#sheela writes

[malikaehindustan]

sometimes i call and when you finally pick up i lose the courage to say the stuff that really matters

-loneliness is a choice, i know

[malikaehindustan]

cute old couple sharing a cupcake at the bookstore cafe :)

oh my gosh or they're secret lovers meeting at the only place socially acceptable because they're both married but they met each other and they're soulmates but they can't break up family dynamics this late in the game

ahhh

[malikaehindustan]

rediscovered one of my favorite things i've written:

A typical eleven year old spends her time obsessing over Jesse McCartney, the newest boots, Jesse McCartney, nail polish, and did I mention Jesse McCartney? A typical eleven year old doesn't worry about whether her Indian accent will slip out during a conversation, if her friends will see her in the store when she is wearing her traditional Indian clothes, or if her clothes are scented with aromatic spices.  But, being an eleven year old immigrant settled in America, I worried about these things.  Despite my worries, I loved growing up in Houston. The amount of opportunities I got here to pursue education, dance, and karate were vast. I wholeheartedly loved all the blessings I received in Houston.

But, with all of these blessings, came one of the biggest obstacles in my life: the balance between my Indian culture and the new American traditions and customs. It seemed like I would have to pick which culture to embrace and cast off the other. I couldn't decide, nor could I escape the seemingly conflicting cultures. There would be inquisitive stares when we put lights on our house during Diwali and then more stares and questions when there were no lights on our house at Christmas. There would be numerous questions about why my dad's old cricket bats were in the yard during April opposed to the colorful Easter eggs in my friend's backyards.  At school, the differences became stark. I felt like an outsider when my classmates discussed the Super Bowl when all I knew about was that India had beat Australia in the latest cricket match or when they discussed their favorite pop stars that I was just being introduced too.

These subtle differences eventually started affecting me personally, so I decided to try to forget my old culture in an effort to embrace the American traditions that my classmates shared. I thought that being more "American" would help me blend in with my middle school classmates.  I tried to change my parents by correcting their English, forcing us to watch football on Sundays, making them learn how to barbecue (a disastrous plan), and even making them ground me like other kids. I avoided phone calls with relatives, because, honestly, I had nothing to discuss, and slowly, I started forgetting my native tongue. I was on my way to complete a transformation, foolishly misguided by the notion that changing myself would help me feel a sense of security and peace.

But, the summer before high school, that all changed. That summer, my family and I went to India after a very long reprieve. I still remember the first time I ate dinner with my whole extended family.  My irritated-at-the-lack-of-constant-electricity and jetlagged self was summoned to the dining hall where everyone was gathered, chattering away.  Reluctantly,I made my way down. But, it was at that moment my ignorant, tired self was stunned. I was blown away by the commotion before me. I saw my dad conversing passionately with relatives I had no recollection of and I saw my mom curled up by grandmother, both looking inexplicably happy.  In fact, that's what everyone's face looked like, the faces I knew and the faces I had yet to learn, all on cloud nine, intoxicated and overjoyed at the happiness of being reunite again. I felt like an outsider looking in at this intimate family gathering. I had only a vague grasp of the conversations going on and barely recognized anyone. It hurt. I regretted my past actions that now isolated me from my family.

When I came back home from the trip, I realized that I could not be the same person again.  I couldn't feel like an outsider with my own family. I loved the American culture I was exposed too, but I couldn't lose my renewed culture again. I started by pulling my salwars out of the box stowed in the back of my closet, inviting my friends to my cultural dance performances, and keeping in touch with my relatives. That trip gave me the courage to reveal both sides of myself to my friends. They were not only impressed; they were in awe of the culture I had possessed all this time. Next time when they came over, they ditched the usual hang out routine and commenced talking to my mom about her dance career and tried on salwar kameezes. I think that day was one of the best in my life; their acceptance made me realize that I could open myself up to everybody, not just a close knit group.

Embracing both of my cultures was one of the biggest obstacles in my life.  And it wasn't something that could be fixed by ignoring the issue. This obstacle made me realize was that nothing could be fixed by ignoring the situation. No problem can be fixed so simply, they have to be confronted and conquered. The middle school days spent throwing a blanket over my Indian side had stabbed me back when I finally recognized how much I had missed out on. In the end, it took a trip to India, a group of encouraging friends, and my own determination to finally make me truly happy with culture duality.