Then hold that thought; we'll come back to it!

 

Hey y'all...it's been awhile.  I have been writing and working away in these months, and also really enjoying the heck out of the Spring and Summer.  It was so lovely to have some glimpses of what life looked like two years ago, but then also how radically and beautifully it has changed.  My life looks virtually nothing like it did on the precipice of Fall 2019.  I'm doing a lot of things differently!

 

Namely, I am finally, actually working on my book.  The book I have been thinking about, drafting, and pushing aside for over 6 years now.  Life finally created some time, space, and amazing support structures for me to be able to do this thing.  And while I am not a firm believer that everything has a meaning or 'right' time accompanying it, sometimes the right things show up and *I* am right-headed enough to see it.

 

So, what's it about?  Kind of a lot of the things I have been writing about to all of you for some time. The simultaneity of grief and joy.  The dissonance of feeling joy when people expect and want you to be aggrieved, and feeling grief when everyone is so keen on celebration. While the book is intended to be heart-centered, I'm also a nerd :) I want to write about the history and social-cultural pieces of why we promote or demote certain life experiences.  Mostly, I am all about the re-frame, growth, and revolution when applicable; what would it look like if we did it differently?  As I write certain pieces over the next 6 months, I'll share and be interested to hear what you think!

 

___________________________

 

Now back to your embarrassment...

 

In my writing group this week our fearless leader offered a prompt: what is the most embarrassing thing about your parents? 

 

Immediately I could think of at least 6 things.  Sorry mom and pops :)

 

But also I realized that the things I found deeply embarrassing my entire life were because of our origins, our other-ness.  And it relates to one of the chapters in my book, being "other." There is a simultaneous grief and joy in being an object to covet, being tokenized in group of friends or colleagues, being 'on trend,' and also incredibly unseen.  So I wrote about that.

 

Yes, it's intense.  Cuz that's how it feels.  Feel free to share your thoughts. 

 

Much love, Sunita 

 

 

Being a brown immigrant woman comes with a lot of embarrassment.  It's hard to know if it resembles shame, as I think of embarrassment as something more fleeting or public than shame, with shame being the hidden twin.  But sometimes it's both.

 

I was made fun of as a kid for my brown skin, for being a "black tomato," as my very best friend in 3rd grade announced to the playground one day.  In front of everyone.  Rich laughter, giggling, and finger pointing as her reward.  I have been pointed at without giggles and laughter hundreds of times as well.  For having boobs and ass and the world being forced to reconcile with what should have just been 'put away.' As if having anything like my skin or body parts was a choice. 

 

But somehow I knew that I had no choice to reside in and amongst my features.  The only people who had a choice were the ones trying to make me feel less than or ashamed because of it.  That was on them, not me.  I knew that even at 8 years old.

 

The one piece where it felt like we had a choice was in how American or Indian we were as a family.  Our dress, our accent, our smell.  Cuz kids always used to say all Indian people smelled like curry. Oddly these same kids are probably walking out of their Kundalini yoga class in their exotic print leggings with their organic chai on their way to get a tikka masala.  Like they fucking invented cool.

 

But back then it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing to hear my mom speak Tamil in JCPenny's.  It was more embarrassing when my patti (grandmother) was visiting and we were at the mall, and she's rocking her sari and nose ring.  It was embarrassing to look up and see people on the other side of the squeaky, shiny hanger rack staring at us, whispering.  

 

Little did they know I was gonna be a stone cold fetish in 30 years.

 

What is still embarrassing is how 'well meaning,' big-brained people, perhaps all of the PNW, are no different than my 3rd grade best friend Gina.  

 

    "Oh wow, what an unusual name!"

    "Your skin...man, I wish I could have dark skin like you!"

    "You're so well spoken!"

    "My friend's girlfriend is Indian too, what a coincidence!"

 

All of this was said in the last 3 months. To me. 

Right here in the liberal PNW. By people I know.  

 

    "Basically, in case you forgot, brown immigrant woman of 45     years...you're not one of us.  Just thought I'd remind you. You looked     like you had forgotten."

 

The thing is, I am not embarrassed for me. 

But I am kinda embarrassed for you. 

 

Don't worry; I haven't lost track.

I never stopped being exactly who I am.