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Growing Up, Humanity, Immigrant / 08.03.2018

A large black and white poster of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz (almost) kissing hangs in our office above the computer desk where I do most of my writing and book-keeping for our family and business. The poster harkens back to an advertising campaign that Apple launched in the late 90’s to “Think different”. Besides Ball and Arnaz, Apple had the likes of Amelia Earhart, Jim Henson with Kermit the Frog, Cesar Chavez, Ghandi, as well as others, all visionaries in their field. I Love Lucy premiered in our home in the early 80’s, three decades after premiering on television in...

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Growing Up, Self Love, Women / 01.03.2018

Breasts. The word alone catches your eye (yes, pun intended). The love, hate, resentment, and finally finding peace for my breasts has been a tumultuous relationship. Daadi, Napo, Umme, Chotee, and Bhari huddled around me in the kitchen of our home in Chicago. Straight away, with bowed heads as if in mourning, someone handed me a stark white item, with what looked like straps on a harness. “It’s time…you’re showing yourself…we all wear one…modesty…decency,” all the voices intermixed, none above a whisper, using what my elementary teachers referred to at school as our “library voice”. Before I could ask any questions, I was...

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Education, Growing Up, Immigrant, Women / 22.02.2018

In second grade I loved drawing, especially dinosaurs; reading and writing were also a favorite pastime. That is the last recollection I have of what I enjoyed or loved because I liked it and not because I was trying to please someone, wanting them to love me, like me, or accept me. In elementary school, the stacks of fresh-off-the-printer paper sat in a wire basket in the corner of Mrs. Sharp’s classroom. It was understood that after classwork was completed, the students had access to the library, the special paper, pencils, and crayons to occupy their imaginations while peers finished the...

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Domestic Violence, Growing Up, Women / 15.02.2018

Damon and I give our children what I call “sandwich hugs”, holding them in-between our bodies while our arms encircle them resting upon one another’s shoulders or elbows locked in embrace. At one time, when our kids were smaller we could squeeze them warmly and tightly, their bodies suspended in mid-air, legs dangling off the ground, as the giggles cascaded off the walls. Being sandwiched between parents – as we do – is warm and comforting. The sandwich my parents created was far from inviting or nurturing.   "The darkness concealed the stress of being an immigrant, a foreigner who barely was...

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Growing Up, Humanity, Immigrant / 01.02.2018

The trauma of poverty is real and resonates long after there is money in the account, food in the fridge, clothes on your back, shelter over your head, cars in the garage, and decades have passed. The clothes in the dryer were smeared in one or more places by the cherry red ChapStick which I forgot in my jean pocket. The heap of clothes, which smelled like laundry detergent, cherry ChapStick, and curry (the natural smell of our home) were immediately dropped to the floor as opposed to the awaiting laundry basket. Much like the clothes, I collapsed on our cold,...

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Growing Up, Immigrant, Women / 25.01.2018

Black people are exquisitely beautiful – skin ranging in shades of dulce de leche to ebony, hair consistency of coarse curls to naturally soft ringlets, attitudes from salty to sultry, and body types from athletic to curves for days. Is it still a stereotype if it’s done in admiration? Maybe so, but it was the African-American community in the hamlet of Bellwood, Illinois which gave my immigrant family a place to call home, a safe space to open a family business, friendships, and refuge, so it’s no wonder I gravitate towards the black community.   "Is it still a stereotype if it’s...

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Belief, Humanity, Love, Women / 16.01.2018

On any given Sunday, a sea of hats, in all colors of the rainbow, is visible before you set foot on the grounds of the First African Methodist Episcopal Church (FAME) in South Central Los Angeles. Women, men, and children in their finest fill the entryway with vibrant colors, matching the rich laughter and greetings, as we are welcomed by Reverend Cecil Murray. My mother-in-law has always been very involved in her temple: from a member when Damon and his sister, Dawn, were younger to one of the first female presidents of Temple Isaiah. Mom has exemplified what it means to...

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Family, Growing Up, Women / 09.01.2018

When Lucky Chucha (in Urdu Chucha refers to my father’s younger brother) decided to marry an “Umrican” it wasn’t the first time a male had married outside of race and religion in our family’s history nor would it be the last. Nancy was a rebel from the start: “Don’t call me Nancy Aunty…it sounds so old!”; “Start wearing seatbelts…you want to live past 13, don’t you?”; “What do you mean you don’t know what Disney is? Let’s go see Cinderella at the Cineplex...

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Joy, Love, Mindfulness, Women / 03.01.2018

Getting lost as a child is terrifying. Being lost as an adult is paralyzing. After one of the happiest moments of my life – at our boys’ B’nai Mitzvah – I looked at my reflection having no idea who the person was staring back at me. She smiled but it wasn’t genuine. She laughed but it was forced. She was going through the motions of living without feeling. Who was she and where did I go?   "I looked at my reflection having no idea who the person was staring back at me."   We wait our entire childhood to grow up, gain responsibilities,...

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