Brave

Last night I went with some friends to Bangalore’s first Tedx (https://www.ted.com/tedx). The videos of the speakers we watched were good and the discussion amongst the group wasn’t bad. But it took a little longer for me to really formulate thoughts on the ideas that were brought to my attention, and even a little longer for me to make them relatable to what I have experienced. This is sort of what I came up with:

            Before I actually took some flights and dipped out on US soil, back when I was working towards my goal of being able to afford a gap year, in guts and bucks, I spent a lot of time explaining to people what I was saving for, why I was going and that I would, eventually, end up in college. I got mixed responses on the whole idea, but when I mentioned where I was going the responses were generally the same. When I said Hawaii for three months it was usually along the lines of “Oh Hawaii! That’ll be so nice”. And then England to visit family was “Great that you get to see family!”. And then India. When I told people I was going to India the response I got was more or less like this: “India. Wow, that’s really brave”. And people would tell me I was being brave before I even told them what I was planning to do in India. I could have been a five-star hotel evaluator, or the guest of an oil tycoon, or staying with a wealthy friend on the beach in Goa. But when I said I was planning on spending three months in India, I’m pretty sure people’s thoughts strayed more towards starving children, or rape, or AIDS, or infectious disease control, or poverty, or poor waste management, or malaria, or gender discrimination or any other general third world problem. And people thought India and foreigner going to work there and they thought about those things. True, I am pretty unqualified to be a hotel tester or participate in multi-billion dollar non-renewable energy franchises, but I’m also pretty unqualified to be working with the people I work with now. The truth is that India is not just a place for Julia Roberts to find her spiritual awakening and enlightenment about eating and loving and praying or air-conditioned lobbies of ritzy buildings built on foreign capital. But neither is it only made up of starving, diseased masses with no running water who beat their wives. The truth is that India is a little bit of both those images, but mostly it’s so much more in between. So I want to reject a little of that bravery that I was apparently awarded just because it seemed like I was going somewhere that only brave folks stray to.

            I could say I was brave for taking a gap year, but that’s not really how I feel when I think about what I’ve been doing. I’ve been taking this year, because first and foremost, I wanted to. But I think the parts of this year where I really feel bravery was involved are probably pretty different from what you might expect. Three months in Hawaii, that bit, that sounds like paradise and relaxation and the full warm embrace of the aloha spirit. But Hawaii for me feels like a time where I’m most proud of myself for my courage. I showed up on that island a complete emotional wreck because I had just experienced what it’s really like to leave someone for the first time. I got to that paradise and that marked the time when all the talk and anticipation excitement for taking a gap year was going to be put to the test. When my convictions that I had made the right decision and didn’t want to go straight to college would be challenged in the highest court: real life. I had to face up to the parts of me that I wanted to change; I’ve never been that good at easing into situations and making friends with people my own age. I had to let go of my anal side, the OCD and just be in the mud and the chaos and the Aloha. And it was an amazing time, full of incredible experiences and really unusual and wonderful friends. But it wasn’t easy. And I had to grow up a lot. And be brave. But I didn’t just make leaps and conquer on my own; I couldn’t have been brave like I was without the love and support I got from Claire. So even when I feel I was bravest this year, I wasn’t alone.

            And so the expectation has been incongruent to the experience, even for me. India, though I’m only three weeks in, has been pretty, well, easy so far. I spent my first weekend with a family I know and am comfortable with. I moved into the Annex, where I have friends who live down the hall from me. And I work with these friends as well. I live in a closed campus, with trees and flowers and solar panels and waste management. I work on a laptop almost everyday. I have electricity in my room and hot water most of the time. I don’t drink from the tap but I collected a bunch of plastic bottles and I fill them up at a water filter 100 feet from my door. I’ve seen one cockroach in my room in comparison to the millions on Maui. And there are no cane spiders. I get up everyday and nearly everyone I engage with at work is someone I aspire to be like. I’m doing work that is so incredibly interesting to me that at 19 I can envision it becoming my career. And the what I’m interested in and feel strongly about isn’t neat and tidy and nice; really terrible things happen to women and it’s never fair and it’s never easy to stomach or to just put out of my head. And I have empathy and it makes me sad sometimes. But the people I’m learning from everyday, they inspire, and that’s enough to make it, a gift even, to be here.  I don’t like how sometimes I feel an invisible oppressive force bear down upon me when I walk around because I’m a young woman. I don’t like how I have to worry about being out at night or traveling alone. I don’t like how everyone is constantly trying to rip me off. I don’t like how I have to cover myself from ankle to wrist to neck if I don’t want to feel eyes following me. Honestly, I don’t like not having wifi. But what I don’t like weighs nothing in comparison to what I want. So being here, it hasn’t been that brave. It’s just what I want. Because third world doesn’t mean tragedy, death, disease and famine all the time. It means that someone somewhere decided that a nation had work to do before it could be like where they came from. So I didn’t come to India to ride painted elephants or bask in beautiful colors nor did I come to immerse myself in my guilt about my white privilege upbringing. I came because I was given an opportunity to be a part of something that I think is interesting and that I believe in. And if I’m lucky, I’ll see some elephants, get painted during Holi, become truly grateful for the resources I have, and learn anything the people and country have to teach me. 

Photos Namagaagi Naave

Just a few samples from the pictures I took when we went to document BreakThrough's performance at a garment factory where the workplace intervention program, Namagaagi Naave is being implemented.

       These are portraits of members of the Core Team at the factory, workers and management representatives. They had some amazing stories about how the program has changed the lives of workers and where they see it going in the future. The woman in the last portrait is a worker at the factory who told a personal story of how the skills she learned from the workshops and training applied to her life. She is three months pregnant with her first child and lives in her husband's family home. Her mother in law had put an extreme amount of pressure on her to find out the sex of the baby and told her that an abortion was expected of her if her first born wasn't male. She told us how she used the communication skills she learned from the program and talked to her husband, convincing him that regardless of gender, their first born needed to be protected and loved. He then talked to his mother and the young woman told us that she hasn't been harassed since. Of course, this whole story was understood only through a brief translation given to us by one of the program's coordinators, but with without all the details, it sounds like it's at least making some difference. 

IT'S ALREADY CLAIRE FAHRNER'S BIRTHDAY IN INDIA

POORLY WRITTEN ODE TO CLAIRE

(IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS)

Claire Fahrner, island explorer and partner in crime. 

Shower sharer and and known by the line:

"Lotta sass and a little class"

Agreed to go with me, on a semester long journey

Even though I was OCD, bossy and with my heart on a gurney

She knows just how to get my spirits right up

but also isn't afraid to tell me

"SHUT THE HELL UP"

For this and more is why I love her

She kept me in line while I took a year to defer 

Traveling without her is often times sad

But with what she's taught me, it's never so bad

So even now, as we're miles apart

she holds a very special place in my heart

So Happy Birthday to Claire!

You better wish her that too

Because she's the best and deserves a good WOOOOOO!

The View

I have never lived alone before. At least not ever entirely alone. I've had weeks in the house by myself when my family was out of town, but I nearly always used that time to have friends, boyfriends, and parties there so that doesn't really count. Since I left Suneeta's that first weekend, I've been living in my own room (with a bathroom and all) in the Annex III on the St. John's campus. St. Johns includes a nursing school, a medical school, a hospital, a research institute and undoubtedly a few other things that I just haven't found yet. I fit into the research institute part of the whole deal. The Annex III is a big white building, glorifying the best of solid sixties architecture, and has three floors of rooms that serve as the sort of dorms for campus. There are short stay residents, people dropping in for conferences or hospital matters, and then longer stay residents (such as myself) who are doing research or internships or fellowships or some other kind of ships in one of the many facilities on the campus. I live in room 347 down a hall that, until recently, housed a number of German medical students. My room is a white square with one 'accent wall' in beige, with an open plan bathroom where the shower and toilet take turns working and occasionally both go on strike. I've known for a while that I'm somewhat of a serial nester, and therefore I came in like whirlwind, unpacking and sticking up pictures and hanging up clothes and arranging mundane desk items and moving furniture around at all hours of the night for the first few days. The walls are still a little plain, but two weeks in I have it just about how I want it.
I can't go overboard on the decorating and nesting because I have a deep fear of ridicule from Sister, the old and horned rimmed glasses nun who has taken control of the Annex. She in turn fears God, and going with the theme of the Catholic institution that St. Johns is, she tries to run the Annex accordingly. Dusty laminated words of the Bible are hung every few feet in the halls and the whole building, inside and out, is painted a clean and holy white. Thankfully, the residents here bring in enough color that it doesn't ever feel too sterile. In an attempt to curb the ranging hooliganism that is inevitable when young people live together, there are constantly black and white print outs being taped up that have reactionary rules stated on them. I say reactionary because no set of rules is given to you when you arrive. They simply go up as Sister or any other Annex III keeper witnesses behavior they determine must be banned from the premises. Though these rules aren't taken seriously and aren't even expected to be, they are always written out as unwavering ultimatums. Some of my favorites include: "food is FORBIDDEN in room", "do not take foods out of fridge without PERMISSION", "Do NOT touch fridge with no permission","We do not have the facility to have laptops and phones and electronic plug in room"and
lastly, the one I disregard most often, "Kindly MUST leave room key at front desk when you leave". Apparently Sister gets snappy if she sees you breaking one of these photocopied laws, but she hasn't caught me yet.

Ze Annex III: Third window in the from the left is cha girls

However, being the goody-two-shoes that I am, I wouldn't have been so eager to disregard the rules if I hadn't had the in on what really matters at the Annex. If there's one thing I've learned from travel, it's that if you show up somewhere new and expect to settle and adapt there for work or volunteer opportunities or even permanent residency, you have to make friends. There are trips I've been on that had the potential to be extraordinary but ended up being a beautiful place and a lonely girl. I do very much enjoy traveling alone, but long term stays are made better by surprising and eager company. And the 'will I have friends?' aspect of India was something that I worried about a lot. But from where I'm standing now, I can safely say that I can stop worrying and that I've been really lucky. Coming in, I knew I had, potentially, one friend. Emily, who works with Suneeta has been in India for 10 months, lives in the Annex and knows the lay of the land. And thank heavens, she's amazing. She's been my guide into a very academic work environment, a strange neighborhood and the tips and smarts that one needs to coexist with an environment that does not favor young, foreign, english-speaking women. I'd like to say I'm out going in new situations and that I went around the Annex and St. Johns introducing myself and making dinner plans and making good first impressions. But that's still something I'm working on. Therefore, I'm more than a little grateful that I've been able to be Emily's shadow of sorts the past few weeks. Through her and her initiative, I've probably met the most interesting mix of people ever. It has been incredibly humbling. Because, even before I really get to know them, everyone I have met has been two things: older than me and working on or pursuing incredibly challenging, interesting and enlightening ideas. I want to listen always, to speak carefully and to aspire endlessly. My friends here have Master's degrees, are Fulbright scholars, registered nurses and medical students. The people who I am collaborating with and working for have PhDs and such fierce convictions and knowledge in their fields and the work that they are doing that I can only hope to someday possess at least half the passion and energy that they have. But I'm not just throwing out credentials, because that's not what matters to me. What matters to me is the conviction and empathy and power that the people who have come into my life recently demonstrate everyday. I'm intimidated a lot, and I don't understand a lot, but everyday still feels like some sort of intellectual gift. I spend a lot of time thinking about the incredible women I encounter everyday and how my dream is someday be like them. Women who seem to stand heads taller than the people around them, women who don't take no for answer, women who have thrown themselves at their careers with full force simple because they believe in something.

At this point you should be asking yourself the same question that I ask myself day to day: what on earth is a 19 year-old hooligan with a fondness of cat videos (Kitty Corliss grinding the crack-youtube it right now) babysitting skills and minimal farming experience doing keeping company such as this! Good Heavens! Luckily, I've had a lot of guidance and help on the projects I'm involved in. I could go on forever about what I'm doing here but I'm gonna try real hard to just 'sum up' (here we go again) the things I am and will be working on. Here goes:

      The project I started with right away is called The Soukhya Project: Preventing Family Violence in Bangalore. The long and short of it is that there are three zones in Bangalore in which the project is being implemented and those are East zone, South zone and West zone. There are a lot of sponsors and funders and health care conglomerates behind the thing but I'm trying to keep this simple. Suneeta is one of the masterminds behind this project, and from that brillance came the idea to educate the health care professionals in those zones to properly assess potential domestic violence victims and then give them the tools and resources to help. Each zone has free health centers that are primary level health care, so child and maternal health and maternity centers. Each health center has link workers (contract workers who are from the community they serve), nurse(s) and one doctor. My very first assignment was to document the training of health care professionals from the South zone, the second zone to be trained. The training is led by the Soukhya team, and each group of health care professionals comes for two sessions before their training is complete. Link workers are trained to be advocates for an end to violence, nurses are trained to spot signs of domestic violence, take a detailed history and ensure the women gets to see a doctor with the right information conveyed. The doctors are trained to talk to patient and then offer them resources from the referral network Soukhya has worked so hard to produce. No counseling occurs at the center, the doctors make an assessment, notify the woman of her rights, comfort her and provide as many resources and referrals as she needs to NGOs and other service providers of counseling, shelter, legal aid, and medical care.

Obviously that's a very, very broad overview of the whole thing. But where I fit in is that I attended each day of training and took photo and video of the trainings for the Soukhya file. This project is a research experiment, the data from the first zone is still be analyzed, because no one can yet be sure if it has had any difference the in level of violence that women experience, the perceived gender roles, gender inequity and the sexual, pre-natal and post-natal health of the women from this zone. So everything needs to be carefully documented and that's what I'm doing my best to do. All the trainings except for the doctors were in Kannada, but the doctors was in English and it was so interesting finally being able to understand. The differences in opinion and prevalence of culture and tradition made for a very interesting discussion medium and it amazed me the gender stereotypes and gender role expectations that emerged. Maybe, after the fact and with permission, I could one day publish my notes on the training from the time. It was a great way to dive head first into my time here.

The other thing I'm trying to do for the Soukhya project is help redesign the posters that are part of their intervention kit that is given out to each health center. These posters are meant to be displayed around the clinic, but the current versions are borrowed from another project and don't quite capture what the Soukhya team really wants to get across. We're just in the conceptual phase of planning currently but I will likely being doing some staged photoshoots and developing these new materials. I will continue to write about this project as it develops.

Though there are a lot of projects on the table, and I've occasionally done a little work on little parts of big projects and paper and proposals that Emily and Suneeta are working on, I'm only going to bring up the immediate things for now. The other thing that I have had the opportunity to be a part of is a collaboration with an NGO for a project they are implementing in garment factories. Emily and I have essentially been loaned out for our video and photo skills (Emily has documentary making skills). On Thursday, March 21st, we took a cab out to a garment factory. The project was developed as a workplace intervention effort called Namgaagi Naave. Studies indicated that garment factory workers were a high risk population for HIV/AIDs, STIs, substance abuse and domestic violence. So Namaagi Naave has started this intervention program in a garment factory, using poster campaigns, a street theater group that does public health awareness pieces called BreakThrough, and a Core Team of workers and management representatives to encourage personal sharing and workplace awareness. On the particular day we went in there was a BreakThrough performance that we were documenting and some interviews with Core Team members, sharing stories of how the program had made a difference in the workplace and in their own lives. Though neither of us speak Kannada, Emily and I agreed that the message got across. This had a been a program that had shook things up but that had changed a lot of lives of the women who worked in the factory. There were one thousand workers at the performance, because the company pays them overtime to go to the trainings, because the program coordinators have showed evidence enough to prove that a healthy workplace and healthy workers improve business. We will be doing more work for them as they want to develop a short informational video about the program and it's success in the first factory to show to corporates. And I am really, really looking forward to documenting it.

Again, I have failed to be brief and I'm still haunted by the details I have left out. I guess what I want you to know is that what I'm doing is really, really interesting. And relevant. And probably very closely tied to what I want to be my life's work. I see myself coming back, with a degree or more in something useful. It would be an understatement to say I am moved and inspired by the people and powers that are at work here. I have questions on questions and so many dreams about programs that could come to be, things I'd to work on. And I think about other countries, specifically Southeast Asia. Do they have programs like this in Thailand? Burma? Can I work with them? Can I start one? Who knows. For now, I'm here in the company of inspiration in the form of many extraordinary women. For now I'm living in my little white room, and adjusting to living alone, because when the toilet paper is out, it's no one's fault but my own. For now, I get woken up each day by the heat well before my alarm, take a bucket bath and go into days that I am continually challenged by. Days in which the injustice I witness would break me if I didn't also spend each and every one in the company of people who convince me that something is being done, and they are that something.

I should mention

I've been in India for two weeks and for that entire time there's been a prickle in the back of my mind reminding me that I never really properly documented my England experience. And I could just leave it be and no one would be any the wiser. But that's not fair to the people who I stayed with during the undocumented times, nor is it fair to 80 year old Pia, sitting on her porch in her wellies and mumu, using an ancient piece of technology to try and read back on her glory days as a young hooligan. And I haven't been sleeping that well, which could be on account of the heat, or my blogging conscience poking holes in my pleasant dreams with the constant itch of leaving something unfinished. In all honestly, I've been having a little bit of bloggers...block or something. I have a lot to say and some things already planned out and partially written down in notebooks  and on scraps of paper and then I just lost steam. The planning happened but there was no product. And I didn't have internet consistently but I did have the anxiety that collects like dust in your head when you consistently fail to do something time sensitive. Documenting this trip is like eating leftovers or doing laundry; the longer you leave it the harder it gets. It's not that the experiences lose value, it's just that they lose their initial, adrenaline filled, just-happened glow, and that's the glow that I always want to put down in writing. Also, England was, overall, a much greater psychological experience than Hawaii. It wasn't physical labour and hot sun and cold water and tall cliffs and long hikes. It was thoughts and feeling about family and heritage and connections and independence. So this is me admitting that I don't really know how to write about that properly just yet. I have tried, tried to put down the things that have been running around in my head, and please know that they haven't been running pel mel, they have been guided and developed by my experiences and especially my conversations with and observations of my family and where I fit in.

But in the more literal, real time world, the weeks that were left undocumented can be summed up. And I hate to 'sum up' because stories should always be told properly, but this is what I can put down right now and I need to put down something. And most of what has been left out is who, not when or where or how. And great writers can describe and even invent who, but I know these people and love them and they helped shape my thoughts and vision of self while I was with them. So I don't feel like I can just put them down on paper. I'm going to put down something, and I'm going to know and love them now and later in real life, not on paper. But this is what I can put down on paper:


-After behaving like a weirdo in London and staying with the lovely Rebecca and Ollie and Sonia, I took a train to Cambridge, birthplace of the woman who birthed me. There I stayed with my auntie Laura and Mike and the munchins, Owen and Naomi and the furry family love, Binky. Staying with them helped me put a lot of thoughts into place and gave me the chance to say out loud some of things I was afraid to even think about. Laura knew me as a tiny squirt and I knew Owen as the same. My trip to England was at 11, at which point most of my aunts and uncles were just settling with partners, getting married and building homes. I visited again at 14, just in time to meet a whole slew of baby cousins. And now, revisiting at 18/19, I have had the privilege of seeing those babies as little people and meeting the siblings who have come along. It's like watching people grow up in pieces, and as much as I wish I could see them more, I'm always so delighted by the way they have grown and how each time I come back I have more and more family.
During that visit I also had a really nice dinner with my grandparents (mom's dad and step mom) in the house that is the symbol of my childhood visits to England in my mind. Christina, my step grandmother, is a registered tour guide for historic Cambridge and Cambridge University and gave me an exclusive and private tour. It looked a little like this:

-Though she got rather lost and came close to breaking into a nice women's home by mistake, I was collected by my aunty Polly after my stay with Laura. Polly visited us a few times in California when I was younger and even stayed for a summer. She has always been the cool aunt. The young, cool, hip aunt who was stylish and awesome and fun. Still true. I only had a weekend with her, but it didn't take long to realize that I was doubly blessed; with an aunt and friend. It had worked out in such a way that, throughout my whole trip, she was the first person I stayed with without kids. And I love kids, why else would I visit with them so much! But it does change the pace of things and my weekend with Pol was so full of amazing things and no set bedtimes. Through brillance and fierce determination, she squeezed The Judas Kiss (extraordinary play on the life and fall of Oscar Wilde), a visit with my uncle Will and Anna, a visit with my grandparents (mom's mom and stepfather), some old school hip hop and a new school education, two cupcakes, endless chocolate, a near separation on the train, Pretty Woman, my dream in hand-me-down clothes, sushi, and extraordinary conversations about affluence, travel, and what our family is and will be, all into one weekend.

-And last, but certainly not least, I need to pay homage to the Hewitt family. They have had me sleeping in their spare room more frequently and for a longer duration than anyone else, family or other wise, in the entirety of the United Kingdom, and always with love. Because of frequency of visits and probably similar brain wave frequencies, I feel so at home at number 15. As an infant, my second cousin Lynn was my buddy in trip with my mom across Thailand. At eight my family came to England for her wedding. At 11 I arrived at Heathrow after my first solo international flight, and was collected and looked after by Lynn and Ant in their new home. At 14 I visited again to meet my brand new third cousin, Mr. Tommy. At 16 I made a short stop on my way to Spain to meet the newest little blonde bundle of trouble, Mr. Gregory. At 18 and then 19, I came back to visit the family that is the closest thing I have to a home away from home. And they feed me and house me and give me slippers and spare vests and make me laugh and let me do the honors of the first time Harry Potter reading. And they still loved me and fed me when I extended my stay with them for an entire week due my lack of foresight and intelligence on the visa front. One day Lynn can send Tommy and/or Greg to visit their cool young cousin in America, and after that, Tommy and Greg can send their kids to come stay with my family. Because anyone with a Hewitt mentality and sense of humor will always be as welcome in my house as they have made me feel in theirs.

Hewitts in their natural state

--

Unconditional

            I’m a late bloomer in the sense that it took me till 18 to have a problem with my mom. Most teenagers start thinking early that they won’t be like their parents or recognize their flaws or tell themselves they won’t raise their kids the way they were raised. Up until really recently, though of course we had some fights and differences in opinions, I really felt that my mom was constantly right, she was my role model completely, her wisdom was law and unquestionable and I wanted to be just like her. And I didn’t feel this way because it was scared or brainwashed into me. I felt that way because I respected her more than I could fathom and I was intimated and inspired by her life and lifestyle. And I remember very clearly the moment when it dawned on me that she wasn’t perfect and that I had a problem with something about her. And I really didn’t like that realization. I felt disconnected and alarmed that we were so similar. It’s a strange feeling when the immortal being in your eyes is revealed to be only human. I felt stupid that it had taken me so long to understand. Knowing that she could be wrong and that she made mistakes wasn’t liberating though; it was scary. I was terrified at the thought that I could not pick her side in a fight and maybe be right. The thought that her expectations, rules, advice, disappointment, and anger might not be totally fair and right and perfect scared me. I don’t want it to sound like I fear my all mighty mother or that I was raised into submission. That’s not how it went. It was just that the image you have as a child, of your parents being this all-knowing power, didn’t leave me till much later than other people. Most kids have a time when they feel, from their own decisions and convictions, that their parents are wrong about something. And I had plenty of times when we disagreed, but behind my heated anger I always felt like she was probably right and definitely that she knew better. I didn’t fight that many super irrational battles that teenagers are apparently famed for, because I never felt an unerring conviction that I was better informed on my issue than someone older and wiser than me whom I truly respected. For a long time, I really believed in the phrase ‘mother knows best’, even when my behavior suggested otherwise, deep down I felt that at the core of the matter, she probably did.

            So when I got to the point in my life where suddenly that didn’t ring true, I felt like everything was thrown off balance. It hit me all at once; my mom is wrong sometimes. And there are things she says and does that I truly disagree with and disagreeing doesn’t necessarily make me wrong or uninformed. It was a strange thought and it messed with my head. I went into a panic, feeling like somehow our relationship had changed and that we weren’t as close because there were things about her that I had issues with and she had flaws that I didn’t like. And I started to obsess over those things and attach blame and link my own shortcomings with her influence. I started to come up with things I would confront her with and psyching myself out about standing up to her and calling her out. And I felt like I could never talk to her the way I used to and feel her whole support, because I would know that she was wrong about things and wrong about me sometimes. It was one of those situations where there is way too much hypothetical thinking involved. I was so scared to start my process of bringing my mom down to earth and letting her know I had problems, because I still didn’t want to have any. Looking back, I’m really glad I was scared, because that fear bought me time and time helped me think clearly.

            There has to be a time in every person’s life where they fully accept that their parents are human. And after I calmed my obsessive thoughts, I came to the realization that I didn’t need to confront my mom and tell her that she was human. She knew it, and she knew it better than anyone else. I know that I love my family more than anything else. But I don’t love my mom that way because she’s perfect. I love her that way because that’s how she loves me. Unconditionally. I knew I had flaws and I knew she had flaws and I knew we shared quite a few. But we love one another despite and because of and with all those things. Everyone has problems with their parents. Everyone has problems with everyone. But we learn to love regardless. And there are issues that need to be brought up and there are also things that are just a part of a person, and that person isn’t you so sometimes you disagree with them, but it doesn’t always mean you can ask them to change. I know that I’m not perfect, I know better than anyone else, and I know that my mom knows that too. And I know that she loves me and doesn’t try and break me down by informing me of where I fall short. And that’s where I stand now. I want to make an effort to express my opinion and disagree if I need to, but it doesn’t make sense to me to bring someone down by expressing dislike for something that is simply a part of who they are. Because having a problem with something doesn’t always mean you’re right, it just means you’re you and they are not.

            My mom is not perfect. But she is one of most inspiring women I know. She has been the most influential person in my life and I want to be my own person but I’m proud of the ways I’m like her. The entire battle I’ve had about where I stand with my mom has, interestingly enough, happened almost entirely within my own head. Putting down in words is strange, and I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do. But it’s its been a big part of this year for me and I feel like it has to be included. Leaving home and putting myself in new situations has taught me a lot about myself, and part of that is learning and understanding the relationships and people that define my life. I know my mom will read this and she probably already knows because she knows and loves me. But this is me saying it out loud, and it’s personal and I’m sharing it. I’m not really sure why but I think it’s because I need to say it big. I need to say Mama, at 19, I know you are human, and I accept and understand that. And I have learned a lot about who I am these past seven months, and I still have a lot to learn, but the thing that I am positive about is that I love you, completely. Thank you for always loving me that way. 

Faith

            I was greeted in India by a rainbow, a splendid old driver named Gopalan, his amazing old car, and the gift of a Norah Jones and M. Ward concert. Dr. Suneeta Krishnan, my host and role model, my introduction and opportunity in Bangalore, and quite frankly one of the most inspirational people I know (on par with my mom) had sent the lovely Golpalan, whom she described as ‘her most trusted driver’, to collect me and he stood curbside with a sign that read “MS. PIA” and from then on addressed me as ‘Madam’. That’s a big thing, many a person calling me madam when I feel like I’ve earned that title in any way. I’m more like a ‘hey you’ kind of person. But his care was awesome. It’s an old white ambassador and one the only ones in the city so you can always find him. Man and care are always dressed in white, always reliable and always friendly and oh so polite. I was later overwhelmed by his awesomeness when Suneeta told me his life story. Golpalan had been a washed up alcoholic with serious financial trouble. Then he found God, became the most trusted driver and more importantly, became a preacher who’s specific mission is reaching out to other who struggle with substance abuse. I suppose I have yet to “find God” but I have a lot of respect for people who have used their found faith to guide their lives in more positive directions.

            Come to think of it, I’m not sure I want to say I’ve never “found God”, I might instead say that I never really lost the concept of God, I just haven’t figured out the specifics. Just like every tourist ever, I’m going to tell you that India is a very spiritual place. But unlike every tourist ever, I’m not saying that because I feel the spirit or the vibe or something. I’m saying that because it is so much a part of the culture, the conflict and the beauty of India. And so even though I can’t tell you the capitalized name of what I believe in or where I go to believe or who I look to as a medium for my faith, I do have it. I believe in things bigger than me and I believe that people are changed, helped and touched by forces beyond them. I have faith, though I’m not religious. And India is a place that reaffirms at least the concept of faith, if not the practice.

Plane thoughts

Throughout my life, I have maintained a child like fascination with planes. No matter how many times I fly I’m still tickled by the thought that travel through the air, real life flying, is possible, and that I’m a part of it. Waiting at my gate I fill the role of the weirdo who takes pictures of the planes through the glass and waves to various orange-vested employees while they harass luggage or wave around over sized glow sticks. And then I load myself and my luggage onto an enormous metal structure, one that was capable of bringing down towers, one that gives whales a run for their money in tonnage, and ponder the fact that it will leave the ground with me in it (hint: because SCIENCE). And planes crash and burn but not all that often so flying doesn’t scare me. I always start with this fascination of planes and gravity and science and whales but it wears off pretty quickly when my single serving friend doesn’t believe in showering and when it becomes difficult to distinguish my food from it’s packaging. Or when I can’t sleep sitting up but my neighbor can and therefore drools on me, and when my ears don’t pop or when the baby’s ears in the seat behind me won’t pop, or when I have to pee right as the seatbelt sign goes on and so on. But don’t get me wrong, still love flying! And more than love is gratitude; I’m grateful I’ve flown so much. Because, except in extreme circumstances, flying generally takes you somewhere.

            I got into Heathrow and made it past check-in, visa in hand and pride in my back pocket. A week after I was meant to but real journeys take time gosh! First stop: Dubai. Dubai. Wut Even (cite Celia Greene). It’s like Vegas. And I was just in the airport, which alone is fancier than the hotel that Beyonce stays in. It had mirrored pillars and fairy lights on the ceiling and glass and silver plated elevators and entire walls covering three stories that were made of marble with water flowing down the smooth surface into a pool with fountains on the ground level. I walked through the Food Court West (there were four) and stumbled upon an indoor garden which included a bubbling stream and baby waterfall as well as some orchids. Did I mention I only saw the airport? Yeah, can’t even imagine what the rest of it was like. Or the caste system and income disparity and unsustainable lifestyles…Anyway, I was eating my overpriced sandwich and observing a man who had taken two bites of his burger and then walked away from the table and the rest of his food, the equivalent of about four courses. Not going to lie, I seriously considered eating his food. Used self-restraint successfully. Before we landed, Emirates played us an in-air introduction to the things we could spend money on in Dubai which included indoor skiing and deluxe spa packages. The duty-free cart was selling Rolex watches. Of course, no judgment to Dubai…it just doesn’t seem compatible with my lifestyle. I mean, they don’t even recycle.

            But Dubai was a just a stop, Bangalore the destination. I was trying to feel one way or another on the plane but I just felt everything and nothing and that wasn’t helpful. It was that jumping off the edge sensation, where your options are sink or swim, and a lot of times they aren’t even options. And I felt really young. Not young in the “yolo-conquer-I-can-do-anything-I’m-awesome” type of way. Young where you realize you don’t really know anything when it comes to everything. And the only thing to do with that feeling is carry on because that what makes you get older and ideally wiser. I think (though I don’t know) that that feeling is a good thing. 

Hampstead Heath

Ain't too proud...

I wrote the first post of the year while on the plane to England. Part of that post was the observation that    when you travel and explore alone, your achievements are truly your own. A similar observation was that if and when you fail, most of time that failure, mistake, boo-boo, oopsie, short-coming or whatever else you want to call it is truly your own. So this is me fessing up. This is me deciding that I'm not too proud to tell my friends and family and my future self reading back on this gap year, that yeah, I done messed up in a big way. 

In the past few months I've read three different novels set in, about or regarding India. I've read countless articles about gender roles, domestic violence, women's rights, the caste system, ect. on India. I've brushed up on my history and looked into native languages and religions and origins. I've read travel tips and guide books and even done some snooping of Bangalore on google earth. I've emailed and skyped and called with my supervisor and connections in India. I packed carefully and did a typhoid treatment and weighed my options with malaria. I've done all of that. And yesterday I got my backpack and my carry on and my courage and went to airport...and then never got on the flight.

Here's the thing, I prepared myself for where I was going and got really excited about this amazing program that I miraculously became a part of, but I didn't actually secure the one thing I needed to get to the country where all that was happening. I have two passports, have traveled to a total of 11 countries, and I'm also an idiot some times because every single person in the world except for Indian nationals needs a Visa to even set foot on Indian soil. And guess which hyper prepared, overtly enthusiastic traveler didn't have one. Cha girl Pia Mingkwan. 

So, where does this leave me? Currently I'm sitting in the sofa bed that has been so graciously provided for me by my amazing aunt and uncle, Lynn and Ant, for my extended stay at their house in Hampton. Also, shout out to Ant for driving me to airport, coming within a block of home, and then turning around to get me. So yeah, this is me sitting in pyjamas a day after I was supposed to fly saying yes, I'm incredibly embarrassed. Yes, I did consider pretending that I'm in India for the week it will take me to get my Visa and actually get there. Yes, this is mainly my fault. Yes, it has and continues to cost me to fix this mistake. Yes, I did post a sentimental 'farewell to England' facebook status that is now inaccurate and embarrassing. Yes, I am laughing at myself thoroughly and ok with doing so. No, I will never, ever do this again. 

As ridiculous as this situation is, the most amazing part of it is that I actually got as far as check in without figuring out that I was missing a rather vital piece of equipment. Naturally, when you're in the airport with a flight in 90 minutes that you can't get on the first thing you do is call your mommy. Called my mommy and it made me feel a bit better that this had gone over her head too. Also, reaffirmed that I wasn't crazy because we have the same memory of skyping my contact in India and hearing that I wouldn't need any sort of visa type item. However, I'm not trying to avoid taking the blame. Oh no, this is on me, my show, my rotten tomato, my hilariously bad mistake. Regardless of what my contact said or what my parental unit didn't notice, I should have, maybe, perhaps, googled the damn thing. It only takes three working days to get an Indian visa once you do your paper work and  go to the embassy. I've been in England for five weeks. That means I could have applied roughly 11 times. And I didn't. Because I was reading everything else ever about India and the work I would doing  and not even double checking what I might need to simply get there. 

If all goes well I should have said elusive visa by Wednesday, March 6th no later than 4pm and then fly out that evening, which will put me arriving in Bangalore roughly a week after when I had intended to arrive. Fingers crossed they don't reject my application, or that my plane gets hijacked, or my luggage lost or my passport stolen or that I come down with a deadly and incapacitating disease between now and Wednesday. 

I started on a train of thought along the lines of "oh this is a bad omen for this trip" but then I just banished that thought and replaced it with "Pia, you was hella dumb, fix it and get your shit together" so that's that. Lastly, many thanks to the check in official who was sitting idol at the counter next to mine, who, when the lady helping me said "someone should have told you! From your program or family or something" just turned to her and said flatly "no, she should have checked. This is totally her fault". As much as I felt like he was kicking me when I was down, the dude had a valid point. Moral of the story: before you google 'detailed Indian dining etiquette' google 'do I need a f*cking visa to get into the country'. Anyone reading, you have my utmost permission, anytime I brag or say something full of biggotry, to say "hey smartass, remember that time you tried to board a plane to India but you couldn't because you didn't even know you needed a Visa? Because I do".