Lingering Images from NYC and Boston

On the butter-yellow staircase at Poet’s House, I always take a moment to pause. The staircase leads on to a room I wish I had discovered earlier, with book nooks and wide tables overlooking the water. The building is in an unlikely spot down by Wall Street, and I got a chance to revisit only on my final day in NYC. At the tail end of two weeks of traveling, I was fried and needed somewhere to set down my overstuffed bags. There’s not much romance in NYC for me anymore, definitely not as much as when I left the Pacific Northwest 6 years ago. The energy tires me out rather than excites me. But the people who carve out space there still serve me a big helping of homesickness. I slept on their couches and took up their time, huffing through the grey labyrinth of city streets to meet for coffee, dinner, an event, or a stroll.

Snickerdoodles meant to be shaped like bears (from a cookie cutter courtesy of the Barnard Library!) ended up as balloons.

 
I got to Boston by pure luck. The bus manager let me get on the bus departing earlier and during the ride, by text message, I found out that my original bus broke down before leaving NYC. Boston is a place where folks I dearly love call home, and I regularly have to make a pilgrimage there. My clearest memories of my time spent there are very different than in bustling NYC. Rolling around on a black and white carpet well after programming hours, telling a close friend my abridged travel narrative. Making balloon bear cookies in my host’s well-equip kitchen (see photo above!).

You like to think you have some continuity in your decision-making, that it follows a thread which can be traced back. I think most of us make narratives of our experiences, not just the writers, and mine was that I left the Pacific Northwest – and this sounds bad – because it had little to offer me. I wanted to get far away so that I could find something “else out there,” and I don’t regret having done that. Even this return doesn’t feel prodigal. If I resonated with somewhere else, I would probably be living there. But what my younger self couldn’t see about Washington is now in view; I now feel like there are too many opportunities rather than too few. I am excited to put down roots and grow tall branches here. I am also excited to clear out old spaces and make a new home here. I’m just at the very beginning, but the path feels right.

Where in the World Is...?

Shaka - bracelets made out of shells, here shown in different stages of the cutting and carving process.

Currently, I’m in transit. I’m headed to New York to speak at the Muslim Protagonist conference at Columbia University. Just three weeks ago, I was in Dhaka living an entirely separate life. And for the interim it’s felt as if all of that melted away as soon as I left the landing strip.

Flying that long of a distance is really strange – your time perception gets messed up no matter how regularly they dim the lights and project a starscape up on the overhead bins. When I hit the airport in Dubai, the past 8 months already felt like an elaborate dream. And Dubai airport is not the place you go to get a grip on reality. I forced myself to sleep for the majority of the flight time – my special skill – but there was a painful few hours at the end of it where I couldn’t go into vampire mode. I sat there trying to imagine what going back to my childhood home would feel like after all these months (and even years) of being away.

I think the only thing that taught me is that it’s impossible to envision how you will feel in the future. I could easily picture the big kitchen island, but I couldn’t know how surreal it would feel to be there without my dad. How frustrated I would get when I didn’t know how to change the light fixtures; how many ghosts would creak up and down the hallways, making it impossible for me to go downstairs. The friends who I grew up with remarked on it instantly when they visited – the creeping emptiness now that my dad (and the cat) have moved south.

But that wasn’t apparent at first. When I landed at Seatac, it was just as if I had come home for another brief vacation. I still haven’t fully accepted that I will be living in Seattle full-time after coming back from NYC. I have barely processed how fast things have moved. In the past two weeks, I’ve accepted 2 part-time jobs, submitted several pieces, and hosted a writing workshop at Hugo House on writing complex characters of color. All while getting through the physical effects of too-rapidly moving through time and space.

I'm in transit, but looking forward to putting down roots. I'm here, but I don't yet own it. Ringing in my ears is the sound of the Homeland Security agent's voice as I entered the country: “Welcome home.”

Some Last Words (on the BZF and Leaving NYC)

Spread of watch parts and descriptions of watchmaker industry.

I'm moving out of NYC, my home of the past six years, today. I'll be setting off for a wild and woolly adventure around the country and the globe (in case you weren't aware of my travel plans, take a look!). I'm going to be taking some time to seriously commit to my work as a writer and healer by first giving myself some well-deserved space and self-nourishment.

But that doesn't mean I haven't been feeling mixed about leaving! I feel like there's a lot that I could still do in NYC, the most recent example being with the Brooklyn Zine Fest response and aftermath. As an update: we donated a good chunk of money to the Audre Lorde Project by soliciting donations during the reinstated Black Lives Matter panel (which I heard went well, based on the Tweets!) and selling Black Women Matter zines via Underground Sketchbook. Several zinesters also donated their proceeds to the cause, which was fabulous. And there were plenty of folks who were interested in continuing the conversation about keeping DIY spaces accountable to POC voices - names/emails were collected and a brainstorming meeting is forthcoming (if you're interested in joining in, email nyczinegroup [at] gmail [dot] com for more info!).

Basically, a lot of energy went into responding. And I'm both grateful for and tired out by it.

Organizing people is not only a logistical challenge, but also emotionally taxing. No matter whether the motivation is a healthy rage or a deep care for someone, it takes a lot of energy. We only have to look to recent news, with unimaginable tragedies from the Nepal earthquake to the protests for Freddie Gray to see that people are putting in tons of emotional labor. And it shouldn't be made invisible. Though only a small drop in comparison, there were moments during this process of putting out a response to BZF, planning my other workshops, while packing where I just wanted to say 'I am a human being with feelings, and I need rest.'

I won't give you another Dispatch from Burnout Land, but I will say how excited I am that I get to choose this upcoming path and spend time to recalibrate. I articulated it best to a friend this week: the work is important, but in many ways I am the work. In the end, I can only change me. As with the nights (and afternoons) when I've crashed after a baby's been born, I must remind myself that sometimes nothing is more important than rest. Taking care of me and knowing my needs/wants help me provide better care to others.

My bags are packed or shipped, I've said many a heartfelt goodbye, and I fly out tonight. Grateful to the many people who have made my experience in NYC both wondrous and survivable, a place of possibility and grand design. Here's to leaving our comforts to see where we can land.

Other things that I've been super proud of recently are: 1) getting my article on the capitalism of jealousy published on BlackGirlDangerous and 2) hosting a really lovely zine workshop at the Brooklyn Museum this past weekend. Take a gander at the article and don't hesitate to Tweet me with your thoughts!

Homemaking

 

Bookshelf with notebooks and small clay elephant.

***

She made homes out of old boxes and bleached out pillowcases. She made homes out of too-heavy earrings that dragged down her ears. She made homes out of imperfect things. She made them out of whatever was convenient.

Even now, I wouldn’t even know what to do with a perfect apartment. In my last place, there was a point when I knew it was time to go: the moment when I woke up in the middle of the night to find yet another cockroach had made its way from my bedframe to my shoulder, I knew. I turned on a lamp and stared at the sheets till I could justify the incident as a blessing in disguise – the mom I was working with at the time texted me to tell me that she had just gone into labor. But when I returned the next day, I had no more excuses.

Though I’d been living in the city for four years of college, it felt like a brand new universe when I was on the lookout for places. I had to think about train line access and whether I’d get enough light. I had to make peace knowing that more than half my paychecks would be going towards having a place to sleep at night. And I had to contend with the fact that I will be a gentrifier in most of the neighborhoods I can afford.

Here and everywhere, she was a fixer of things. In a house with painted locks and cracked headboards, she polished the silverware until it gleamed.

“The safest space I have right now is… my home,” says my interview buddy on the As[I]Am podcast. They go on to describe the hard work they have done to make that happen, to spin their own cocoon. That resonates with me. I think about all the homes I’ve been blessed to set foot in this year. In a city where free event space is scarce, people use their apartments creatively. I’ve seen people host salons in their living rooms and workshops on their kitchen floors. Some of the most inspiring art is shared in the tiniest of venues.

When her brothers brought the war into their dining room, she knit her fingers behind her head and hummed a tune. Homeland, homeland...

I continue to think that the measure of a New York transplant is in her apartment stories. The ones I’ve been up close and personal with are the “escape from roommate hell” and the “pest-pocalypse,” with their ever-popular variations. But I've also seen people breathe life into inhospitable places. In a marriage of desperation and ingenuity, we learn to make the city love us. It's not always romantic, but at least it isn't lonely.

While they screamed and kicked each other under the table, she wiped down the tabletops and shut off the lights. In the dark, they fell silent, seething. They felt the walls to get around. She stomped her feet against the floor, just to know she could. It was a comfort, really, to know that it would hold, no matter how heavy.

(experimenting with blending fiction and non-fiction today in my piece about home and homemaking)

The Day After

Photo credit: Heather Hoppe at Sideways Sunrise

I have a lot of questions about day(s) after. Most of that thinking is about the day after the revolution than the day after my holiday vacation, but both are equally valuable.

Today is the day after the anniversary of 9/11 and, in my experience, the day occurred without more than a blip. Even in NYC, there are large amounts of people that aren't being affected by the constant reminders to "never forget." And yet there are also folks that are acutely aware every year when the date comes up; their families have been directly affected by the loss and helplessness of the moment itself or they've been impacted by the very real hate and violence that happened in its aftermath.

Perhaps it's the healer in me, but the days after always make me think about wellness. What kind of world do we envision, for ourselves and our communities? This thought process has made me feel conflicted -- apart from the violence that comes from "never forgetting" a narrow messaging around 9/11 (read: Islam and anyone read as a "foreigner" is our enemy), there is a genuine helplessness lurking in our collective memory. That helplessness affects how our communities participate in their own healing.

The day after can be one of disaster or resilience. Often, it is both.

As a 5th grader in the Seattle area when the actual event occurred, I remember having a collapse in perspective; in my innocence, I thought that the Space Needle would go down next. But out of that youthful confusion, I grew in sharpness against the Islamophobia I'd seen around me. I gained a specific type of political education, and stubbornness. I never put my head down or took the advice to hide my Islam, and I was rewarded with being able to participate in some of the most amazing community building efforts and activism. In a confusing way, I owe something to that event 13 years ago -- it has sparked many many good questions.

How do we learn to trust again after the immediate crisis has passed? I have the privilege of being physically safe for the most part, and I am at a point in my life where I feel that I'm not just surviving. And yet, there is still this edge of survival mentality that creeps into my everyday life -- from the way I pack my bag in the morning to the way in which I approach responsibilities. I am always planning for the worst, and I am ready to leave at a moment's notice.

I want to live these days after with a renewed sense of vitality. I want to use these critical anniversaries not only to mourn the suffering we have faced, but to recommit to modeling wellness for myself and for my community members. The only way that we'll create a world that will hold us all with the same care/safety is to struggle towards wellness, to fight for it whether our bodies are on the line or whether we are modeling what health really looks like for people that have faced so much oppression.

I am still struggling with how to do this. My questions are still the same, though I have collected a few semi-satisfying answers. For me, the process of trust looks like letting go of some of my old coping mechanisms. I am curious to know what others need in order to feel more whole.

On the day after 9/11, I am getting up to go to work again and feeling tired, but blessed. I am learning as I go.

A Little At A Time...

While much of NYC (and the East coast in general) is experiencing the intense ramifications of tropical storm Sandy, I am here safe, with power, and all my amenities. I feel extremely blessed that the storm just scared me, but didn't affect me much otherwise - our part of Manhattan is on a hill and fairly secure. I would like to extend my sympathies to all the people that are going through a much harder time right now.

I was definitely reminded during the storm of all the things that we take for granted. Although nothing was physically changed for me, I thought about all the ways in which we hold ourselves back or wait for the right moment to do The Big Things. I think that for a while now, I've been ignoring my own personal Big Things in favor of getting through the everyday things - work and school and whatever else. It reminded me to start small.

I'll be coming back to writing in the next few weeks, but perhaps on a different production schedule. As much as I love trying to get a daily blog post out, it's just not conforming to my everyday life. So I'll be experimenting for a bit and see what happens. For now, stay safe and dry!

Back in the Big Apple

Every time I move somewhere, I think it's going to be easier.

I'm under that illusion that moving across the country is the least of my difficulties, now that I've moved halfway around the world and can say that I have some major life experiences under my belt. But then it's 6am and we've just landed, I've left some part of my luggage at home, and I haven't eaten since nearly twelve hours ago. And that's just when I have to start unpacking the room.

I get a little crazy around move-in, it's true, but the other side of it is that it's really fantastic to be back in a place that is completely mine. I have a room where I can express all my little wants and desires of personality, where people are supportive and creative and smart, and where regardless of how crazy I get on one day, there will always be another one that is jampacked and ready for the energy I am going to bring to it.

But before I get into a litany of speeches about how I love being back in NYC, I should say that the busy nature of this week is going to make blogging spotty. But fear not! More pictures and more short posts are on their way. For now, I will let you savor.

On Location: Big Sexy, The John Oliver Show, & Formosa

Last week, I had the amazing privilege to cry, laugh, and learn at three amazing events throughout the city - as I wrote about on Monday, my staycation allowed me to really savor the opportunities of NYC again, and these were three of the best ways I knew how. Here's the recap!

 

Image via Tiffany Bank's website

My Staycation (or Why I've Been Off the Internet and Into the World)

This past week, I've been conspicuously absent from the online world. Instead, I was out in the city, experiencing the much-anticipated week of freedom known as spring break. Rather than heading back to Seattle, my best friend from home and I gallivanted through the city and had a blast. Sometimes when living in NYC, you forget how cool the city really is due to getting bogged down in work or other necessities. This week was all about celebrating the city in all its quirky glory. I'll be writing a bit more about some of the events we attended, but for now, here's a sample:

- "Big Sexy," a talk with Tiffany Bank - Taping of the John Oliver Show - "Formosa" by Kelly Tsai at the Museum of Chinese in America - Traveling to Connecticut (for some nature) - Book shopping at Bluestockings, thrift shopping, and chowing down at my favorite locales - Spending an entire 8 hour day at the Met -

On Location: Slutwalk NYC

This weekend, I attended SlutWalk NYC. Now, despite my misgivings on the idea of reclaiming the word "slut" (see some great articles on this topic such as this one), I felt like the first message of the SlutWalk was an admirable one: no one should be made to feel they called for sexual violation/violence due to their clothes.

The march was an amazing spectacle - tons of people (including 6+ of our fabulous Well Women) marching through the streets near Union Square shouting chants such as "Yes means yes, no means no!" and "Rape is a felony, even for NYPD!" for all to hear. It was great to feel the vibrant energy of the moment; there were people in all sorts of dress, from conservative to casual to sexy, with as many amazing signs as there were hands. And what was amazing to me is that it felt so... right. So uniting to have the crowd actually take an interest in this issue, not just a few isolated folks.

I will be writing more on the march in the coming week, but for now I'll just let the photos speak for themselves (you can also see all bajillion pictures by liking The Cowation on Facebook!):

Start Button: Happy Moments in NYC

 Finally, I'm all moved in! This week, I am in training for my second year as a Well Woman peer educator (hence the bright green "Be Well" shirt pictured above) and generally settling back into life in New York City. Rather than bore you with the minute by minute, here are some highlights from the past few days:

- Seeing a gang of "bikers" ripping up Amsterdam on dune buggies
- Watching a parrot man gesticulate wildly after coming out of Kitchenette
- Meeting all the amazing new Well Women peer eds and doing endless ice breakers
- Strolling to the 99 cent store and finding absolutely everything you need to move into a dorm
- Being hugged by almost every administrator I saw on the way from Barnard to EC
- Sitting on the Columbia steps and overhearing the gaggle of freshmen express their excitement at being there
- Reconnecting with the lovely ladies of Barnard that have moved in early this year


That's it for now! Next week, classes start, so I am hoping to update the blog as regularly as I can from that point on, but there may be some missed days. Never fear! My Tumblr will never be silent.

Writing Live: Nuyorican Poet's Cafe and The Moth

Last week, I had the fabulous opportunity to attend not one, but two literary events in NYC: The Nuyorican Poet's Cafe Friday night slam and The Moth's StorySlam at the Brooklyn Museum. After getting a healthy dose of Snoop Dogg, I took a 180 degree turn in my live entertainment consumption. And, to put it mildly, it was amazing.

As writers everywhere know, most of the time our work will not be read aloud. We will not be asked to come on television or the radio and act out our pieces - nor would most of us want to. The boundary between spoken and written word is not often crossed: we are writers or speakers, but there is an inherent challenge in being both. In these two spaces, however, so many people proved that they could bridge the divide with fantastic results. And - equally amazing - they attracted major crowds! Although it is often said that literature is dying and the printed word is on its way out, you wouldn't know it from the audience at both slams. And that's essentially what I wanted to get before I left for summer - an energizing reminder that writers were and still are appreciated for their work, which is not just for themselves, but for all those listeners and readers out there that appreciate them too. Here is a brief recap of both events and their impact on me.

Moving Day!

Today was my moving day, and tomorrow I am flying out to Seattle, so posting is on hold until Friday! Peace out, NYC!

Take Back the Night, Re-Envisioning Political Participation

I haven't gotten very involved with political activism since I've been at Barnard. I had thought that I would be more inclined to it, having been to a fair number of marches and canvassing missions in my high school years, but my interests have been so all over the map that I haven't had the same concentrated chance to get fired up and ready to go in NYC. One of my friends put it nicely when she said that it's difficult to get involved in NYC politics when you haven't lived here for the majority of your life.

And I suppose that's true: when you move to a new place, the first thing you think about is not who the state reps are, but what kind of friendships you're going to make and where you can get a good meal. It's even harder to feel like you need to participate when you are thrown into a sea of people, some of which seem so outstanding in their motivation that you feel like you can take a backseat.

But, after going to Take Back the Night, I've started to think about it, and this nonchalant attitude has gotten me worried.

Project x Project: Chugging Along

At one point in my academic career, I wasn't going out. I would haul up in my room, do my school activities, and come home. And, while this might work for some people (my boyfriend included), I get a serious case of cabin fever.
So, although it's not technically a "project," my personal goal for these last few weeks has been to go out somewhere and do something cool each week. Last weekend, I kicked it into overdrive by going to Brooklyn for a Refuse the Silence interview and going back to a park that brings up a lot of memories for me - mostly from pre-college, when a hip hop festival was being hosted there! So, enjoy the photos below and let me know what you think about personal time versus work time management.

Ain't I A Woman Event Tonight!

Tonight I am attending the Refuse the Silence* event "Ain't I A Woman?" talking about race in the feminist movement. I am very excited to go, but unfortunately that doesn't leave me with a ton of time to post today. Regular posting will resume tomorrow, and expect a fabulous recap by the end of the week! 
Also, if you're in the New York area and can get to Brooklyn between 6pm and midnight, come join us!

*Just in case you didn't know, Refuse the Silence is another blog that I write for that deals with issues facing women of color on college campuses. Check out the link above to learn more!

Read my recap of the Ain't I A Woman? event.

On Location: Stand Up for Women's Health! Rally

Check out more pictures at my DeviantArt gallery

Today a band of Barnard students, including myself, ventured down to lower Manhattan to voice our support for women's reproductive health care. It was extremely encouraging to see the large turnout completely engulfing Foley Square and the steps of the Manhattan courthouse, waving signs large and small, and showing their support for women's health care. There were men, women, genderqueer people, and many a person with dog in tow. As I believe is the purpose of a rally, people from very different organizations and backgrounds were brought on stage and united the people with their message. Overall, it was a peaceful and positive rally that brought me new hope in our grave situation.
Yet there were some dissenters - one man with an anti-choice sign was parading around the area, showing off a grotesque doctored image of a dead fetus. This time, however, the tables were turned. Planned Parenthood supporters with tambourines and large signs tailed the guy, jeering at him with good-natured smiles and obvious enthusiasm. Eventually the police came and escorted him away from the area; this simply wasn't the place for him.
Now why was this rally called, you may ask. Put simply, the reproductive rights of women have been put under attack in recent months.
I think that if you are unaware of the current situation, Feministing has done a great job of covering Congress' vested attempts at taking away our reproductive rights through a number of bills - the most insulting of which, I believe, is the proposal to cut all funding from Planned Parenthood.What many of these proposals fail to recognize is that reproductive rights does not amount solely to accessing abortions. While safe access is a very important part of reproductive health, there are many others that Planned Parenthood addresses and that these proposals plan to take away. These include basic health care for the uninsured, sex education, affordable contraceptives, and STI testing. The ramifications of taking away reproductive health care, especially women's health care, is a reduction in the rights of all people to access information and services about one of the most important aspects of life: health.
So, I ask you to sign the petition for Planned Parenthood and read up on the proposals that Congress is attempting to pass. As Senator Schumer told the crowd today, they want to take us back to the 1950's with this legislation. But, in the words of Congresswoman Yvette D. Clarke, "we ain't goin' out like that!"

You may also be interested in reading my opinion piece Single Sex Education for Women and Girls.

Mid-Week Observations: Where is Home?

Home has been a strange concept for me since moving to New York, and perhaps even since I started thinking about my own cultural identity. I feel as if I am only renting in this life - both the physical space that I inhabit and the thought processes that I use to define my life and personality. Going to Bangladesh this year presents another sort of home. An ancestral home, a place that I have relatives that are not in my nuclear family. And in some ways that strengthens my sense of home and in some ways it fragments it.
Let's start with the first one.
Having more homes in my life will be a good thing, I believe. It will bring me away from my thoughts that there are only 3 of us - my father, my mother and myself - and widen the bonds between all of us. Bangladesh is also an adventure, a faraway place that I don't remember very well and haven't had much connection with since a very young age. These things all foster my sense of "home" and may allow me to find it.
But, as for the second issue, it also introduces a completely new place that is hard to reach and also disparate from the two homes that I have struggled to forge in the States. I live in New York, but I am from Seattle and the Seattlite in me wants to go home while the New Yorker in me wants to stay and appreciate the beauty of this big dirty city that I love. Seattle is comfortable and it has all the old friends; New York is hard to put up with at times, but has been a big factor in some of the most fulfilling moments of my life. Bangladesh... where will that fit in?
Having multiple homes is something that a lot of people struggle with - for me it's a struggle of personal identity, but for others that I know it's more about the literal space. Living in China and living in New York, for instance. All international college students and people who hail from faraway states can echo my sentiments. Who are the people that you want to know forever? Who are the people that you want to have around you? What kind of house/apartment are you going to live in wherever you choose to be? These are the questions that plague us and excite us at the same time.
So, when I think about my own situation, I think about the negatives a lot. The fragmentation of my culture from my location, the separation of my family members across oceans and large tracts of land. But there is always a silver lining, a bright patch in the cloud of negativity. It is the new connection and safety net that I will garner from having people I know I can trust around the world. And if that bright patch shines enough, it might just blot out all the sadness of being isolated here on my own.

You may also be interested in reading my post The South Asian Question or my opinion piece Discrimination and Mixed Metaphors.

Haiku Moment

Pressure building up,

Holding on to my reason,

Storing up my time.

Still working on the NaNo, and all my other projects - I hope to take some time for myself to just calm down, so Thanksgiving break will be that time. Let me know if you want to hang out because I'll be in New York City the entire time!

More poetry is also available for your perusal.

Nerd Girl Inc: On a Lighter Note

Ode to Food at A Fancy Restaurant: A Detailed Account of My Dinner
 Bread selection, bread selection, hit the spot just right -
Tomato basil's bright but ciabatta wins the night.
Merry merry start with the ravioli tart, with some sweet cranberry, no pancetta if you please -
Middle, hit the middle, with a tender tender loin,
Mashed potatoes - called puree - with some great and goat-y cheese,
Corn adorns the plate, stewing merrily beside,
A wave of jus, the finest beef, skipping pig with this tide.
Ending off, ending off, oh how I wish it'd never end -
Mango passion in a shot glass leaves impression for the guest,
But sink your teeth into the chocolate and you'll surely be impressed,
By the souffle - light and fluffy - hissing steamy with the cream,
Earl Grey chilled and poured in heavy stream.
Then we're sitting - what is next? - and waiting for some news -
Lo, behold, what about the caramel chews?
I am blushing, truly glowing, with this lovely lovely meal,
What better portions could there be? What surprises they conceal,
And then, as we are leaving, the madeleines just seal the deal.

Today is one of my longest days yet, so this post is coming to you in the margins of my free time. I got up today at 5:40am to go to English sign-ups - Barnard's method of weeding out the meek from the strong in getting their beloved English classes - and now have a full day of work, class, meetings, and Well Woman ahead. Hopefully I won't fall asleep in the middle of it.

If you liked this post, read my writing in strange places reviews.
You may also enjoy reading Why Eating Can Make Me Depressed, or perhaps some more poetry.