Introduction
This autoethnography is essentially a blueprint of my life. Eighteen years of memories, growth, laughter, tears, and everything in between.
Random Things About Me
I am the youngest of four children.
I’ve lived in Queens, NY my entire life.
My favorite genre is fantasy.
I am Hindu.
My favorite show is I Love Lucy.
I am Guyanese.
I love to sketch or paint while listening to music in my free time.
I’ve always wanted to go to the Galápagos Islands.
I have an 8-year-young dog named London. She’s the best.
I read a lot of fiction.
My favorite artist is J. Cole.
I’m majoring in biomedical sciences.
I love flying and long road trips.
I have never been great at being a morning person and I have to set my alarm well in advance if I want to wake up on time.
I can’t fall asleep without listening to music.
My Childhood
Artifacts:
3. Shalwar - This is a traditional outfit worn by Indian women and girls. I’d wear this during Jhandis or Hindu weddings, and I’d always feel closer to my heritage whenever I put one on. Not to mention, these elaborate outfits were beautiful and fancy and I always had fun dressing up in them.
Home is Where the Heart Is
I’ve lived on Santiago Street all my life, where I knew my neighbors growing up. The neighborhood itself is very quiet most days, except in the early mornings when cars would speed through my street, trying to cut through rush hour traffic, since my street is adjacent to the main road. My neighborhood is very hilly and many of the roads around my house are sloped. My actual house sits atop a hill and the driveway leading up to my house is always a trudge for our mail lady, Samantha. Trick-or-treaters hated my neighborhood and most of them never even bothered walking up the hills or climbing up the many stairs of the houses for a few pieces of candy. Overall, I’d say the appearance of my neighborhood is unique, because none of the houses look the same and my neighborhood is anything but uniform as the streets are more curved than straight and there are no lines on the road to separate two way traffic. It’s always a struggle for newcomers trying to find my house, and I remember my best friend describing my house as being “behind God’s back.” There are trees wherever there is empty space in my neighborhood. Great evergreen trees sit between towering deciduous trees where birds love to make noise during the spring and summer months. My neighbors across the street have lived there since I could remember, and when I was younger I remember going over to play with their son, Gabriel, who was the same age as me. My next door neighbor on our right was also my mom’s friend and pharmacist, and they’d always send little goodies or gifts to each other on special occasions. The house on the left of ours is mostly abandoned. I say mostly because the old woman who owns the house no longer lives there, but refuses to sell the poor thing, and she comes twice a year to clean it out. However, that house has long been taken over by raccoons and stray cats, so the biannual “cleaning” is probably just her making sure the house is still standing.
My home is located on the borderline of Jamaica Estates and Hollis. It lies atop a hill similarly to the other houses around it and the driveway leading up to the house is made of purple, light pink, and gray bricks. There are two lampposts marking the threshold of the property. Then, the driveway finally leads up to the garage where you’d normally enter the house if you know the code for it. The two-car garage leads right into the hallway that ends up on the first floor, which is technically my basement. The basement serves as 1/3 gym, 1/3 home movie theatre, and 1/3 bar for my dad’s family get-togethers. Yes, there is a built in bar as a part of my basement, and it’s something my dad takes pride in since he collects rum and used to be a bartender in Guyana. The kitchen is my favorite part of the house because most of the walls are glass that allows you to see the backyard and when the sunlight enters through the glass ceiling, it immerses the whole kitchen in soft, warm light.
One place that’s seen countless birthday parties, barbecues, and random family get-togethers and never fails to fill me with fond memories is my backyard. When I picture my yard, I see the huge brick barbecue grill that only my dad can operate. I see my porch swing that stray cats would hide under on rainy days. I see a pink brick pathway that leads to a gray water fountain that birds would bathe in on scorching summer days. I can feel the soft, velvety petals of the Hibiscus flowers my mom insists on buying every summer, even though they wither away every fall. I can hear the noisy chirps of the birds and the rustling of leaves as they fly from branch to branch in the towering trees above me. I can hear the chatter, bickering, and laughter among cousins and siblings as we all sit on the porch eating hot dogs and playing card games.
My “spot” that I go to in order to gain some perspective and reflect on daily life is my balcony. Growing up and living under the same roof as three siblings who don’t understand what it means to be quiet, parents who know no boundaries, two parrots that like to out-yell each other, and a dog that never runs out of energy, having quiet time for myself can feel impossible most of the time. However, my balcony will always be where I can go to escape from the chaos of daily life, where I can go to find some peace of mind, where I can just go to just think without being disturbed. It’s my haven wrapped in an ornate three-foot silver railing that’s the only thing separating you from the edge.
The flimsy flower pots on opposite ends, the white table in the center with swirling patterns and chipped paint, the two matching chairs on either side that are beginning to erode, the asymmetrical bricks lining the floor. They were the only things crowning the simple balcony that grew from the walls of the house like arms of a mother to cradle her child. The balcony juts about ten feet off the ground, but since the house sits atop a hill, it adds another fifteen feet of height, making the view even more expansive and beautiful. It doesn’t overlook some breathtaking waterfront, or a city skyline, but rather it just overlooks the quiet neighborhood.
I can feel the refreshing breeze on my face, the warmth of the sun on my skin, and even the misty rain that sticks to my clothes. I can see the silhouettes of trees against the darkening sky, the riot of colors as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the birds flying from tree to tree as they seemed to talk to each other. Sitting up there and watching as cars speed by trying to avoid the rush hour traffic, or as neighbors have their routine jogs, or as the elderly woman down the block walks her dog just reminds me that life keeps moving no matter what.
Seeing the world around me in motion after a particularly difficult day reminds me that humankind isn’t a stagnant race, so even though I might not be having a good day or I might be feeling down, the world goes on, so I have to keep going with it if I want to do better and get past whatever is holding me back. As I begin to reflect, I start to put things into perspective. I start to realize that some of the problems that plague my mind are not even worth consideration in the grand scheme of things. I begin to think about who I am, who I want to be, my place in the world, and my relationship to others.
Simply being there, in and of itself, always manages to help me see things clearer and make me feel serene and secure as all my challenges seem to become insignificant and I can just relax and forget about all my troubles. I’ve learned to never underestimate the power of a clear mind because I learned more about myself and how I interact with others sitting alone on my balcony than any other place. I’ve also never felt more in touch with myself sitting up there and gazing out at the constant sidewalk ballet unfolding before me. Finally, once I feel content with myself and I’ve quieted my thoughts enough, I finally take out my phone, and with my headphones in, and my music blasting in my ears, I brace myself for facing the indoors again.
Phrases:
Mom- “Let me ask you a simple question.” This is my mom’s signature catchphrase because she’s known for saying this to my siblings and I, and despite her saying she’ll ask a “simple” question, her question is always anything but simple. She’ll ask questions that demand long explanations, oftentimes with more than one part to them. She’s most known for starting off with this phrase when we’ve done something we weren’t supposed to do and she found out about it, that’s how we’d know we were in for it. She’d start off with “Let me ask you a simple question. Where were you last night? Who were you with? What time did you come home?” Then, that “simple” question turned into a much more complicated conversation.
Dad- “Who go pay the bills?” My dad is known for this quick response whenever my siblings and I or my mom would ask him why he doesn’t take a day off. Since we rely mainly on my dad’s income, he always says who will pay the bills if he doesn’t go to work. My dad is a workaholic, and even on days when he’s off from working as a mechanic, he has to find things to do with his hands to keep himself busy. On a Sunday when he has nothing to do, I’d wake up and ask my mom where he is, and she’d typically respond with “digging in the yard someplace looking for work.” So, I sometimes feel like my dad blaming never taking a single day off work due to having to pay the bills is just an excuse because he doesn’t know how to rest if he did have a day off.
Being Guyanese
I am Guyanese, and I was raised by parents who only spoke a Guyanese dialect at home. I am the youngest of four children, and all my siblings spoke the same “broken English'' whenever they were home, so I was never exposed to any other ways of expressing myself other than my familiar Guyanese Creole. I grew up communicating this way and I thought it was the universal way to speak. I thought that everyone called potatoes “aloo” and a child “pickney.”
It wasn’t until I started kindergarten at a Roman Catholic elementary school where the other children would look at me with confusion and bewilderment when I spoke that I discovered that the words and phrases I used weren’t recognized by my classmates. That’s when I learned I had to adapt to the language of my peers-the “Standard English'' of society.
After starting school, my mother became strict with my speech in order to teach me how to speak “properly” and to “fix” my broken English. She taught me that I couldn’t say “meh nah know” in school, instead I had to say (very slowly and clearly so as to punctuate every syllable) “I. Don’t. Know.” Soon enough I became fluent in “Standard English," but I still reserved my Guyanese Creole for my family and other Guyanese friends who I was comfortable with.
As I got older and went through more schooling, it became much easier to switch between my different versions of English at home and at school. However, I used to feel ashamed of my way of speaking at home because I thought it made me sound uneducated. I used to think it sounded foolish when compared to Standard English which is why I hid it from most of my peers since I was afraid that they would mock or laugh at me if they heard me speaking that way. This is the main reason why I never spoke it unless it was with my family or intimate Guyanese friends who understood what I was saying.
Then, when I started high school, I became more exposed to other people who also spoke in different styles/dialects, and they weren’t afraid to speak their own version of English in public, which encouraged me to actually take pride in my culture and dialect. With these friends, I felt like I could freely express myself however I wanted without feeling self-conscious about not speaking “properly.” I didn’t have to worry about forming perfect sentences and deliberately enunciating every syllable correctly. With them, I could just say whatever I wanted to say in my perfectly imperfect “broken English,” and it’d be okay.
My name is Mahema. Pronounced Mah-hee-mah. This was the name chosen by parents with the advice of a pandit ( a Hindu priest). Hindus believe that the meaning of a child’s name influences their character and shapes their destiny. They also believe that if the name of the newborn is not in sync with the planet position, it can bring the child bad luck. So, in accordance with Hindu tradition, my mother spoke to her pandit after I was born, and based on the date and time of my birth, the first two letters of my name were chosen. If you were to ask me exactly how the first two particular letters are chosen, I wouldn’t be able to say. I mean, what if the pandit had said that my name had to start with Lp or Qw or Dz? How would you come up with a sane sounding name for that? Fortunately, I was lucky enough to be given the letters “Ma.” So, my parents took that and came up with the name “Mahema,” meaning “the mighty one” or “the great one” in Sanskrit. My mom has always been a Bollywood movie junkie, so I have a very strong feeling that the Bollywood movie star, Mahima Chaudhry, played some role in my name selection.
Other than that, I’ve never heard of anyone else bearing a name even resembling Mahema, but I think I like it that way. Back in elementary school, I would’ve killed to have a more common name that people didn’t ask me to repeat three times when I introduced myself. Then, as time went on, people’s reaction to my name just became normal and expected. On days where we’d have substitute teachers or on the first day of school, my friends and I would even make bets on how bad they’d butcher my name. You’re probably saying to yourself, “How many different ways could there be to say this name?” Well, you’d be surprised as to how creative people can get. I’ve gotten “Mah-HEH-mah,” “MAY-HEH-mah,” “Mah-HOH-mah,” “Mah-YEE-mah,” “MAY-mah,” “MOH-hee-mah”….and the list goes on. So yes, my name did used to be an obstacle sometimes, but after going to school for so many years and meeting so many people with the same name, I’ve gained appreciation for my unique name. At least if someone were to say “I saw Mahema the other day,” you wouldn’t have to think twice to know who they were referring to.
A typical meal in my house is difficult to describe because my mom makes or buys something different almost every night. However, if I have to describe my favorite home cooked meal that I have often it’ll have to be aloo curry and roti. Aloo curry is basically just another name for potato curry and roti is basically just flatbread. The way to eat it is to tear off a piece of the roti and dip it into the curry and scoop up some of the gravy along with the potato. That was my favorite home cooked meal when I was younger and whenever my mom would make it, that would be my lunch for the week. Now, as I got older, I got more accustomed to a spicier taste and now if my mom makes it, I have to add in my extra pepper myself.
Jhandi- This is also known as a “puja,” and it is a Hindu prayer ritual to offer your devotion to God and give thanks and ask for blessings. Jhandis are usually done once a year in my household, but they can be done anytime or for any occasion such as before a wedding, or if you’re moving into a new house, or if someone is sick. It’s also just a time of unity for my family because you usually invite many friends and family members to your Jhandi to partake in the blessings. A pandit (Hindu priest) comes to our house and we have to sit down with him, participate, and give offerings while he says the prayer and reads the scripture. Everyone else usually just watches and silently prays- almost like being in church. My favorite part of Jhandi day, however, is always before and after the ceremony, because inviting a lot of people means cooking a lot of food. My mom would get my aunts and cousins to come help her the morning of the Jhandi, and we’d all be in the kitchen together making curry, sweet rice, roti, dhal, puri, and so much more. Then, after the Jhandi, we’d go around serving out the food to everyone and then we’d all play games and tell stories since it was an excuse for the entire family to come together.
Phagwah- This is also known as “Holi,” and it’s another Hindu religious holiday, usually observed in March to celebrate the triumph of good over evil. This is usually celebrated by throwing colorful powders and water on friends and family, and it’s almost like a game. My siblings and I would sneak up on each other and pour water on each other or say, “here take this,” before throwing powder in each other’s faces. My parents would even throw buckets of water on each other when one was distracted, and it would turn into an all-out war.
Opening of presents on Christmas at 12 AM- My family and I always celebrated Christmas Eve by playing games such as Clue or Monopoly or Mario Party. Then, we’d all get dressed up and take pictures and have a nice dinner at the dining room table. We’d wait for the stroke of midnight before opening our presents and we’d always start with our stockings where my mom left chocolate for us that would always be melted since the stockings were above the fireplace. Then, we’d open all our gifts and make note of who to thank for what gift.
Making Thanksgiving Dinner- Every Thanksgiving, I wake up my mom, dad, and sister in the kitchen discussing what to make for dinner. My sister, the self-proclaimed chef of the family, would argue with my mom on the best way to prepare the stuffing and turkey, while my dad and I would mash the potatoes and mix them with the mayo, salt, and butter while stealing bites when no one was looking.
Diwali- This is a Hindu holiday known as the “Festival of Lights” celebrated in November to commemorate Lord Rama’s return from exile. During this holiday, the house is cleaned and in the afternoon, we light diyas, which are clay cups containing oil and a wick. We put these lit diyas in safe spots all around the house, until the entire house is immersed in candlelight.
For my three primary identifiers I selected Guyanese, family-oriented, and artist. I chose Guyanese as my first primary identifier because it’s the aspect of my life that had the biggest role in shaping who I am and how I live my life. Being Guyanese means being a part of a rich culture and heritage. It means speaking Guyanese Creole to your family, dancing to soca music during celebrations, eating chicken curry and roti fresh from the kitchen on a Sunday morning, and having your house full of people on jhandi day. I take a lot of pride in being Guyanese and it’s always one of the first things I tell people about myself. The second identifier I chose was family oriented. I selected this because I have a strong relationship with my parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Even though we are miles away, some even states away, I still make sure to text or FaceTime with my cousins every other day. I can also never imagine being separated from my siblings because of the unbreakable bond we share. Even though my oldest brother is married and has moved out, he comes over every other day. Sometimes they can drive me insane, but I know if I’m ever in a crisis, I can always turn to them, and the love I have for all of them is something that will never go away. Finally, for my last identifier, I chose artist. I actually surprised myself with this identifier because I’ve never considered myself an artist before. However, when making the culture gram and mapping my interests, I realized how much of my time I dedicate to art, whether it’d be through painting, sketching, decorating, taking photos, or even just doing my makeup. I love being creative and I love seeing something come alive, and even though I am nowhere near the level of being an actual artist, it’s still something I am passionate about, so I chose to identify myself as an artist. One big thing I learned about myself though culture-gramming was about how I chose to identify my religion. I grew up my entire life as a Hindu, and that’s what I tell people I am when they ask, so I selected that as my first identifier. However, I also believe in aspects of Catholicism after going to Catholic schools my entire life, so I also put that as a secondary identifier. However, I wasn’t satisfied with just these two faiths because I didn’t think it represented my whole religious identity. I have respect for all religions, and I believe that each and every version of God out there is ultimately one and the same, so it doesn’t matter whether you are Christian or Hindu or Muslim or Buddhist. Therefore, I did some research on what term fits this most accurately, and that’s when I found the term “Omnist” which is someone who recognizes and respects all religions. I believe that all paths lead to God, so adding Omnist as one of my religious identifiers finally tied all my beliefs together.
Lessons Learned
Keep God in mind. - To me, this means that you should always remember to thank God for what you have. Remember God during the bad times, but don’t forget God during the good times. Be humble and keep in mind that you owe what you have to your Creator.
Never forget your roots. - Since family has always been a fundamental part of my identity, this value basically just serves as a reminder to always stay close to them. Don’t forget where you come from, who you come from, and what they taught you.
Think positive thoughts. - I believe in thinking things into existence. So, rather than being pessimistic and keeping negative thoughts, stay positive, and try to look for the silver lining. Be the optimist, the hope of far-flung hopes, and the dreamer of improbable dreams.
Treat people with kindness. - My mom always set an example to treat people with kindness. You never know what someone may be going through, so by just being nice to a person can change their whole day.
Never stop working towards your goals. - My parents, especially my dad, always instilled in me the value of hard work. You can’t get anywhere by just sitting down and doing nothing all day. If you want something, you have to be willing to push yourself. You have to be willing to work yourself to the point of exhaustion, because only through hard work and dedication can you achieve your goals.
It’s hard to choose one value that’s the most important value to me, since all of these shape how I live my daily life. However, if I have to choose one, it’ll have to be to work towards your goals. This value seems to influence me slightly more than the rest because every day I’m working towards my goals. It’s a constant hustle. Sometimes, when I start to feel overwhelmed with my tasks and I want to give up, my mind goes back to this saying and I pick up right where I left off. I realize that if I want to accomplish all my dreams and aspirations, I can’t let myself get defeated. It won’t be easy, but if things were easy, there’d be no point in aiming for anything.
You get what you give.- I hear my mom saying this every time she does a good deed. Once, she bought someone a meal after their food stamps weren’t accepted at a deli, and when I asked her why she bought a stranger food, she said this to me.
Light a candle instead of cursing the darkness - My cousin, Felecia, loves this proverb and I heard her tell this to her daughter when she was complaining about the amount of homework she had while procrastinating.
Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today.- My dad once told me this when I asked him why he wouldn’t take a break from finding work to do around the house. He told me that everything needed to be done eventually, so it’s better to get it done rather than leaving it for another day.
Tell me who your friends are and I’ll tell you who you are.- My mom said a variation of this saying to me before. It was when I had a falling out with a friend that I shouldn’t have been friends with in the first place. My mom was always on the fence about the character of this particular friend, and I remember when we stopped being friends, my mom said it was for the best, and then she said some version of this proverb in her broken English.
Beggars can’t be choosers.- My mom would often say this to me and my sister when we would ask her what food she made for us and we weren’t satisfied with her answer. She’d tell us what we had in the fridge, we’d make a face that she’d recognize right away, and before we could say anything, she’d say beggars can’t be choosers so you either eat what we have or starve. Needless to say, we weren’t choosers.
I think the most important proverb to me is “Light a candle instead of cursing the darkness.” It makes me realize that I control how I perceive and respond to seemingly hopeless situations. I control whether I choose to overcome difficulties or succumb to them. Rather than complaining about your situation, do something constructive about it to try to help yourself. You climb your own ladder or dig your own hole in this life, and the only person responsible for how you respond to a situation is yourself. Even small steps in the right direction are worthy steps.
Non Scholae Sed Vitae
I attended Incarnation School from kindergarten to eighth grade, a Roman Catholic school located on Francis Lewis Blvd, where there were only older white female teachers that disciplined us with the severity of nuns. All of my classmates were either brown or black and it wasn’t until sixth grade when the first white person entered our grade. My class included a mix of Indians, African Americans, Guyanese, Trinidadians, Haitians, Bajans, Jamaicans, and other Caribbean identities. Despite the variety of cultural identities in my class, we never really talked about or acknowledged our backgrounds unless we were filling out the “select your race/ethnicity” section of our TerraNova tests. The only day we were encouraged to take pride in our cultures was on multicultural day where we’d all dress up to represent our mother countries and bring in food to share around. I remember my teachers being nothing like my family. They wanted us to line up in straight lines, to always be silent unless we were participating in class, and to never talk back, even if they were in the wrong and we were just trying to explain our sides. As I got older, I learned to respect them more because I realized that they did instill good manners, discipline, and self-control into me. However, it took years of biting back quips to Mrs. Brennan’s signature phrase to all the adolescent girls of “you’re wearing so much lip gloss I can go skiing on your lips” before I began to appreciate her.
The first time I interacted with someone in school who I saw as different from myself was on the first day of kindergarten with Melissa John. The parents were allowed to take their children upstairs to the classroom on the first day and help them settle in and get accustomed to the new school setting. She sat next to me and her parents would communicate with her with strange words that I’ve never heard before and she’d respond to them in even more strange words that I didn’t hear before. I turned to my own mother and asked her what they were saying, and she said, “They’re speaking Hindi.” Hindi? Yet another word I’ve never heard of. It goes without saying that I was more confused than I was to begin with, but any chances I had to ask more questions were cut short when Mrs. Barlund made an announcement that the parents had to loosen their grips on their children and leave us to experience our first day on our own. As I went throughout the day, I yearned to make friends and I wanted to introduce myself to my strange neighbor who spoke in strange words, but I was afraid that I wouldn’t understand her or that she wouldn’t understand me. So, I stayed quiet.
However, around lunchtime, I was done being silent, so I finally said, “I like your drawing.” She looked up, smiled, and said “thank you, I like yours too.” I remember being caught off guard by this because I wasn’t expecting her to use words I knew, but I just smiled and told her my name and she told me hers. By the end of the day, my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to ask her what she and her parents were saying. She explained that her parents were from another country called India and that she spoke two different languages, English and Hindi, and she even taught me a couple words in Hindi. That’s how I made my first friend in kindergarten.
I went to Archbishop Molloy High School in Briarwood, just a five minute drive from St. John’s University. The first week of high school was one of the hardest weeks of my life because I knew absolutely no one, while everyone else came into high school with their elementary school friends and previously established cliques. I was afraid that week in which I spent most of my time alone was a preview for the next four years of high school. However, after a few weeks, I met some of my closest friends and they came from similar backgrounds as I did, so I felt like it was easy for me to open up to them. I did sometimes wish that my school was more diverse since it was 75% Caucasian, and I wanted there to be more people I could identify with. However, my white friends never made me feel as “other” and never treated me any different from the way they treated each other, so the lack of diversity wasn’t a major problem for me. I absolutely loved my teachers from Molloy. My sophomore geometry teacher, Mr. Klimas, was the most
kind-hearted teacher I ever had. He would demonstrate cross sections of shapes by cutting up fruits in class and giving them away to students after the lesson. My freshman AP world history teacher, Ms. Kobinski, never forgot my name throughout the full four years of high school and always stopped in the hallways to have a conversation with me about my classes even when I no longer had her as a teacher. My junior year AP literature teacher, Mrs. Gannon, instilled in me an appreciation for literature and I can honestly say that I learned more from her about writing than any other English teacher I ever had. Finally, my senior year AP Chemistry teacher, Mr. Attard, actually managed to teach chemistry with such clarity and passion that it actually managed to become my favorite subject. Archbishop Molloy High School’s motto is “Non Scholae Sed Vitae” which is Latin for “Not For School, But For Life” and teachers like these are what made this motto true.
The decision to go to St. John’s University wasn’t one that I made within a day or even a week. I thought about where I wanted to go to college for months, and there were always four main factors that played into the decision-making process. First and foremost, I wanted to go to an affordable college or one that gave me a scholarship because my parents agreed to pay my tuition and I didn’t want to be a huge financial burden on them. Secondly, I wanted to go to a college I could commute to because I have always been close to my family and I couldn’t imagine not seeing my siblings or parents for months on end. Thirdly, I wanted to go to a respected school that I knew would set me on the right path for getting a good career. Finally, I wanted my college to be diverse so I could meet others from different cultures and get to learn from them as well as share my own background. St. John’s University hit all those requirements for me as they practically gave me a full scholarship, it’s located five minutes away from my home, they have more than enough resources to help me get on a good career path, and it’s one of the most diverse colleges I’ve seen. Therefore, making the decision to go to St. John’s was not an instantaneous one, but it’s one of the most secure choices I’ve ever made and I don’t regret it for a second.
I’m not sure if you can call “creating” a pastime, but I will, because I’m passionate about creating. Creating sketches, creating paintings, creating collages, creating hairstyles, creating tattoos, creating fashion, creating art. Putting together seemingly unrelated shapes and clashing colors and intersecting lines and watching as it comes together to form one, whole, cohesive piece is one of the most gratifying things on the planet to me.
Anything that has to do with aesthetics is my calling and I will spend hours making sure that everything is just how I pictured it in my head. I’ll create sketches of faces that have only ever existed in my head and watercolor paintings of blue and yellow flowers bursting from a heart that is most likely not anatomically correct. I’ll make collages of Polaroid pictures and braided hairstyles that are probably too much to wear in public and tattoos for friends who have the pain tolerance necessary to withstand the copious amount of shading I put into my drawings. I’ll create different outfits from the same three pairs of jeans and eight sweaters that I own, so that, by the time I’m done accessorizing, it’ll look like a completely different wardrobe. I’ll spend whatever time I have making something from nothing because creating is what I’m passionate about.
Gender is a “Doing”
From the perspective of my culture, in order to be a “real man,” you must be tough, strong, and assertive. You must protect and provide for others and command and be worthy of respect. You can’t have people walking all over you. You mustn’t be too emotional, and you can’t seem weak. You must have ambition and have a good work ethic so that you can make enough money to be able to provide for your family. You can’t be lazy or make excuses. You have to take responsibility for your own actions and mistakes; “man up” to them. A “real man” is mature, and he is a good father to his children and a good husband to his wife. Traditionally, in order to be a “real woman” you must be sensitive, kind, loyal, and supportive. You must be a good and nurturing mother and a devoted and loving wife. You must be a good housekeeper and be able to cook for your family. You must be compassionate and expressive, but still be
soft-spoken. You must be able to empathize with others. You’re allowed to be emotional, but not too emotional that you become irrational. You must put effort into your appearance. You must be confident. You must be selfless and put others before yourself. You can’t be lazy, and you must have discipline. I don’t always conform to these stereotypes of what a “real woman” should be, and my family doesn’t expect me to or try to force these limitations and gender roles upon me. My parents encourage me to get a good education and pursue a good, successful career. They want me to be independent and be my own person first and foremost before I attempt to look for a partner. They know that I have more potential than just being a mother and a wife, not that these things are negative, but there’s just many more other things I have to offer the world on top of this. I am supportive, empathizing, compassionate, and sensitive, but I am also outspoken and I won’t tolerate it if someone were to do or say something against me or someone I loved. Sometimes I get over-emotional and sometimes I let myself be selfish and I prioritize myself, but I don’t think that makes me any less of a “real woman.” I do, however, work hard, set goals, and do everything in my power to accomplish those goals, so that I won’t NEED anyone else to provide for me.
My Struggles with Religion
The first time I really struggled with something in school was the first time my class went to a Catholic Church, something I wasn’t familiar with because I’m Hindu. I had never even stepped foot inside a Hindu Temple because my mom preferred to pray quietly at her altar at home, so the concept of a church was new to me altogether. It was in first grade when we began to leave our classroom every Tuesday morning to walk next door to the fancy blue and white building my mom parked next to every morning when taking me to school. The first time we entered the building, I was in awe. There were long benches lined up one behind the other and giant hanging lights. The windows were made of different colors and there were people on them- something I’d never seen before. As the teacher went in, I saw her and a couple of the other children behind her dip into this bowl of water by the door and put it on their forehead and clothes. I tried to mimic them, but I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why I was doing it. Then, we were told to sit down and keep quiet so as not to disturb the other people sitting in there whispering to themselves. When the initial wonder wore off, I remember thinking how strange it all was. Weren’t we supposed to be in the classroom? This wasn’t school. What were we doing? I tried asking the girl sitting next to me, Sydney, but the only response she gave me was to shush before I got her in trouble for talking in church. Then, something even more odd happened. A man wearing a green robe walked out followed by two sixth graders I recognized in white robes and everyone stood up and began to sing from a book. I silently witnessed everything, standing when my teacher stood, sitting when she stood, and even kneeling when she knelt, but I had never been more confused. I tried to listen to the man speak like everyone else was, but I grew restless and could only pay attention to the colorful sunlight shining through the colorful windows with the pretty girl in blue carrying a curly-headed baby. After it ended and we walked back to school, we carried on with our day like nothing out of place happened, and it wasn’t until I got home that I questioned it. I described the building to my oldest brother, Juni, who also went to Incarnation School and asked him what it was, and he explained the concept of church and mass to me. That was the first time I really struggled with an entirely new concept in school, but after having mandatory religion lessons starting in first grade and going to church every Tuesday morning with my class, I began to understand new words and concepts like Christian, Bible, Mass, Prayer, God, and Jesus.
I’ve always struggled with my beliefs. The majority of my family is Hindu, but my mom is the only religious person in my household. Our parents have never taken me and my siblings to worship at a Mandir (Hindu Temple). Instead, my mom preferred to pray quietly at home, by herself, at her own altar. So, my siblings and I were familiar with our Hindu roots, and we sometimes participated in the fun holidays like Diwali and Holi and Rakhi, but we didn’t practice Hinduism. When people would ask me what religion I was, I’d say Hindu since that’s the religion of my parents, but I wasn’t sure that I was a Hindu. I went to Catholic school all my life and learning about another version of God confused me even more. I learned about Jesus Christ and God the Father and God the Holy Spirit. I soon knew more about Christianity than Hinduism, and I liked its teachings about loving one another and that God is unconditional love. Then, one day, I heard the priest at my elementary school tell the principal that if you weren’t Christian, you weren’t a part of God, and that scared me. It also scared me when we’d read bible passages in religion class of Jesus saying that if you weren’t baptized in the name of the Holy Spirit, you weren’t going to Heaven. I would think to myself, “I’m not baptized, so does that mean I’m going to hell when I die? And mommy isn’t Catholic, so is she going to hell? But we’re good people, and we try to be kind to others, so why would God punish us just for not being Catholic?” These thoughts perpetuated in my mind and I couldn’t grasp the thought that an all-loving God would condemn good people for not being baptized. Then, one day, I asked my mom about what she believed in, and what she told me is what I base my beliefs on. She told me that all the different kinds of Gods that people worship, all the different names they have for God, in the end, it’s all one God that everyone prays to. It’s all one God that hears every single prayer whether you’re a Hindu or Catholic of Muslim or Buddhist, it’s all the same. So, I believe in God, whichever God it is, and I think that if you’re a good person in life and you tried to spread love and kindness, then Heaven is your final destination.
My Political and Social Justice Views
I’ve never had strict political views. My family never had intense political debates or heated arguments during family gatherings during election time. During presidential elections, we would watch debates and interviews of candidates on CNN, but we wouldn’t vote. It’s not that we didn’t care, we understood the importance of a good leader running our country, but it just didn’t matter to us which candidate won. That is, until the 2016 election, when Donald Trump began to attack the immigrants of the country, demean women, and basically prove himself as an unfit leader of the country, that we had a preference for who should, or more specifically shouldn’t, be president. I believe that the politicians who run our country should foster unity instead of planting seeds of hate and division in the nation. I, personally, think that equal rights should be protected for all people. I think that the issue of illegal immigration should be handled in a better way rather than deliberately targeting and scapegoating certain groups of people, splitting up and destroying families, and keeping children in literal cages. I think we should have more gun control laws to prevent another Sandy Hook incident where innocent children die due to the negligence of our lawmakers. I believe that wealth should be evenly distributed across our nation because the growing gap between the rich and the poor is ridiculous. There shouldn’t be billionaires who just hoard their ever-accumulating wealth when there are people who struggle to scrape enough money together to feed their children. I feel strongly about these issues, but I don’t think that it makes me political. To me, this is all just common sense.
A cause I’m willing to fight for is animal rights. I strongly believe that all animals are entitled to their own existence and that their most basic interests, such as the need to avoid suffering, should be afforded the same consideration as similar interests of human beings. I have always been an avid animal lover and seeing them needlessly suffer at the hands of brutal and cruel human beings (if you can even call them that), makes me physically sick. I view animals as being innocent. They can’t stand up for themselves against abusers. They can’t open their mouths to speak or scream for help. So, there is a special need for animal rights advocates to speak for them, to fight for them. Animals don’t deserve to be tortured; they don’t understand why they’re being abused. They, too, feel pain and have emotions. I’ve seen images and videos of people bashing in the skulls of pigs, carving out the guts of deer while they were still alive, and stomping on the heads of newborn kittens. Just thinking about these monstrous actions bring tears of passion to my eyes and makes my blood boil with rage. That’s why I’m willing to fight for animal rights, to stop these evil deeds from perpetuating.
My Struggles with Race/Discrimination
“It’s not your fault that you were born with white skin and experience these privileges. But whether you realize it or not, you do benefit from it, and it is your fault if you don’t maintain awareness of that fact.” - Gina Crosley-Corcoran, “Explaining White Privilege To A Broke White Person”
This line stood out to me because I’ve dealt with many people who don’t understand or try to deny their privilege. Many of them don’t do it intentionally, some truly believe that there is no such thing as “white privilege”, but that’s only because they’ve experienced it all their life so they think it’s normal. They think that everyone has the same experiences as them, when that’s just not true. Not everyone has the same advantages. Many people think of white privilege as a taboo subject, and many people get offended by the term, but I don’t think that’s the right response to it. If we don’t start a conversation about it, if we keep trying to act as if it doesn’t exist, nothing will ever change. I think that it’s just a fact that people have to recognize and accept- some groups of people experience privileges that other groups of people don’t and that’s just a fact of life. Rather than trying to deny the fact or being offended by the notion, I think people should be aware of it and try to dismantle and change the system. Just by recognizing that such a thing as white privilege does exist, it’ll make the road to breaking down the brick wall of white privilege somewhat easier. Although it can take decades for this wall to finally be broken down, each and every brick counts.
Groups I am unfamiliar with, oppose, or dislike:
Racists
White supremacists
Animal abusers
Sexists/misogynists
Bullies
Trump supporters
Homophobes
Xenophobes
From the list of people I am unfamiliar with, oppose, or dislike, I chose to analyze my feelings towards xenophobes, who are those that fear or hate foreigners, people from different cultures, or the customs of people who are culturally different. They may also believe that their country’s culture is superior and wish to keep immigrants out of their country. I’ve always harbored an immense dislike and hostility towards xenophobes because I could never wrap my head around the fact that people can hate “foreigners” when this country was built upon the backs of immigrants. I am a firm believer in tolerance and open-mindedness, so I could never understand how people could hate others for the mere reason that they were different from them. Whenever I hear the phrase “go back to your country,” or “get out of my country,” the anger I feel is beyond words, because the self-entitlement and ignorance behind those words is something I could never comprehend or sympathize with. Being Guyanese and having parents who are immigrants, I’ve always felt like I would be on the receiving end of their hatred.
When I’d watch the news and see people protesting against immigrants and saying that foreigners should go back to their own country, I always felt personally attacked despite being born and raised in the U.S. I think it’s because I know that despite being born here, many people will still look at me and perceive me to be a foreigner due to my culture and the color of my skin. It doesn’t matter to xenophobes that I was born in Flushing Hospital in New York. It doesn’t matter that I grew up watching Disney and Nickelodeon or that I went to Catholic schools all my life. All they see is a brown-skinned girl who does not fit their mold or standards of what an American should be. This is why I’ve always felt opposed to xenophobes.
Illnesses/COVID-19
Being disabled is not what you think…
She walks and talks like everyone else
She never tells people of her diagnosis
She doesn’t let herself be defined by it
Her own body fights against her sometimes It can get on her nerves…literally
But she keeps pushing on.
Some days she feels numb
Other times she’s in pain
But she never complains.
She goes to works and goes to school
All while fighting the Monster
She lives by her motto,
“Rise and rise again
Until lambs become lions.”
My sister fights MS the only way she knows how
Like a warrior intent on victory.
At first, I wasn’t very worried about the Coronavirus since most people said that symptoms mirrored those of the flu, and there weren’t many cases in the US. However, as the number of cases started to rise in the country, and especially with New York being the epicenter of much of the outbreak, it started to become more troubling for me and my family. My “family group chat,” which includes my cousins and siblings, became a “coronavirus update chat” since the only messages that we were sending pertained to the virus, quarantine limits, new confirmed cases, and new deaths. Every time I turned on the news, the headlines would read something coronavirus related, every time I checked the number of cases, the number would get bigger and bigger, and every time I went on social media, I would see more and more posts about the virus. I started to grow anxious, and even though many of my friends would try to play it off by saying that it only affects those with underlying health issues, that’s still a lot of people. Even if it might not affect me that much, I can still spread it to my parents or grandparents, who would be greatly affected by the virus. My father is a smoker, my sister is immunocompromised due to her MS, my grandmother is 83 years old and has asthma, and my grandfather is almost 90. My dad’s cousin contracted the virus and within two days, he passed away, and they couldn’t even hold a funeral for him. It’s frightening to think that that could have easily been my dad since his business is considered “essential” and is excluded from the business closures. Seeing people that aren’t taking quarantine measures seriously is also infuriating to me. Some senseless people on social media are taking advantage of the crisis and are creating “coronavirus challenges” where they go out and either lick or cough on public toilet seats, door handles, and even food at the grocery store. It’s startling to see so many people acting so foolish and selfish during hard times such as these. Seeing images of coffins being lined up in churches in Italy, and then hearing that the US might follow Italy’s trajectory, or end up being even worse than Italy, only succeeded in escalating my worries. Now that the US has more known cases of coronavirus than any other country, with the number growing higher and higher each day, I feel like this is progressively getting worse and I don’t see an end in sight and that’s what’s scaring me the most.
My Self Portrait
When I look in the mirror, I see a 5-foot tall, slightly overweight brown girl staring back at me, and I can remember wanting to be taller and skinnier. I see thick eyebrows that need to be waxed once a month so that they don’t grow into my hairline. I see pin-straight, shoulder length, auburn hair that would be down my back and almost black if I hadn’t insisted on cutting and dying it last year. I see short lashes that I wish were longer and would naturally curl upwards, like my sister’s. I see dark brown, almost black, irises that I sometimes wish were hazel, like my dad’s. I see discolored, acne-scarred skin, that I wish was smooth and flawless like my mom’s. I see smooth lips that I sometimes over-line to make my top lip seem bigger than it actually is. I see a nose with a rounded tip in the center of my face that mirrors my dad’s nose. I see chubby cheeks that my aunts still love to pinch. I see shoulders that I sometimes wish were more narrow and a full chest that makes buying dresses and shirts a headache. I see a double chin that I wish would disappear. I see hairy arms and legs that I remember boys in elementary school would make fun of. I see a pudgy stomach that I wish were flatter. I see long nails that need to be filed into shape and painted. I see my dark birthmark behind my right ear. I see all my flaws and imperfections that I’ve accepted as part of me, as defining me. I don’t hate what I see. Sure, sometimes I would like to have smoother skin or a flatter stomach or lighter eyes, but that doesn’t mean that I hate my bumpy skin, or brown eyes, or pudgy belly. I’ve accepted that these features are what make me…me.
My Hair:
When she was a newborn, everyone was astonished at how much of me there was on her head. I would stick straight up in all directions and make her look as though someone just rubbed a balloon on her head or electrocuted her. Her mother would try to flatten me down and put hats on her to tame me. When she was only a couple months old, her parents cut me for the first time, surrounded by close family. It was a big deal and I was the star that day because Hindus make a huge deal out of the first haircut. It’s tradition to cut or shave off a baby’s hair in order to “cleanse” them, because the hair that they came out the womb with was apparently “impure”. When she was a toddler, I would sit flat on her head, making her look like Dora the Explorer, but her mom would put me into a ponytail at the top of her head, making me look like an antenna sticking out of her head. As she got a little older, and I got a little longer, her babysitter, Tara, would comb me into two high braids, with a part splitting me perfectly down the middle. Then, in fifth grade, two braids turned into one braid. Finally, in sixth grade, she decided to just let me hang loose, with a side part. I would cause her some problems sometimes as I just kept growing longer and thicker and her mom refused to let her cut me. Soon enough, I was long enough to see the back of her knees. However, for her sister’s sweet sixteen, she took me to a hair salon, and they curled me and sprayed me with enough hairspray to cause a hole in the ozone layer. I did not like that. So, I gave her the biggest struggle when the time came to take the curls out and three people had to work on me to get me back to normal. I caused her so much pain that day that her mother finally decided to let her cut me. That first real haircut opened Pandora’s Box and every year she wanted to cut me shorter and shorter, but her parents would only let her cut off two inches at a time. Finally, in freshman year of college, she decided to do something drastic, so of course her hands flew to me first. She decided to color me red at home by herself with box dye, and not too long later, she cut me all the way to her shoulders. Now, I’m starting to grow back in and my natural color is starting to show, but she received plenty of compliments about my length, so she might keep me at this length for a while.
My hair at my shortest and longest lengths (featuring my mom).
My self portrait. I drew myself looking to the side because I can never draw eyes proportionally, so this is the best way to capture myself as closely as possible.
Interview with the Author
1) What recurring topics, themes or patterns do you notice in your writing? Examples might be your love for music, or a sport, friendship, mental health, the persistence of discrimination, fears about the future, social media. Don’t look for these particular examples; although it’s fine to use them if they come up. Let your actual data guide you. Discuss in detail the one that seems most important.
Some big recurring topics and themes that I noticed in my writing are my close relationship with my family, my love of music and art, my struggles with my beliefs, and the appreciation I have for my culture. I also noticed some secondary recurring patterns in my writing such as my school experiences, my feelings towards race and discrimination, and the lessons I’ve learned. I think the topic that is most important is my close relationship with my family. For my culture gram, I selected being
family oriented as my second primary identifier because “I can always turn to them, and the love I have for all of them is something that will never go away.” I think that I’ve been blessed to have such a tight-knit family and I’m fortunate enough to say that most of my role models are family members. I’m grateful that I am able to say this because I know that not every person can relate. For my biggest influencers/mentors, my top three were my mom, dad, and Tara, and I discussed how they all had a hand in raising me and instilling in me lessons and values that I’ll never forget. I didn’t realize just how much I wrote about my family until I reread everything and discovered that almost all of my “I remember” and “Once” prompts involved my family. I also wrote extensively about the relationship I have with my siblings and how we would irritate each other (i.e., Jelly) sometimes to the point of physical conflict (i.e., my sister stabbing me with a pencil). However, as I wrote in my culture gram, “I could never imagine being separated from my siblings because of the unbreakable bond we share.”
2) What are some cultural themes that emerge from your data? Think of these as rules, norms or ways of thinking that drive your or other’s behavior and derive from some aspect of your cultural background.
Some cultural themes that emerge from my data are:
My dad taught me that if you want to be successful, you must be willing to push yourself because only through hard work and dedication can you achieve your goals. There aren’t any shortcuts on the road to success.
My mom taught me the importance of God and she helped me to resolve the struggles I had with my faith. She told me that all the different kinds of Gods that people worship, all the different names they have for God, in the end, it’s all one God that everyone prays to. That’s now what I believe.
After suppressing my culture for so long in middle school, I finally learned to be proud of your culture and your unique ways of thinking, dress, food, and religion.
Needing a safe, personal space sometimes where you can be alone with your thoughts to gain some perspective and reflect on daily life is okay.
If I ever need someone to turn to, my family and friends are always there for me.
Growing up in a strict Roman Catholic elementary and middle school taught me to always be polite, have manners, and respect my elders.
Having a diverse group of friends in high school taught me that, despite being from different backgrounds, people are still open-minded, accepting, and encouraging if you give them a chance.
3) What exceptional or life-changing experiences have you written about and what are you thinking about them now?
Looking back on my responses to the prompts, I don’t think I’ve written about any exceptional event or anything that would fit a normal person’s definition of a “life-changing experience.” However, I did write about something seemingly insignificant, but it was life-changing for me: the first time I ever went to church. In my writing, I illustrated how confused I was, not knowing where I was, and not understanding what to do. I wrote about being in awe of the huge stained-glass windows and trying to mimic the teacher and other children’s movements by dipping my fingers into the holy water. When I went home, I described my experiences to my oldest brother, Juni, and he explained the concept of church and mass to me. That was the first time I really struggled with an entirely new concept in school, and it was the first time I was ever exposed to a different religious practice. After that, I began to understand new words and concepts like Christian, Bible, Mass, Prayer, God, and Jesus. Even though this experience might seem small and not at all exceptional, it was pivotal for me since it marked the beginning of my spiritual formation. Now, reflecting back on what I wrote, I laugh at how young and clueless I was. I had no idea what was going on, but I just went with it, taking it all in, and making a mental list of questions to ask Juni. I didn’t think this experience was so important to me until I reread everything I wrote. After realizing how much I was affected by Catholic school and Catholicism, I can now see now that it was this event that started the snowball effect.
4) What haven’t you included that’s the flip side or would reveal another dimension of something you have included?
Something significant that I haven’t included that’s the flip side of something I have written about is the fact that alcoholism runs in my family. This isn’t a topic I’ve ever liked to talk about, so it’s probably why I avoided writing about it, but I think it reveals another dimension to my family relationships. Since I’m the youngest out of all my siblings and first cousins, they’ve always tried to protect me from the darker sides of the family until I got older and they couldn’t anymore. My cousins are like brothers and sisters to my siblings and I because we share the same struggles when it comes to dealing with alcoholism in the family. It’s a wound that’s brought us closer and we all understand each other in that way. My siblings and I have seen what alcohol can do to a person, what it can do to a family, and we’ve never wanted to follow that path. My oldest brother is 30, my other brother is 28, and my sister is 22, and none of them have ever even tasted alcohol before. That’s why I’ve always tried to follow their example by never drinking and not even being tempted by it. While other college students go to parties and get drunk with their friends, I’m at home playing games with my family, and I’m happy with that.
5) Compare and contrast your upbringing or cultural experiences with someone you encountered in the class readings or videos. What does the comparison reveal to you about your cultural background, social position or belief system?
One reading that’s stuck with me is “Explaining White Privilege to a Broke White Person” by Gina Crosley-Corcoran. In it, she describes growing up in a poor, struggling family and being angered when someone called her privileged. However, once she read Peggy McIntosh’s 1988 piece “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack,” she began to come to terms with her white privilege. She states, “After one reads McIntosh’s powerful essay, it’s impossible to deny that being born with white skin in America affords people certain unearned privileges in life that people of other skin colors simply are not afforded.” I, being a brown-skinned Guyanese girl, never experienced this sort of privilege and I’ve actually been wary of white people who take advantage of their privilege, yet try to deny it or don’t even recognize it. I’ve always felt like I had to work doubly hard to be taken seriously in school. I’ve always longed to see more people that look like me playing strong, well developed leads in TV shows and movies instead of the comedic relief or archetype character. I’ve always tried to act extra polite and have good manners so that I don’t reflect badly on my race. All these things and more is what I experience, so it angers me when people brush off their privilege. My favorite line in the article is, “It’s not your fault that you were born with white skin and experience these privileges. But whether you realize it or not, you do benefit from it, and it is your fault if you don’t maintain awareness of that fact.” Instead of acting like it doesn’t exist, I think people should be aware of it and try to dismantle and change the system. As I stated in my writing, “Just by recognizing that such a thing as white privilege does exist, it’ll make the road to breaking down the brick wall of white privilege somewhat easier. Although it can take decades for this wall to finally be broken down, each and every brick counts.”
6) Read about Diana Baumrind’s parenting styles. Which style corresponds to the way you have described or implied your parents’ style in your data? Is it accurate? Speculate about why your parents raised you this way. Where did their style or values originate? What connections do you see between that style and the person you are today? Will you raise your children the same or differently?
Out of the three parenting styles Diana Baumrind described, I think that my dad fits the permissive parent while my mom fits the authoritative parent, though I’m not sure they fit the mold completely. My dad has always been the more lenient parent who I know I could go to if I wanted something. The permissive parent “attempts to behave in a nonpunitive, acceptant and affirmative manner towards the child's impulses, desires, and actions,” and in this way my dad fits this definition. However, Baumrind states the permissive parent “presents [himself] to the child as a resource for him to use as he wishes, not as an ideal for him to emulate, nor as an active agent responsible for shaping or altering his ongoing or future behavior.” This isn’t accurate when it comes to my dad because even though he leaves the stricter parenting to my mom, he still acts as a role model and still plays an active role in raising me and shaping my ideals. My mom is an authoritative parent since she attempts to guide me, but in a “rational, issue-oriented manner.” She does listen to my perspective and never shuts me down if I object to something she says. Baumrind states that the authoritative parent “exerts firm control at points of parent-child divergence, but does not hem the child in with restrictions. She enforces her own perspective as an adult, but recognizes the child's individual interests and special ways. The authoritative parent affirms the child's present qualities, but also sets standards for future conduct.” In these ways, I think my mom accurately fits the mold of an authoritative parent. I think my parents raised me this way because it’s what they were used to. In Guyanese culture, it’s common for the mother to be the stricter and more “hands-on” parent while the father parents through example. I think my mother’s style of parenting shaped who I am today because now I tend to dispute things that don’t seem fair to me since she allowed me to sometimes question the rules that she set out for me. I think I’ll raise my children similarly to how my mom raised me because she never bombarded me with restrictions. My mom valued, above all, the truth, so if I wanted to do something or go somewhere I only had to ask. If she didn’t condone it, she’d never blatantly say no without an explanation. As a result, I never felt the need to lie to my parents and I’ve always felt safe to talk to my mom about issues I’m struggling with. I never want my kids to feel as though they couldn’t approach me with something or that they have to lie to me out of fear, which is why I’d choose the same parenting style as my mom.
7) We began the semester with this quotation by Manning Marable in which he writes about the purpose of humanistic, liberal education. He says, “It should foster impatience with all forms of human inequality, whether based on gender, sexual orientation, or race. The knowledge to help to empower those without power, to bridge our social divisions, to define and to enrich our definitions of democracy should be the central aim of a liberal education for the twenty-first century. How and where does your autoethnographic data reflect human inequality? What social divisions does it reveal? In what ways are you powerful or privileged? In what ways are you powerless or disenfranchised? How do you see yourself positioned to help empower those without power? And how might the empowerment of others impact you?
My autoethnographic data reveals human inequality in the racial and gender prompts. When discussing gender in my culture, I wrote about how men are expected to be “tough, strong, and assertive” while women must be “sensitive, kind, loyal, and supportive.” Men are supposed to be the protectors and providers while women are just expected to be housekeepers and mothers in my culture. Men are encouraged to have ambition and command respect while women are discouraged from being too outspoken and are meant to put the needs of her family above her own. This reveals the harsh double standards that are not only present in my own culture, but persists throughout society. I also described my opposition to xenophobes and feeling like I was on the receiving end of targeted hatred for being Guyanese and having parents who are immigrants. I wrote, “When I’d watch the news and see people protesting against immigrants and saying that foreigners should go back to their own country, I always felt personally attacked despite being born and raised in the United States. I think it’s because I know that despite being born here, many people will still look at me and perceive me to be a foreigner due to my culture and the color of my skin. It doesn’t matter to xenophobes that I was born in Flushing Hospital in New York. It doesn’t matter that I grew up watching Disney and Nickelodeon or that I went to Catholic schools all my life. All they see is a brown-skinned girl who does not fit their mold or standards of what an American should be.” This reveals the existing distrust and hostility towards immigrants and the divide between first generation Americans and those who harbor resentment towards them. I’m privileged in the ways that I am an American, I am heterosexual, I am educated, and I come from a middle-class family. I am disenfranchised in the ways that I am a brown-skinned female and I come from a family of immigrants. I see myself in a position to help empower those without power because I have the resources to actually try to effect change. Since I am educated and go to an esteemed university, I have a voice and my opinions matter in that way. I can volunteer with those who are powerless and try to help any way I can, and I already do that in some ways since I’m a volunteer tutor at a low-income public elementary school. The empowerment of others can either work against me or work to help me. It’s up to those in power to actually want to listen to my opinions and what I have to say in order for change to actually happen. I can be an advocate for change, but if the people in power have no intent on creating changes, then it’ll make my endeavors much more difficult.
8) In what ways are you an exemplar and in what ways are you an outlier in your culture?
I am an exemplar in my culture since I put an emphasis on education and I’m intent on pursuing a good, successful career. My culture stresses prioritizing a good education above all else when you’re young, and in this way I’m an exemplar. I think I also stereotypically represent my culture since I’m intent on getting a career in the medical field. It’s a stereotype that brown children grow up to be doctors and if they’re anything else, then they’re essentially letting their families down. While this isn’t true for my family since they support any endeavor that’ll make me happy, it still is a mindset that exists in my culture. I’m an outlier in my culture since I don’t believe that my ultimate goal is being a wife and mother. As stated in my writing, “I have more potential than just being a mother and a wife, not that these things are negative, but there’s just many more other things I have to offer the world on top of this.” My culture believes that marriage is one of the most important things in a girl’s life, and it’s something that I’ve never agreed with. I’m also an outlier in my culture since I’m very outspoken when it comes to things that I don’t agree with and I’m not afraid to voice my opinions. In my culture, it’s not polite to dispute or argue, especially for girls, but I often find myself going against that.
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