06 Dec Change the Conjunction from Or to And. Genius!
“Bayta [child], how is this itchy if you haven’t even tried it on?” Umme [Mom] patiently asked as I, much like a miniature-Pakistani, George Washington- resolute and determined- stood at the crossing of the Delaware, which was a local dress shop Umme ventured into in Karachi, Pakistan.
Umme says I was an easy child to raise, probably because she literally had a village of elders watching, guiding, and nurturing me for most of my life. I said my salaams [greetings], respected my elders, was diligent with my education, prayed my namaz, and read the Quran. There was one condition that I was obstinate about- my clothes.
“I can tell Ummmmmeee,” I’d proclaim. No, I hadn’t tried on the outfit; not even touched it. The brightly-colored shalwar kameez, saris, tung pajama and kurtas, beckoned with their sequined and glittered souls, imploring the passer by to walk into the shop and, “Try me on. You’ll giggle and glitter with joy when you wear me,” the clothes promised.
Their Siren calls lured all in except for me, a mere five year old child who knew the truth: the sequins, silk exterior and rough interior, tight fit, and dyed fabrics wouldn’t melt onto my caramel colored frame; wouldn’t mold onto me like a second-skin. The clothes would attack me therefore I stood, holding firm to my intuition knowing that if I placed them on my body, I would be peeling them off as soon as they touched my skin.
“But we’re having a party Samita. Don’t you want to dress up?” Umme asked.
“Nayheh, shukria Umme.” [No, thank you Mom.]
“holding firm to my intuition knowing that if I placed them on my body, I would be peeling them off as soon as they touched my skin.”
Somewhere along life’s path, the George Washington in me receded and I just wanted to be “normal”, so much like a chameleon I’d morph and blend into my surroundings. When I was in my Desi environment: there were the clothes, the cultural expectations, the accent I can seamlessly use, my native tongue (which is my first love), and my family. Then there is my American identity: there are the clothes, the cultural expectations, the accent I can seamlessly use, and my second language (which is my last love), and my friends- my family of choice.
From my earliest recollection in America, I have been balancing myself between two distinct worlds. From the beginning there were choices: Do you identify yourself as Indian or Pakistani? Are you a British or American citizen? Do you consider yourself a Muslim or Jew? Do you cook ethnic food or “regular” food? Do you prefer jeans or shalwar kameez?
Recently, one of my dearest friends said, “Change the conjunction from or to and.” Genius! I am Indian and Pakistani; I am a British and American citizen; I was raised Muslim, married into a Jewish family, and identify myself as a spiritual being; I cook chicken tikka masala, apple pie, and latkes (all from scratch – the Dadis, Grannies, and Bubbies are rejoicing amongst the stars). I am all of these things and more. It was one word, a conjunction, which prevented me from exploring my possibilities and combining my two worlds together – a world that is unique to my experiences. I’m no longer balancing on a daily, high wire act. It took almost 44 years but I’ve arrived: fully present, fully aware, fully me. And damn- it feels great!
My identity was dependent on who surrounded me and what was their expectation of me; always looking outside of myself for answers that I never found. The questions didn’t stop; they kept assaulting me until I went back to my intuition- my sacred space. Silence and then, “You are all those things and more.” It was that simple.
I’ve worn shalwar kameez with Costco “Uggs” because my feet get cold easily. My Stetson hat and country boots sit in the same closet as a few select saris that Umme gifted for my dowry. They are soft, with sparse embellishments, and cascade over my body as I’m baptized in the fabric of my choosing. Part of Umme’s zhavar [jewelry] is alongside my jean jacket and wanna-be Chucks. I only wear clothes that feel like a second drizzle of caramel on my skin. Comfort is the key. On most days, I’m happy in my yoga clothes, without makeup, hair up in a ponytail or in a baseball cap.
“On most days, I’m happy in my yoga clothes, without makeup, hair up in a ponytail or in a baseball cap.”
I can two-step to Garth, swing to “In the Mood”, salsa to Santana, bust out some fierce moves on the dance floor to N.W.A., sway to jazz in an intimate club off the beaten path in New Orleans, and flow into a classical, Indian dance to any Bollywood song. No more sacrificing my authentic power to make others feel comfortable. If my choices make you feel uneasy or my existence makes you feel uncomfortable, you have an opportunity to evolve and grow. The game of hiding from ourselves diminishes the eternal flame that we are born with. I’m done playing hide-and-seek with myself.
Don’t allow the soul to sit in a time-out. Being forced into a box is unfulfilling, but squeezing yourself into a box is death (it’s called a coffin). On this journey, I promise to do the same: looking into my own insecurities, keeping myself vulnerable, and delving into the only person I have any control over- me.
I plan on sharing my experiences, observances, and heart with you. My life is unique but so is yours. If my journey provides you an opportunity to be more yourself: authentically, brilliantly, and sparkling original YOU, then we have accomplished the greatest gift the Universe can bestow- souls providing a safe haven to be their true selves.
Maria Galvez
Posted at 10:17h, 10 DecemberGenius is right!! Why should anyone have to choose!?? This is why we’re individuals; like snowflakes, all beautiful and unique!!!