9/11: Growing Up a Reactionary Youth

I went back and forth about whether to write a post about 9/11. In some ways, it is an insignificant day to me - at the time, I was 9 years old and believed that the next target was going to be the Space Needle, which was the only important tall building I could conceptualize in my West Coast upbringing. But it also marked an important turn for the relationship I and my family have to this country. In my work, in my daily life, the specter of that date 10 years ago hangs over me.

I am a Muslim woman, but at that point in time I wasn't cognizant of it. We were not a religious family, and that was a fine thing in my youth. But the label was still on me. Though I could have theoretically passed as a Hindu (because of the common stereotype that all South Asian people are of that religion), I never wanted to hide the fact of my religious affiliation. The conception of Islam that I have now was formed out of a defense for it.

Politics with a Youthful Twist: Working for the Washington Bus

I am a young voter - there, I've admitted it. I'm on par with the unicorn in my rarity and have only been voting for nary 2 years now. However, I have worked on campaigns before. In my high school days, I registered people to vote when I was not yet allowed to touch a ballot. I cheered on President Obama's election without being able to send in my vote. And, I must admit, I became a little bit worn out.

I distanced myself from politics when I moved to NYC - there were so many more interesting things to do with my first year at college than canvassing for change, right? I also found myself in a new place, so I had no clue what the important issues were for that area. Instead, I took national and global politics as my weathervanes to gauge the state of politics and left local work behind.

I am happy this summer to return to my local roots in Washington. I have had the great fortune to be chosen as a Summer Fellow at the Washington Bus, a youth-oriented movement that wants to bring young voters out of their unicorn status and get their voices heard when the ballots drop. They have reconnected me to the local Washington landscape in a way that has surprised me: they have forced (if the word 'force' can be taken as a gentle shove) me to go to events like Seattle Pride and have taught me all about local politics. Today's post is about my first week and experiences with the Washington Bus, and what it feels like to get back into the political game.

Are you a youth voter? Let me know what you think about politics in the comments! And if you're not a youth, what are your views on youth voters/the youth population in general? Let me know!

What Blogging Has Taught Me

I started this blog in 2007 as a place to essentially blurt out my thoughts in rants and other highly-energetic forms of writing. This week, I have been going through all (literally: every single one) of my blog posts in order to retroactively label and interlink them (as per the advice of Darren Rowse of Problogger) with more current posts, and it has brought me to see how I've changed over the years since I've started this blog. So, I would like to share some of the interesting reflections I've had on writing here and growing up.

The Tired Artist

This peacock's name is Phil.

As of today, I have returned to the fold of college students. With classes and books and other nonsensical ideas such as program filing for next semester (although the website is mysteriously lacking in functional ways to do this). Overall, the last two weeks have gone by with a blur of intensity that just left me unable to write for days!
But now, alas, it is NaNoWriMo and I have to remedy my lethargic writer's state with 1667 words per day [I started two days late, so I have to catch up, but hey, it happens]. For now, I am taking a procrastination break to record down past events for tangible reincarnation.

Last Saturday marked my 18th birthday, so I am now technically a legal adult. With no job and a hefty sum of debt. I can see how our economy has tanked so badly; we imbue even our youngest adults with this overwhelming sense of lack. But, aside from that, everything went fantastically! I partied it up with my friends, got a Halloween costume (a week early, obviously) and ate cookie cake with whipped cream until sickness set in. It was a memorable evening.
When we got back, four girls conked out on my floor, reminding me of the days when the Sixth Floor Legends were all plopped into one room, struggling for space on a thin slice of floor... ah, the good old times. I can't believe I did work after that - we had school for an entire week and I can't seem to remember any part of it except talking to people about wanting to go dancing again. And having random intimate conversations in the middle of the night (isn't that what college is all about?)

Preparation for the weekend was an exercise in separation anxiety; I hadn't realized how much Barnard felt like home until my dad showed up on Thursday and started marveling about how I now live on my own... similarly, when we finally packed up our bags and headed out to New Jersey, it was a strange feeling to be leaving campus for a longer period of time. I guess the converse wasn't any better - Molli tells me that staying on campus was pretty dull (as expected with everyone flocking to their corners of the earth), but the feeling still remained.
When we did leave the city, I was immersed in Bangla. Culture, food, everything. People in our culture often don't mind if you "crash a party" (as my dad would say), so we ended up at a commemoration for a man who had died two years previous through friend-of-a-friend contacts. Many people were there, not only to pray but to enjoy great food (goat!) and chat with their colleagues. Sometimes my thoughts fly away with me on these trips, however, so I started asking my dad awkward questions about what he would want us to do when he died. He waved me away, told me to eat some more goat curry, and yet the thought still remains in my head. It shows me, somewhat, that I don't know much about Bangla culture. I feel now that I need to learn before I speak again.
As we piled into the car with Moushir and his family, I began getting the third degree about not calling in two months... this is another Bengali context, of course (we always want to be in communication). There's no escaping the guilt of not feeding back to your community; you lack the words other than "I was busy" and that just makes you sound like a snob. Hmm...
However, each time we head over to my dad's friends, we are treated exceptionally well. My first trip to Philly was the next day with Ashraf and his family. We saw the Liberty Bell and some historic sights, ate Philly cheese steak, and [most importantly] Da and his friends talked about the past.
I have, since last year, thought about writing a biography of my dad. His misadventures, even if never published, make up an amazing story that I would like to preserve. Why not, right? But now I see that others in our community have similarly interesting stories. So, though I will start small with my dad, I think I will progress to write on their stories as well. Time will tell me how that goes on - especially with NaNo right now - but I think it would be an amazing compilation of a different type of immigrant story. We'll see.
The point is, while my dad was here, I realized yet again that there are so many interesting things that your parents just don't discuss with you. Entire generations pass on without their histories recorded. On the train back to New York, my dad and I started talking about life and death again (because, as he said, Bengalis are always "solving world issues" - through talking endlessly about them) and, although I hope that my father has another 40 years under his belt (Insh'Allah), it is pertinent to be uncovering bit by bit what hasn't been learned yet.

So, my weeks were somewhat philosophical and somewhat racy, but positive and negative equaled out in a sense. I am never ordering clams again without asking about cookedness [they served them raw] and I am no longer going to eat that much candy corn [guh]. Those were parts of my young self doing it's thing. But I am going to "listen to my elders" as every text would say and know now that living on my own in New York City is where I need to be right now. Is that my old self? Well, it's coming along.

Check out some more posts featuring my photography.

Writeen

I remember Heathy and I trying to make a website one time... before www.thecowation.com became my personal project and after the JDishia site became a total failure [not entirely because my computer crashed and I lost all its data]. We were avid writers back then, and we tried to create a website for "teens" (though we were pre-teens at the time - aspirational children!) that was about writing and life.
It was a total failure.
It wasn't a terrible plan, it was just like... we didn't know what we were doing. And we didn't know why we were doing it. And so now, when I think about it, I think about what sorts of plans I've had that may have flopped in the past and why. Just in general. Why didn't I ever successfully stow away in the back of Heathy's truck? Why did our relationship peter out after the first NYC trip with Molly? Why couldn't Chels and I actually take over the world?
Some of these things, I realize, were totally unfeasible from the start. But others are more... simple. Understandable. Doable even today, I believe.
So maybe it's time to look back on the past and see whether what I've done and not been able to do has always been contingent with my belief system or my determination or if it was just plain lazy impracticality.
These days, I know that I doggedly pursue things (for the better, I believe) but sometimes that gets overwhelming too. After Speak, I think, I'm going to take a vacation from people and things and realities that I don't like. Take a little island adventure back to JDishia and figure out whether my main character in WWIII is actually a function of Chels and I plotting to take over the world in 4th grade. Who knows? My writer side might even try to resurrect that failed idea of making writing interesting for teens and start something completely new with it.
It's all a matter of time.

Check out some more posts featuring my photography.

Reflections on a Busy Life

I was listening to Barack Obama's Dreams from My Father again today, and I started to realize how all of his values have been shaped.
The messages of his campaign are quite similar to the life lessons he wrote about throughout that memoir; his beliefs as contrasted with those of Malcolm X and the ideas imparted to him by father, grandfather, mother, half-sister and workmates. And that makes me think... what will we see in retrospect?
I really want to write my dad's memoir. I don't know how, but that is what I want to do. Even if it's crappy, terrible writing and the book is short and there is nothing of real interest in it, I believe that his life needs to be put down - if not by himself, then by me.
I want to do that, in fact, with my own life as well. And my life as related to Heathy's. And whatever happens to me in the future. I am a habitual note taker, list maker and plan shaker [ah, rhyme] and I actually do want to know all the gorey details once I've passed the threshold of "youth" and moved into "adulthood."
But for right now I don't know what that means.
I am being shaped, am not yet shapen. I am as a form in wax [though Hermia may deny] with leave to be figured and disfigured as suits the whims of others. I will be disappointed, I will feel loneliness - and they will shape me. Obviously, the reverse is also true.
So for right now I will live my life, make some note on the fact that A Midsummer Night's Dream is opening tonight and I'm still throat sick but muscling through. I will recount my experiences in a character's body [Hermia] and will write down all the trials and tribulations which feel so necessary at the moment. I will find myself in the cracks between pages so that, when you put it all together, I will become whole. Like a mosaic or a house of cards, because youth is both fragile and beautiful and I want to grasp every minute of it.

No matter what, I am going to take the time out of my busy hours on Earth to record this story.

Check out some more posts featuring my photography.