FINDING FAMILY

An exploration of family, facilitated by The Rights Collective & The Young Creative Indian Space, made special by all of our contributors. Thank you for making this space so raw and magical.  

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Familial Ties

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A celebratory piece I created for Pride 2021 - many times our family is who we choose and those that accept us fully for who we are.

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love

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Linkage There is so much That we owe our families Our brown families Who are now in a land that does not Want them Who worked so hard to get here To be respected Only to be in a land that does not Want them They have contributed their souls But the people who have unrightfully claimed this land as theirs will deny it We owe so much to our families For all they have given And all they have shared It is a debt no one can pay But we try in vain Us children of these families Since this stolen land will not take care of them We will It will never be enough

Thatha’s House The streets in Tenkasi are thin Like my great great grandmother We have the driver park and then we walk My great uncle drives his scooter out to meet us So my grandparents don’t have to walk the entire way to the home To the self-built home In the self-made slum The streets in Tenkasi are self-made streets Streets that never expected cars Open gutters Remind you where you are In this self-made slum turned city Go into the house Limeade and idli will be waiting Freshly prepared by the hands of my great aunt Who has never aged In this self-built home In the self-made slum It is not a life of envy The one-bedroom self-made home Now has three bedrooms and two bathrooms But the core family has never moved From the one bedroom of this self-made home A big life Though the streets in Tenkasi are thin

It’s not a diary, it’s a journal Mothers and daughters Mothers and Daughters’ diaries To read a daughter’s diary Is a mortal sin The betrayal!
But I can see How a mother would want to know all the Juicy secrets Of course In second grade they made you smile By tenth grade You can only cringe I write this to myself Shall I ever become a mother Do not read your daughters’ diaries

Instagram mom My mother knows the instagram handles Of the boys who broke my heart She texts me, laughing “What is soccerprince51 doing in your comments” She asks Curious of the connection between current loves and past I’ve always had the odd problem of telling my mother Too much In fourth grade my friends stopped telling me secrets As my mother would eventually find out I have never understood Secretive families What’s the point? Adoption, prison, re-marriage Secret lives Let them pour out Blood is thicker than water Afterall Even if you don’t share it My friends didn’t tell me their fourth grade secrets But My mother knows the instagram handles of the boys that broke my heart . . . It was worth it

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தமிழ்மகளிர் தின வாழ்த்துக்கள் meaning "Happy Tamil Women’s Day" ♥️ Something that I did shoot over the pandemic but actually collaborated on it with my Amma, so of course had to share the most important/ favourite piece, வலிமை & விரிதிறன் meaning "Strength & Resilience" 💫 Referring to my mum's strength and resilience of her journey from Jaffna to London with some really precious and sentimental objects  of her legacy, with some glimpses in her life in Jaffna 👑

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Gusaa

The first time my mother hit me, she told me I deserved it. Shame burned bright on my swollen cheek, as I fiddled with stolen sweets in my small pocket.

When she was my age, she stopped eating in silent objection. She no longer wanted to wear shame like a swollen cheek, so she wore her collarbones instead. In place of sweets, she stole happiness from her stomach.

She often recalls a story, when she was thirteen, and the family gathered in their living room to watch the show in which she had a starring role.

Thirty pairs of grown up eyes feasting on her childhood. My mothers shame food for the rage of their loveless lives.

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The last time my mother hit me, she told me I was a Whore. Said I’d lost the most valuable thing I could offer as a woman. Stolen-              like a handful of sweets in a small pocket.

I found ways to forgive her, which was healing enough for us both. Forgave her for forgetting that her baby was under her slams of rage. Fury she wasn’t allowed to feel as a girl.

Sometimes, as I lay in bed with swollen eyes, she would bring me dinner. Which she hoped would be apology enough.

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brockwell park

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The Idea of Family

Focused on societal values and high expectations, there were many flaws in the way my elders raised me. I vowed to be better. More understanding, less demanding. More affectionate, less close-minded. More...Less...the list went on. "I'll never do that when I'm an adult." Or so I thought. My missteps may not be the same but I still make plenty. I try. I fail. I evolve. I keep trying or I try something new. Every person I interact with shapes me, but none more than my "families". They are there. Flaws and all. What they have given I choose not to look at as a hinderance, but a stepping stone helping me cross the river of life. Some of the stones are smooth and I can place my foot securely, some wobble or are slippery, some are pointy and jagged and don't help me at all, but hold other stones in place. I've come to see I cannot carry the weight of their experience, nor they mine. Life is uncertain, all we can do is show up for each other, when we can, however we can, to the best of our ability. Striving for compassion, resilience, fortitude, love. We are doing it, my family and me in our own flawed way.

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My mummy & I. The light of my life. 

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Family.

Just writing this word down and looking at it sickens me and twists my stomach into knots.

Not because the concept of family isn’t a beautiful thing… it is. But because the reality of it has been so starkly different in my own living experiences, yet it’s so rare that anybody seems to understand or even try to empathise. I had recently given up trying to explain it to somebody again after the umpteenth time of being minimised, misunderstood and told that, “No matter what, family is family. They will always be family.”

With Christmas swiftly coming around in all its glory, taking over the country with its whimsy, lights and fairy tales, I dread the loneliness - as I’m certain many other scattered souls do too.

For me, family has been imbued with abuse from the moment I could form memories. Every type you could imagine. Leaking through every branch of the family tree: there is substance-abuse, abuse of selves, abuse of wives, abuse of children, incest, physical, mental, verbal, financial, sexual, spiritual… I have felt it, seen it and survived it all.

The term “family” has been used to excuse all sorts of hideous behaviours towards myself and others.

“Only family will give you unconditional love,” which had me convinced and blinded most of my adult life, keeping me stuck in the enmeshment and toxic dynamics.

“Don’t speak to anyone but family,” when I opened up about my 15 years of sexual abuse involving 3 perpetrators that I have recovered so far and counting to keep it within the family, which is what allowed the abusers to reach me in the first place.

“You speak to your ‘fanbase’ for clout instead of your own family members,” when I use my voice on social media platforms to raise awareness of important topics to break the taboo and stigma.

Family feels sticky. And icky.

I have discarded the word and meaning from my body and soul. For it haunts me and keeps me trapped in my old debilitating patterns and swirling memories that constantly re-enact themselves. I have also discarded most of my family members and instead keep individual relationships with people that respect my boundaries and personal truth.

I call these connections collectively as my tribe.

If I claim to have family, it consists of only me. For I am the one that gives unconditional love to myself, allows myself to reach for my childhood dreams and flourish once again away from the mud from which I have been sown and grown.

Family = me.

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We repeat what we don't repair.

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choosing pleasure breaks the cycle

every weekend I smoke a joint in the park i kick off my shoes and stretch my toes in the grass feeling the Earth beneath me.

sticky juices stain my fingers as I eat strawberries one by one i close my eyes and I can hear the faint chatter of people laughing nearby lying down I can feel the warmth of the sun surround me

every weekend I choose softness because my amma couldn't

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Loneliness is a conditional state, it is not the same as being alone. Being alone is the only truth in existence and there’s actually great power in it. A tree is alone, a dog is alone, the Sun is alone, the universe itself is alone. Your subjective experience of life is only experienced by you, so you are alone. It is the only truth. Even in the presence of other people you can still feel loneliness. So it is not that you are physically alone, it is because you are seeking happiness, and in order for you to feel happy, you’ve placed a self-imposed condition in order to experience it, otherwise you will experience unhappiness, which is where you are mistaking the feeling of loneliness with unhappiness. So when you create happiness, you also create unhappiness. You cannot know one state without the other state and both are conditions. These certain conditions lead to happiness for you, if they are not met, your mind will lead you to unhappiness. 

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