There is more drama in my life. J has gone crazy again.
He is pissed off at his parents, his mum particularly for inviting someone from work over for christmas. This someone we have never met and will prolly never meet again. So yes its awkward. Its K's first christmas and we both think it should be family only.
So fine. You cant uninvite someone and he doesnt want to go over for christmas dinner with two strangers. Ok, I agree on this too. I am fine with whatever cause a) we dont really celebrate christmas b) my family is never here for christmas so whatever c) I dont want christmas dinner with strangers.
J has gone completely off the rails and is saying all kinds of bad things about his parents. Which is fine with me except that some of has to do with them getting old. I wish he could see that and I wish he could see that his behaviour is hurting his parents. I sent him an email telling him this. I think he is going to pissed off but at the same time, I think he needs to know how I feel and if it keeps him from hurting his parents its worth it.
I have been feeling weird lately. The shootings in Bombay have given me a new perspective. My parents and my siblings live there and there is nothing worse than hearing that something so horrible is happening and you not being able to hug your loved ones. When I heard of it, I felt like someone had ripped my heart out. I knew mostly they would be fine but there is a small chance. There is always a small chance. That small chance, that feeling of what if someone you loved was in the wrong place at the wrong time - just living their life, and that feeling of wanting to take your loved ones in your arms and never letting them go but not being able to do it....
To me, nothing else matters but the people you love. No matter what they are the only one you have and they will be there when the going gets tough. And if I had the option, I would never let my parents or my siblings out of my sight, I would hold on to them tight but I cant so I do what millions around the world do - I pray for them, I call them every second I get and most of all I tell them I love them.
You should do it too.
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Thursday, May 08, 2008
What I remember when I think of home -
The taste of tamarind in my mouth
Stickiness of mangoes
The gritty feeling of mud in my mouth
The heat
The welcome relief of monsoon rains
The smell of sweat when walking in the crowd
The smell of food, perfuming the air
The constant honking of cars passing by
Squealing children
The feeling of being home
The sweat drops on my skin
The way the hair sticks to the back of the neck and the cool feeling when there is a slight breeze
The way my nails are always black by the end of the day
Walking with my sister in the evening, cracking silly jokes, knowing I will have to leave her again, knowing that I wont see her for a few years and pretending at the same time I dont have to go.
The taste of tamarind in my mouth
Stickiness of mangoes
The gritty feeling of mud in my mouth
The heat
The welcome relief of monsoon rains
The smell of sweat when walking in the crowd
The smell of food, perfuming the air
The constant honking of cars passing by
Squealing children
The feeling of being home
The sweat drops on my skin
The way the hair sticks to the back of the neck and the cool feeling when there is a slight breeze
The way my nails are always black by the end of the day
Walking with my sister in the evening, cracking silly jokes, knowing I will have to leave her again, knowing that I wont see her for a few years and pretending at the same time I dont have to go.
Identities
Someone sent me this - I am posting it here - its beautiful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why I Left Israel, and Why I'm Going Home
By SHARI MOTRO
May 8, 2008; Page A13
Today Israel turns 60. When I was growing up in Herzilya, people celebrated Israel's Independence Day by shooting each other with toy guns that covered the victim with fluorescent string. Later, when I was studying Arabic in Jordan, Palestinians I knew mourned the 1948 war as the Nakba (Arabic for "catastrophe").
Now I live in Virginia, where Israel's birthday is invisible, and this year I mark it by packing. I'm preparing to move back for my sabbatical, preparing to embrace the double life I've been trying to deny since I dodged the draft into the Israeli army 18 years ago.
"Are you excited?" I get asked at least once a week. No, I say, I'm just going home.
I'm going home, and I'm scared. I'm scared not because of Iran's nuclear capability or Hezbollah's Katyushas or Hamas's suicide bombs. These threats are real, but they feel abstract. I'm scared because I'm not sure I can resist absorbing their reverberations, the pent-up aggression that flows like a river through so many daily interactions; the constant noise, the sense that life is a zero-sum game, that the planet is too small for both of us, that your gain is my loss, that listening to your story will erase my own.
When we studied Zionism in high school, I asked my history teacher why Jews have a historical "right" to the land. I could understand saying we had a "connection," but what do we mean when we speak of a "right"? What does that say about the rights of the people who were here before us?
"If you ask such a question," he said, "you shouldn't be here."
So I left.
I left because I wanted to think my own thoughts, to read Socrates and Rousseau and Kierkegaard and ask the "real" questions of existence. I left and I built another life, not as a Jew, not as an Israeli, but as a human being. I left, and (even after returning briefly to Israel after college to complete my military service) I embraced what I imagined America could give me – an identity that was all about the future, all about possibility.
Being American, I imagined, meant that it didn't matter what I came from: that I could shed my grandparents' traumas and my parents' generation's sins; that I could claim America's light without seeing its darkness; that I could take its freedom without its slavery and its Indians.
I was wrong. Slavery is part of my American self just as the Nakba is part of my Israeli self. America has taught me that these truths coexist, and that I can't be a full human being without acknowledging and honoring what I come from. So I'm going home.
I'm going home not because I have a "right" to a home. Lots of people come from nowhere in particular, perhaps from a suburb their family left when they were teenagers, people with free-floating identities I can't ever understand. I'm going home because I happen to have one.
I am blessed to have a home that still exists, a home with parents and sisters whom I love more than I've let them know. I miss them. I miss my family and I miss my childhood friends. I miss the dust and the sun, the warm salty Mediterranean, watermelon with Bulgarian cheese, droopy Eucalyptus branches and their brittle leaves crackling underfoot.
I miss Hebrew – rough, jagged, unforgiving Hebrew. When I hear it, an invisible film between me and the world dissolves. I come from a place – from streets I remember when they were still unpaved, from the house where I lost my first tooth, from the beachside terrace where my grandmother taught me how to tell time, from the cemetery where we buried her.
I didn't choose these places, and I didn't expel anybody. But that doesn't change the fact that my joy is someone else's pain. My home is someone else's home, a home they can't return to, because of me. I can't reconcile this, but running from it doesn't reconcile it either.
One of the Palestinian women I knew in Jordan believed that the Quran predicts the Jewish State will be destroyed and the Palestinians restored to their land. When I told her that in addition to being American I was also Israeli, and that I had served in the army, she was shocked. She liked me, and it took her a few moments to absorb that I could be this terrible thing.
I assured her that I enlisted after dodging the draft only so I could see my family, and that I had no intention of living in Israel again. She thought about it, and finally said something I didn't fully understand until now, 10 years later. I'm so sad for you, she said, to have to live so far from your family.
She could feel both things at the same time: She could pray for Israel's destruction and also hope that I might find a way home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why I Left Israel, and Why I'm Going Home
By SHARI MOTRO
May 8, 2008; Page A13
Today Israel turns 60. When I was growing up in Herzilya, people celebrated Israel's Independence Day by shooting each other with toy guns that covered the victim with fluorescent string. Later, when I was studying Arabic in Jordan, Palestinians I knew mourned the 1948 war as the Nakba (Arabic for "catastrophe").
Now I live in Virginia, where Israel's birthday is invisible, and this year I mark it by packing. I'm preparing to move back for my sabbatical, preparing to embrace the double life I've been trying to deny since I dodged the draft into the Israeli army 18 years ago.
"Are you excited?" I get asked at least once a week. No, I say, I'm just going home.
I'm going home, and I'm scared. I'm scared not because of Iran's nuclear capability or Hezbollah's Katyushas or Hamas's suicide bombs. These threats are real, but they feel abstract. I'm scared because I'm not sure I can resist absorbing their reverberations, the pent-up aggression that flows like a river through so many daily interactions; the constant noise, the sense that life is a zero-sum game, that the planet is too small for both of us, that your gain is my loss, that listening to your story will erase my own.
When we studied Zionism in high school, I asked my history teacher why Jews have a historical "right" to the land. I could understand saying we had a "connection," but what do we mean when we speak of a "right"? What does that say about the rights of the people who were here before us?
"If you ask such a question," he said, "you shouldn't be here."
So I left.
I left because I wanted to think my own thoughts, to read Socrates and Rousseau and Kierkegaard and ask the "real" questions of existence. I left and I built another life, not as a Jew, not as an Israeli, but as a human being. I left, and (even after returning briefly to Israel after college to complete my military service) I embraced what I imagined America could give me – an identity that was all about the future, all about possibility.
Being American, I imagined, meant that it didn't matter what I came from: that I could shed my grandparents' traumas and my parents' generation's sins; that I could claim America's light without seeing its darkness; that I could take its freedom without its slavery and its Indians.
I was wrong. Slavery is part of my American self just as the Nakba is part of my Israeli self. America has taught me that these truths coexist, and that I can't be a full human being without acknowledging and honoring what I come from. So I'm going home.
I'm going home not because I have a "right" to a home. Lots of people come from nowhere in particular, perhaps from a suburb their family left when they were teenagers, people with free-floating identities I can't ever understand. I'm going home because I happen to have one.
I am blessed to have a home that still exists, a home with parents and sisters whom I love more than I've let them know. I miss them. I miss my family and I miss my childhood friends. I miss the dust and the sun, the warm salty Mediterranean, watermelon with Bulgarian cheese, droopy Eucalyptus branches and their brittle leaves crackling underfoot.
I miss Hebrew – rough, jagged, unforgiving Hebrew. When I hear it, an invisible film between me and the world dissolves. I come from a place – from streets I remember when they were still unpaved, from the house where I lost my first tooth, from the beachside terrace where my grandmother taught me how to tell time, from the cemetery where we buried her.
I didn't choose these places, and I didn't expel anybody. But that doesn't change the fact that my joy is someone else's pain. My home is someone else's home, a home they can't return to, because of me. I can't reconcile this, but running from it doesn't reconcile it either.
One of the Palestinian women I knew in Jordan believed that the Quran predicts the Jewish State will be destroyed and the Palestinians restored to their land. When I told her that in addition to being American I was also Israeli, and that I had served in the army, she was shocked. She liked me, and it took her a few moments to absorb that I could be this terrible thing.
I assured her that I enlisted after dodging the draft only so I could see my family, and that I had no intention of living in Israel again. She thought about it, and finally said something I didn't fully understand until now, 10 years later. I'm so sad for you, she said, to have to live so far from your family.
She could feel both things at the same time: She could pray for Israel's destruction and also hope that I might find a way home.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Bollywood magic - part 2
I was very young when I first saw the movie 'Naam' and heard this song. I remember my mum crying - I didnt understand it but I remember my mum crying.
Everytime I hear this song, I understand why. I was working and listening to music when this song came on - and yes, I was bawling my eyes out. Its a beautiful song and I completely get it now.
You have to hear it to understand what he is singing about but its about Indian expats in Uk or America, I think. He is singing about this letter he received from the motherland and everyone who has every left their home behind will get it. Only thing is he is singing in Hindi and I dont think there are any subtitles.
I think of my mom whenever I hear this song - because I remember her crying when this song was on and becuase I have been away from India for 7 something years, everytime I talk to her, I hear it in her voice - she misses me just as I miss her.
Everytime I hear this song, I understand why. I was working and listening to music when this song came on - and yes, I was bawling my eyes out. Its a beautiful song and I completely get it now.
You have to hear it to understand what he is singing about but its about Indian expats in Uk or America, I think. He is singing about this letter he received from the motherland and everyone who has every left their home behind will get it. Only thing is he is singing in Hindi and I dont think there are any subtitles.
I think of my mom whenever I hear this song - because I remember her crying when this song was on and becuase I have been away from India for 7 something years, everytime I talk to her, I hear it in her voice - she misses me just as I miss her.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Random
I only have two weeks to go and there is so much to do.
I feel I need more time to go away on vacation.
Anyways, I had a dream where I had a child with me and then I gave it to someone to keep an eye on him/her. Then, the child was lost. No one could find him/her and I was terrified.
Okay, its good to know I am back to normal - getting stupid dreams.
Work is going on as usual. The new board is getting elected today - so that will be interesting. Not that I care anymore.
I watching the emmys last nite - I freaking hate Sally Field. She is soooooo dramatic. Okay, the reason I am talking about the Emmys is I was watching it w/ J - and I was sitting on the loveseat and he was on the couch - I look over and he was switching his contacts from old phone to new phone. And I couldnt help but feel overwhelming love for him. He is so cute and cuddly and lovable.
We met about 10 yrs ago and from the first instant we talked to each other - we clicked. It was right. We both knew that. When I decided to marry him - and I proposed BTW, I knew it was right. I knew that if I didnt do that - marry this guy (rather I had to marry him to be with him cause we were both in different countries and I could just visit him to Canada - cause I wouldnt get a freaking visa) I would regret it forever.
I have not regretted marrying him, my only regret is not living in India. I think I will always miss that. There will always be that empty spot in my heart.
I think J knows that. He knows that more than anything I want to move back home. It will always be home for me. It is where my heart is. But I cant just do that. Financially it would be a disaster. So here I am. Which is fine. I think I will move back one day. I think. As long as my sister and my bro are there - I think I will. I want to.
I feel I need more time to go away on vacation.
Anyways, I had a dream where I had a child with me and then I gave it to someone to keep an eye on him/her. Then, the child was lost. No one could find him/her and I was terrified.
Okay, its good to know I am back to normal - getting stupid dreams.
Work is going on as usual. The new board is getting elected today - so that will be interesting. Not that I care anymore.
I watching the emmys last nite - I freaking hate Sally Field. She is soooooo dramatic. Okay, the reason I am talking about the Emmys is I was watching it w/ J - and I was sitting on the loveseat and he was on the couch - I look over and he was switching his contacts from old phone to new phone. And I couldnt help but feel overwhelming love for him. He is so cute and cuddly and lovable.
We met about 10 yrs ago and from the first instant we talked to each other - we clicked. It was right. We both knew that. When I decided to marry him - and I proposed BTW, I knew it was right. I knew that if I didnt do that - marry this guy (rather I had to marry him to be with him cause we were both in different countries and I could just visit him to Canada - cause I wouldnt get a freaking visa) I would regret it forever.
I have not regretted marrying him, my only regret is not living in India. I think I will always miss that. There will always be that empty spot in my heart.
I think J knows that. He knows that more than anything I want to move back home. It will always be home for me. It is where my heart is. But I cant just do that. Financially it would be a disaster. So here I am. Which is fine. I think I will move back one day. I think. As long as my sister and my bro are there - I think I will. I want to.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Oy
This weekend was not good. On Friday we stayed home - nothing exciting. On Saturday we had J's friends over for dinner. This is after pleading w/ J to let me have his friends over - J doesnt really like to have ppl over our place. I dont know why.
So Saturday morning he goes to work - he had to. So it falls to me to cook, clean and shop for guests coming over. I do it. He comes home at 6 and his friends at 7 - everything is fine. Sunday morning was the Pride Parade - which goes right through the street next to us. I was so excited for it - as I have never been to one and since it was so close and all. J was invited by one of his boss for a pre-parade drink. I wake up with cramps in my stomach. I couldnt move. I tell J - go ahead I will meet up with you when I can. He doesnt go. I somehow take a bunch of painkillers and get ready and go. We arrive late to his place. No one answers to door (we couldnt tell if the buzzer was working). Anyways we come back. J is pissed. We get into an argument where he blames me for everything that went wrong in his life.
I miss most of the pride parade. Sometimes men are such babies. J can be so difficult. All I wanted to was to see the parade - I wont be able to see it next year cause we will have to move to the burbs to have children. As if, kids cant grow up in the city! God. Sometimes I dont understand this North American thinking. The need to have yards for kids to play or them to have seperate rooms - Pffft! I has nothing to do with kids. It has everything to do with what to want and what you want for your kids. Sometimes its just not necessary.
So Saturday morning he goes to work - he had to. So it falls to me to cook, clean and shop for guests coming over. I do it. He comes home at 6 and his friends at 7 - everything is fine. Sunday morning was the Pride Parade - which goes right through the street next to us. I was so excited for it - as I have never been to one and since it was so close and all. J was invited by one of his boss for a pre-parade drink. I wake up with cramps in my stomach. I couldnt move. I tell J - go ahead I will meet up with you when I can. He doesnt go. I somehow take a bunch of painkillers and get ready and go. We arrive late to his place. No one answers to door (we couldnt tell if the buzzer was working). Anyways we come back. J is pissed. We get into an argument where he blames me for everything that went wrong in his life.
I miss most of the pride parade. Sometimes men are such babies. J can be so difficult. All I wanted to was to see the parade - I wont be able to see it next year cause we will have to move to the burbs to have children. As if, kids cant grow up in the city! God. Sometimes I dont understand this North American thinking. The need to have yards for kids to play or them to have seperate rooms - Pffft! I has nothing to do with kids. It has everything to do with what to want and what you want for your kids. Sometimes its just not necessary.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Muhahahahaha
I love my country and my city - but this is too funny!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/6620461.stm
How the hell can a giant airplane sit on the streets of mumbai I do not know!
This thing just makes me shake my head and laugh!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
home away from home
Its weird having two homes. Its like never having the peace of mind no matter which home you are in.
Bombay is my home. It is and will always be. When I am away from the city - I miss it terribly. I wake up everyday knowing I am not home. I miss the noise, the people, the food, the buzz - everything. That city holds you like no other place. You can feel it in you. The rush...the pulse. It courses in you like nowhere else.
And then I came home. To Vancouver. Yes, it is home too. It has cherry blossoms in spring and cheap sushi to eat year round. Its the place where J lives. Its where people hold doors open for you and talk about the weather on the bus. Yes, it is home.
But this means I have two homes. Is that so bad? Not really. Most people do not even one. I have two. Maybe its a blessing in someways. Maybe there is a reason I live here. Everything has a reason - doesnt it?
But when I am at my one home I miss the other.
Bombay is my home. It is and will always be. When I am away from the city - I miss it terribly. I wake up everyday knowing I am not home. I miss the noise, the people, the food, the buzz - everything. That city holds you like no other place. You can feel it in you. The rush...the pulse. It courses in you like nowhere else.
And then I came home. To Vancouver. Yes, it is home too. It has cherry blossoms in spring and cheap sushi to eat year round. Its the place where J lives. Its where people hold doors open for you and talk about the weather on the bus. Yes, it is home.
But this means I have two homes. Is that so bad? Not really. Most people do not even one. I have two. Maybe its a blessing in someways. Maybe there is a reason I live here. Everything has a reason - doesnt it?
But when I am at my one home I miss the other.
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