with this too easily, he soldiered on through some talking points about how "this" would work before I could tell him to beat it. "This" will involve no parental involvement, and "this" will only serve to put me in touch with a Potentially Suitable Boy (suitable for what, both parents failed to clarify, but I'll take full advantage of the ambiguity). Another watery but somewhat more flippant "ok" escaped from my mouth.
I actually began to enjoy myself with the onset of Talking Point 3 - my "preferences." Haha - what a notion! As if one can afford to have preferences in such a dire situation! As if I'm the Queen of Sheba and setting preferences is my job! I contemplated requesting a checklist of possible attributes/characteristics on which I could tick off (or better yet, rank!) what matters to me most. Only you are privileged enough to read what that is in A Suitable Boy and A Suitable Boy, Part Deux.
Some of the suggested categories: profession, geographic location, and region of India from which Potential Suitable Boy's parents hail. What happened to Ability to Understand Pinky & The Brain and The X-Files References? Or Knowledge of Early 90s Bollywood Music? Or - Does He Read Books? I nearly pulled out my cellphone and punched in a string of "hehes" and "LOLs" to my friends, but the poor guy was trying and I just had to dignify the effort. So I told him that I don't really care (which is the truth for these suggested categories). And let's be honest, this was not the time or the place to bring up the "must eat goat" requirement, which sadly trumps the "must let me pass on my maiden name to one child" requirement. If I had voiced these concerns, I'm not quite sure where we would have ended up that night - certainly not dinner, but perhaps a place to contemplate the sanity and singledom of middle daughter.
And so, I embarked into unknown territory by - being honest with my parents. I somewhat appreciated their levelheaded efforts and decided to even the exchange by telling them about 1) Family Friend Who Confessed His Feelings For Me And Who A Large Number Of People Think Is Right For Me But I Do Not (FFWCHFFMAWALNOPTIRFMBIDN) and 2) my online dating attempts. My mother giggled. My dad largely ignored me, although he did ask what was wrong with FFWCHFFMAWALNOPTIRFMBIDN. Of course, because he is one of the Large Number of People.
I have yet to write about some of my interesting online experiences, but perhaps it is time. I plan to have a side-by-side comparison with The Parent Set Up and The Online Connection, although I hesitate to write about people other than the string of cartoon characters that are my family and friends (sorry, guys). Do Potentially Suitable Boys deserve the same fate? Perhaps - we'll just have to wait and see.
On another note, it occurred to me later that on that fine Sunday evening, we were driving along the water on the north shore of Long Island - a drive my father made 10 years ago on my 16th birthday to the same restaurant for dinner. My, how time flies, and how often we travel the same paths differently...
"A Modernist Temple" of a home recently featured in The New York Times got me thinking about space and aesthetics again. This East Village apartment was constructed and designed to fuse both modern and Indian elements of design, and I considered whether or not a balance was truly achieved, or even possible, as well as what makes any home particularly Indian or modern. I believe that how we choose to define the space around us speaks volumes about our personal histories, and the idea of fusing heritages and identities is particularly close to - home.
This breathtaking home is all clean lines, open space, a bit bare, all light and air. It has all the modernist elements - functional and comfortable form/design, uncluttered, cool and yet not cold, vastness puncutated by the bright and bold. I sighed and longed for the day when I might be able to design such a space of my own. The more I thought about how that space would differ or be similar to this one, the less I saw in it that was warm, comfortable, and "Indian" enough for my tastes and my personal fusion.
The home I grew up in was toppling with one too many pieces of contemporary Indian art, statues of Ganesh, deep and rich contrasting colors, a preference for gold over silver and the bold/abstract over the subtle/petite, and texture. It is decidedly an "ethnic" home. It leans towards the ornate and is nostalgic for some version of a British and/or Victorian aesthetic. In India, I see similar themes. What I've taken from all of this is warmth in color and texture that can accomodate light and air without suffocating it.
This I cannot see in the Modernist Temple, although perhaps I would feel it were I actually able to pay this nice family a visit. For all the "purist" white brightened by splashes of "Indian hues like saffron, persimmon orange and peacock blue" this space is just a little too cool and restrained for my idea of a space that fuses both the modern and Indian. The functionality of furniture tucked behind walls is genius, but I'm a traditionalist when it comes to furniture and don't think I so mind the space it would occupy. In any case, the uncluttered feel of the apartment might have been balanced by a stronger decorative touch.
Two elements that I thought were beautiful, however - the polished cement floor (memories of running around barefoot on an awfully hot summer day on a blissfully cool floor at my grandma's in India) and the wall of ivy over a pool of water. So simple and zen, yet lush.
And so I continue to "work" on my humble shack of a studio 6 months after moving in. The little touches matter in any home, and this is my first draft. The exercise of developing and refining the space around me is, after all, in a sense also one of evolving and redefining identity as well.
Among other things, the little movie that could has taken over all things media and the blogosphere. I find a lot of these conversations to be immensely interesting, although I'm still puzzled by some of the reactions this movie has stirred. For the life of me, I really cannot understand why. It might be that I've seen one too many Bollywood movies already, but Slumdog Millionare was purely an entertainer for me, and it is with some hesitation that I feel people are reading too much into it.
Reactions to the movie are far more interesting than the movie itself. They reveal much about about the ways in which India has experienced change over the last decade, and consequently, continuous shifts in discourse about those changes. Much of that discourse sounds familiar and is unsurprising, while much of it begs the question as to why a film like this is the cause for so much debate when the problematic cinema that India produces, packaged prettily with its own exxagerations and stereotypes about Western and modern life, rarely result in any.
Speaking of Indians in the mainstream here and here, my cousin called me at 11 pm to share this story. It was certainly worth putting down my hair dryer and pausing Law & Order: SVU for.
So cousin gets called for jury duty. A questionnaire asks if he knows anyone in the legal or medical professions, and he answers yes to both.
During the selection interview, he is asked about the people he knows in the legal profession. He refers to those 2 people.
Then he is asked about the people he knows in the medical profession. His answer was something along the lines of, "Well, I'm Indian...it would be impossible to name all the doctors I know." Chuckles of acknowledgment from the courtroom. This made my amazement at having SVU interrupted by a commercial for RCN starring the second-runner up of last season's Indian Idol even funnier.
My younger sister is the one who should have a blog. She is funny, and she works in PR. She is the perfect candidate for blogger-to-be, but instead, one of her great accomplishments has been the creation of a Facebook group called "My Cousin Is a FOB."
While I am, in fact, her sibling and not a cousin, I take responsibility for her aversion to FOB behavior. In case you don't know, FOB stands for Fresh Off the Boat, and describes immigrants (largely Asian) who arrived in this fine country wearing tight Levi's and matching denim jackets. While some FOB criteria have changed, negative stereotypes remain. If you are not an actual FOB like me but can be described as being "fobby," you're in trouble. My sister was inspired by mine and my cousin's (yes, we largely talking about 1 here) raging fobbiness. She made us officers of this Facebook group, and we wear our titles proudly.
One of the many fob criticisms I have received is that my level of knowledge about Indian/Hindi music is far beyond acceptable or normal. It's true that I have an amazing music inventory in this little head of mine, and I have often pondered why. The answer lies in car trips.
Yes, one too many family car trips. If it hadn't been for the Family Car Trip growing up, I may never have been exposed to long hours of Pankaj Udhas, Kishore Kumar and Lata Mangeshkar in the '80s and general Bollywood obnoxiousness in the 1990s while traveling I-95. I may never have actually liked any of that stuff either. But my musical memory is rooted in these tunes, and they formed the early soundtracks of my life.
An innate attachment to making sense of life through poetry and lyrics in a language other than English, classical dance lessons, and accessibility further set me on this treacherous path. By age 9, the History of Dance & Nostalgic Jams was in the works. At age 13, I bought discount CDs at the Indian grocery store and knew the name of every up and coming DJ. In college, I rapidly downloaded both the old and new to create a vast Indian music library.
Don't be alarmed - I listened to Boyz II Men, Nirvana, Greenday, and Mariah Carey just like everyone else back in the day, did my fair share of the club set, and love some alternative music. But I was never quite able to latch onto a genre or artist that particularly spoke to me even later in life. I generally have liked the same qualities in all music that I appreciate in Indian music - a solid melody or beats, something I can dance to, meaningful lyrics. An entirely different soundtrack developed during the teen years, during which I also frantically made mix tapes or bought my special "friend" a Savage Garden single, and lately, I'm dating John Legend. But none come close to my relationship with Indian music (although John Legend is trying really, really hard). Even the entrance of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack just post-Pankaj Udhas couldn't salvage the situation.
Aside from my general tendency to boogie whether the music be Punjabi or Portuguese, I argue that this has much to do with language. For all practical purposes, English is certainly my first, but there is a certain unease with this. My earliest memories are again set to a chorus of Hindi, and as a child I experienced moments of transition in which I temporarily lost my grasp on one or the other, or both. On occasion, in a particularly unguarded or intimate moment, I have the urge to speak it with someone I ordinarily wouldn't. Somehow, Indian music (traditional, fusion, folk, dance, pop, you name it) latches onto and invigorates a neuro-psych pathway - one with diminishing influence and relevance in my life - that only it can keep alive. Compelling stuff if you ask me. Perhaps no excuse to listen to a song called "Desi Girl," but nonetheless, I think others might share a similar sentiment.
And so the result of the siege of the Car Trip is that if anyone ever has any song requests or needs song info, you now know who to go to. I'd be more than happy to offer my FOB services.
I recently ordered the above poster to better the feng shui and general life vibes of my apartment. For those who don't know, I moved into this place in a flurry of activity during early September. It was such an alternately slow and yet hasty move that there are a number of things I never really quite took care of. Like buying a paper towel hanger-upper or a kettle. After many late nights assembling cheap furniture, I was a bit pooped by the whole process, and other than cleaning, did little else to make myself feel at home. Until now.
Since some measure of drama had also taken a toll on my good energy & I discovered Ikea (in DC of all palces), the Martha Stewart in me decided to take matters into her own hands and - decorate. Wall decorations became my daily mission, and cushion covers the ultimate prize. I promised not to give my friends advice or wag my finger at them if they just told me one more time - black or brown? My traditionally slow decision-making reached new heights as I undertook this task with a zeal unmatched in other areas of my life. My efforts have led to a somewhat patchwork result, but I feel more at home, and that's what counts.
The Picasso painting pictured above is titled "The Lesson" and is one I've never seen before. I gazed at it longingly day after day before finally purchasing. It brightens up my space, and it puts a smile on my face. It is a blissfully serene painting with a balance of warmth and coolness that puts me in my comfort zone - an area that is always a bit of a contradiction or a balance, depending on how you view it.
I grew up in a house that my parents committed to turning into some modern South Asian (and then some) art/artifact museum, and while my sisters and I somewhat rebelled against it, in my growing and infinite wisdom I now realize how much that definition of space has informed my taste and sense of place. When I look around my apartment, I see their influences everywhere, and feel a mixture of surprise and comfort that is both remarkable and touching.
And I'm not proud of how. I have nothing against killing bugs, however. Bugs gross me out, as do mice and geckos that slide along the walls in India. ::Shudder:: No, I'm repulsed at my reaction to the very first roach I have spotted in my NYC studio. Ok, second. The first one was a baby of a thing that might not even have been a roach. I don't know WHAT I saw last night was. It was one true mofo of a roach, and I'm not ashamed to say that. It was scurrying along my hardwood floors as if it was ready to take over the place, and all I could think to do was scream bloody murder.
I quite literally screamed such bloody murder that I had to calm myself down in case the neighbors or doorman heard me and rushed to my defense only to find the girl who cried wolf. I danced around. I ran to the bathroom. I ran out. Then I found my can of Raid and went for it. I literally had to chase and douse that thing in Raid before it finally sputtered somewhere between my futon and the silk cushion covers I had accidentally left on the floor.
While it sputtered, I ran to the closet and searched for the right pair of shoes to kill it with. Yeah. Instead of finding the first heavy thing that would do, I decided nothing would do. My daily boots and shoes wouldn't do for fear of wearing the murder weapon all day long and thinking about the roach guck smeared all over to the bottom. Sadly, I settled on my unused sneakers and then went for it. A few whams and bams later, it was all over, but I was still whimpering and yelping to myself like a lunatic.
Then I proceeded to tell everyone I could online that I had just killed a roach and needed a male roommate to kill future roaches for me. I was "ew" all over the place for about half an hour before I finally found it in my heart to give the poor thing a proper burial in my illegal toilet (yeah, apparently it is not "water-saving" and tankless and my super is appalled that I'm the only one in the building who has one - like it's my fault or something).
Whew. One thing I'm not looking forward to having to do again. I don't know how I slept at night. I may have grown up despite the whimpering and screaming.
Whether in India or elsewhere, you have every right to be a part of this consortium. By the standards of some, I most certainly am, and I'm rather proud of it.
I love the humorous response the Consortium (join it on Facebook) has developed to remind members of the Sri Ram Sena of this right:
Clarification from a friend, whose comment on Indians in the media I referenced in Calling Mr. India:
"So I read your blog post and realized that you were referring to me in the "Indians have entered the mainstream" comment as opposed to the "pimp out your qualifications" comment, which I was wondering about.
Anyway, so I felt compelled to clarify/qualify that statement. It was more of a Indians entering mainstream media (although it goes beyond that in this context).
You have Kal Penn on House, Parmindra Nagre on ER (both prime shows), and Sanjay Gupta on CNN and as Surgeon General - although I guess you could argue that furthers the Indians are doctors stereotype hah. You also have Kelly Kapoor on the Office and that secretary guy on 30 Rock. Are we far away from the day, where in addition to the token black, hispanic, and Asian newscaster, we'll also have the obligatory Indian person on each news broadcast? Who knows, may happen 5 years from now.
You have Obama specifically refer to Indians/Hindus in his inaugral address. You have an Indian-American as a Governor of a state, who's being realistically talked about as a presidential candidate.
You have Vikram Pandit as CEO of Citigroup - an iconic American institution. You have Neil Kashkari as the head of the biggest fund in the world aka the TARP program.
And then of course the prominence of the music influences, the cuisine, etc. - the cultural aspects.
All things we couldn't have imagined 10-15 years ago.
I didn't mean Indians have entered the mainstream, as in that I felt left out of the mainstream while growing up here. I think that's the greatest thing about our country; there's very few countries in the world where you don't constantly feel like an "outsider". So yes, we've never been out of the "mainstream" per se, but there's just generally a greater sense of awareness of India, Indians, and Indian culture.
A little while ago, I wrote briefly about a new site South Asian matchmaking site called NY Didi - read here. Some of my criticisms may have been harsh, and so I wanted to acknowledge the creator's obvious thought and effort in building this service - only meant to say that it may not be for someone like me and many of those I know. However, being the glass-full kinda person that I am, and being I'm drawn to things I don't wish to be drawn to, I checked out the site and completed a personality test. Here are the results:
To begin your journey towards marriage, it's important to see where to start. And as we always say, know thyself. So here goes: You are romantic and idealistic. Your kindness and loyalty is valued by those that are lucky enough to know you. You are spontaneous and fun loving. Thinking for yourself and making your own decisions is very important to you. The idea that there is one person out there for everyone inspires you to do your best to find that person.
Of course, nobody is an island, and your community defines so much of who you are. You think it’s important that the leaders of our country have a strong moral foundation. When you spend time around those that are hardworking and loyal, you feel right at home. You understand that marriage is about families joining together to keep traditions alive.
Everyone brings certain hopes and dreams with them to the future, so it’s important to identify what they are so that you can achieve them. You are ready to start meeting people to find the right one to share your life with. You understand that a true loving friendship is the basis of a happy marriage. It seems like you are ready to make a mature commitment to a happy marriage. Marriage is a process of growing together and you are willing to put forth the effort to make it work. You know that happiness in life means having companionship and friendship. Nothing is more infectious than happiness, and you will bring a great zest for life to your marriage. You are ready to create a marriage that reflects who you truly are, and I can tell you now that it will be well worth it when you and your partner open up to each other and form a deep bond.
Now it’s time to find a partner who can help you achieve your life vision. There is nothing more important than who you choose to spend the rest of your life with. So let’s make sure that we think it through. You already know the most important thing for a successful marriage; you are a good listener and you know how to be a friend. It is great that you are aware that structure and discipline are essential to being a good parent. But don’t forget, kids need lots of love too. You are a little messy sometimes. Who can blame you when there are so many more interesting things to do? But remember, when you begin a family you will have to figure out how to juggle even more obligations. You will bring great wisdom to your marriage because you already understand that each twist and turn in life gives you an opportunity to grow.
It kind of saddens me that I'm romantic and an idealist because I try oh-so hard not be. I am also certainly "a little messy" sometimes, but I'm not quite sure in what context this profile is referring to - it could potentially be many. I also find it a little disturbing that I am so defined by my community, because at the heart of it, I really don't think I am. Then again, everyone likes to think they are an island so I should probably just get over myself.
Now, I actually contemplated joining NYDidi. Hey, I'm already on Match.com, so what's the difference? Everyone I met on Match was also a young Indian professional from NY/NJ, and this site won't be doing much but narrowing the field a little bit more. However, I'm on a break from Match for various reasons (which I never quite seem to get to on this thing), and decided that NYDidi was just too much to handle right now.
It could be interesting for those who try it, and I'd love to hear more about NYDidi's progress - you are more than welcome to keep us posted!
Are you there, Mr. India? It's me, Suman. I miss your floppy hat and jacket. And I prefer seeing you in colored light. It's also a treat to watch you boogie with Sridvevi. So can you please not touch Al Roker's feet on national television at the ungodly hour of 8 am? It is far too much for me to handle.
I know you've finally hit it big with "Slumdog Millionaire." I know Bollywood has not been good to you the last decade or so, and you finally have something to gloat about next to the proclaimed kings and princes and knights and ogres of Bollywood.
But see, you have a special place in my heart. You and all your kind belong in a certain category of celebrity and entertainment, and you cannot be taken out of context or evolve. It's practically blashphemous. Don't get me wrong. I do want you all to develop as artists and join the ranks of other international stars, but I don't want you to forget where you came from. Once in a while, it's semi-cool that people seem to know who you are. It's great that Al thinks you are like the Tom Hanks or Tom Cruise of India, but he doesn't actually know about Mr. India. I do. Every desi diasporic community does, too. We won't forget, and we intend to remind others.
A certain former beauty queen who is often referred to as The Most Beautiful Woman In The World has also been trying desperately to move between contexts and worlds. While I don't hold her in as high esteem as I hold you, her jet-setting is also somewhat disturbing to me. Who does she think she is - The Most Beautiful Woman In The World? This princess is supposed to wear awful outfits and prance around well enough to prove that models and beauty queens can act and dance, and that is about all I care to see from her. She can go evolve somewhere else - just not next to my banjo-strummin' Steve Martin in The Pink Panther 2. What will she do if he tries to teach her how to play it and ask her to sing along? Will she offer him her most frequent playback singer???
Someone commented that "we've entered the mainstream," and I don't really know what that means to me. I personally have never felt "not" a part of the mainstream, and what Bollywood star, physician, spirtual guru, businessmen, or politician did or didn't enter it really held little relevance for me. I went through a phase where it was somewhat interesting and cool, but now I'm over it. I'm bustling Great Neck, not Greater Kailash, and I don't know what exactly I should be cheering on or rooting for.
So, your newfound celebrity is sort of crampin' my second-generation style. I hear there is a Mr. India 2 on its way and I couldn't be happier. I just want Anil Kapoor to be Mr. India again.
It was one nail-biting ride. I was really hoping Jalal would be smart enough to know Prem Kumar was fooling him with the wrong answer, and he exceeded my every Bollywood expectation. I was hoping Lalita wouldn't leave the cell phone in the car even after Salim specifically told her to hang onto it - she lived up to the feminine Bollywood ideal well. And of course, I was keeping my fingers crossed that Salim would repent his evil ways and kill himself in a bathtub overflowing with rupees. No let-downs there either. So all in all, this was Bollywood in true form, Hollywood style, with a spark of genuine earnestness. A well-executed entertainer with what I think was a brilliant story/theme, but with little new to offer and a song and dance number at the end. For those of us unfamiliar with Slumdog's images and themes in either film or everyday life, it was understandably quite a different story, and a much better one.
There are quite a few Desi/Indo nerds out there who either found parts of this movie to be offensive/insensitive/problematic or generally didn't appreciate the "poverty porn" that international audiences so seem to love. I commented on an Uberdesi review along those lines, mainly because 1) I don't know what else people expected from this film given that it was not an Indian production 2) any treatment of this material would have resulted in some degree of insensitivity, probably more so if it were an Indian production 3) why don't Indo nerds have similiar expectations for sensitive and realistic film-making when it comes to the general crap Bollywood is so good at producing? 4) Why do we care so much about India being shown in a poor light when even in a better light, there is a lot to show despite all the India-is-great craziness being thrown around willy-nilly of late? Frankly, I'd rather see some of this than the disgusting opulence displayed by apparently "real" Indians in Bollywood films. And why are Westerners the ones making films like this anyway?
It might be nice to see a film that better shows the "real" or a changing India, or a film that international and disporic audiences can appreciate. Yet we all know that these movies don't sell in either India or abroad. What really sells is the latest Punjabi, wedding-themed foot-stomper that Bollywood copies for us from original music produced in Southeast Asia or the Middle East. I figure that as long as Bollywood is doing this and alternative cinema in India gets continuously ignored, there is no hope but for the likes of Danny Boyle to make movies like Slumdog Millionaire for those who need some happy medium, particularly outside of India. It has clearly come out the winner across several categories in American awards shows thus far, largely due to the novelty of the film in the midst of some pretty bland competitiors (although they are probably technically/artistically superior).
Someone suggested that Amal (2007) should have been last year's Slumdog, but unfortunately, that didn't happen. A few weeks ago, I also saw a little gem of a film, Everybody Says I'm Fine! (2001), that was truer to the various aspects of modern India and Indian life. From what I know, that film went virtually nowhere, but it could have had a future had someone paid more attention to it, and if India stopped nominating films like Paheli or Taare Zameen Pe for the Oscars. I mean, really...?
I have lots more venom to spew at the typical Bollywood fare, Indian film in general, and mostly the South Asian film-goer, but I might have to can it for now lest some of my more devoted friends start hating on me in turn.
Some of my earlier posts have expressed slight disdain for over-hyped young South Asians in the media. You would think I'm supposed to have some sort of second-generation pride over their success, but I find most of them rather annoying and disengaged from the "community" they receive credit for representing (or not - some deny having much to do with it in the first place when clearly their popularity is based on some novelty in being South Asian).
One such star who I previously scorned but am about 33% in love with right now is Kal Penn. While I'm no huge fan of the Harold & Kumar movies, I always thought John Cho was amazing and wish he appeared more often in Ugly Betty. I don't know about you, but I've always thought that the quirky and strangely loveable Asian guy is far more inviting than the quirky but annoying Indian guy.
In "The Namesake," Penn didn't have much to do other than be a little confused, and even then, his face doesn't flex much in the way of expression. He's almost too much of an average guy. In fact, every time I look at his face, I feel like I should go back home, accompany my parents to a dinner party, find him spooning butter chicken into his plate at the buffet, and then awkwardly bump into him at the bar.
Enter Dr. Kutner on ABC's "House." If I were ever to date or marry an Indian doctor as per the wish of many, it would have to be a fake one and be Kal Penn-as-Dr. Lawrence Kutner. I find his portrayal oddly intelligent, and I have a 6th sense telling me that this character might be closer to Penn's own personality. Something about having less to express suits Penn, and given that Kutner is a bit mysterious and almost blank at times, the role has done him some good. Even when Kutner is acting up, Penn doesn't get annoying and there isn't butter chicken and a drink flying all over the place.
Clearly, I prefer more Kutner and less Kumar, although with a name like Lawrence Kutner, it's unclear whether the character is supposed to be South Asian or not. All the more intriguing, and all the more reason to watch his story unfold.
As you know, I have been desperately trying to avoid turning this space into one dedicated to the I-am-single-hear-my-woes song. I have no such song and don't care to compose one. I have, however, recently experienced a fine-tuning of some needs/desires that may affect my future selection of a companion. In other words, I think I actually have some requirements/excuses/odd things I have come up with that seem superficially easy to fulfill but may actually be very hard to, thus buying me a few more years before people really start to worry about me and my reproductive system.
So here we go. Drum roll. The 2 things I absolutely require of a man (I think), are:
1) Must eat mutton (aka, goat meat). Must do so in order to relish and digest goat curry. Goat curry is important in my gastronomic sphere. I really, really like it. I will be sorely disappointed if a strapping young man arrives at Camp Great Neck, Edison, or Howard Beach and is unable to partake in the...goat-curry eating.
2) Must understand my desire to pass on my maiden name to at least one offspring since there are no males in the family to do so. Keeping my maiden name won't really preserve squat unless I can pass it on. I have several arguments for this one, which will appear in another post. Needless to say, I do not think it is unreasonable and will seriously wonder about any person who has a major problem with it, although I reserve the right to change my own mind. Eating goat curry will not make up for a lack of understanding on this one.
Ok, so that's it for now. Not so bad, huh? I am seriously the least picky person alive but I decided that these are some things that matter to me. Feel free to criticize as you wish.
A few weeks ago, some butterflies found their way into my stomach. I wasn't sure how I would get through a month of major deadlines at work and upcoming exams/papers. While I tend not to freak out about such things and have achieved a generally zen-like approach to all things Life, I needed to breathe. Yesterday, I finally did. And thankfully, I exhaled to the beauty of "Air & Simple Gifts," the quartet arrangement performed at the inaugural ceremony.
More than the piece itself, the title of this arrangement spoke to me in a thousand unexpected ways. For the last few weeks, there had been no particular thought, in no particular tone and with no particular theme, to express. Like so much of my life, it was a work in transit - from one place to another, from one task to another, from one person to another.
It has been air and simple gifts which I realized gets me through so much. To pause and to breathe, to reflect and appreciate the smallest of things, even to daydream and be bored, has always been my way of coping - otherwise, I tend to lose track of myself and after all, I am sort of my own best friend.
I can't get into the million and one things that made this month closer to enjoyable than just bearable, but they were simple and small; some sweet, some scandalous, some mundane and predictable. So before I get angry and demand something more from the world, let the record show that it's been good and I know it. Here's to the crisp, cold air in New York and the gift of friends who are only a short plane ride away.
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Sri Ram Sena of this right:
