It feels quite silly or selfish to write anything about myself right now. It has for a while, and perhaps this is something all writers struggle with - Not Making it About Us. Writing from our own point of view, about our feelings, without making our personhood the central aspect of the piece. Scratch that, not just writers, I know we all know people who just can’t seem to stop themselves from making anything about them. This is something else I’ve been struggling with - to continue living our lives and make our lives about ourselves (to a healthy amount, of course, because the self-care and therapy speak we’re seeing all over social media is only confusing self-obsession with “Taking Up Space” reader: they are not the same. Kindly learn the difference. But I digress.) and having the ability to Keep On Keeping On after seeing decapitated babies. Some days, I do not know how to Go On. Some days, I do not want to Go On. Some days, Going On is all I have left, while I remind myself that I am grateful to be able to Go On. Surrounded by loved ones. In my home. Safe.
Our former President - I repeat - President - was found guilty on all 34 charges. I repeat. Thirty. Four. Charges. Yes, we’re incredibly glad that our judicial system worked this time around, but I’m left with nothing but eye rolls and my head shaking. Disappointed? No. I mean, look at who we’re talking about. Surprised? Again, no. I have nothing left in me but to laugh.
Stormy Daniels, I applaud you.
India has reached a record heat - 49 degrees celsius, for us Americans, that’s nearly 121 f*cking degrees. I watched a video a Delhi resident posted online of birds dropping from trees due to heat. I feel a bit of joy at the election results, laughing that I am praising Uttar Pradesh about politics, of all things. The people have spoken, and in time, the truth will always come out. The online discussions and I must admit, meme content has been incredible, and I hope the momentum pushes India’s government to care about all of their people, not just the few they deem worthy.
Sigh.
My friends and I go on about how much the sun helps us. Motivates us, inspires us, gets us moving. Year after year we collectively forget how dull and gloomy the PNW spring can be. Wearing down on our spirits, causing us to turn to spirits for some sense of “enjoying” life - which again, feels ironic with the current state of the world. But at the same time, isn’t joy the point of it all? If I’m allowed to feel joy, breathe joy, shouldn’t I do so, wholeheartedly? Without questioning it, without thinking that I’m owing something at the end. As if joy is something to be given in exchange for something. As if joy will swoop in and grab something in the future. I’m not sure where this came from. Guilt creeps in while I’m giggling under the sun, bopping to music that a DJ seems to be playing just for me and my girls. But as we’ve learned, guilt is a useless emotion.
What can I do? What can we all do?
A piece I keep going back to, keep coming across, as if I need the reminder to give into life a little more.
“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happened better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.” Mary Oliver, Don’t Hesitate.
I’ve been hesitating, Mary, I’ve been hesitating. I get lost in my own thoughts thinking, thinking of what I thought would’ve been, what could be, what is. I think about my own existence, and get stuck in a cycle of guilt and wonder and some days, I can’t get out. It’s only by chance that I was born as me, that you were born as you, and that we have the ability to connect through access to a stable internet that hasn’t been shut down or controlled. It’s by chance that I’m able to type away, safe, under the protection of a local coffee shop with an iced dirty chai at arm’s length.
While things are looking a bit drab, here are a few things that help me get through my days where everything feels a bit uncertain. When the clouds roll in and we feel foggy, it feels almost delusional to force ourselves to feel joy, hope, or pleasure. Hit me up with the sweet little things that push you, too.
Lifting. Heavy. Weights. Don’t roll your eyes at me! Throw them around. Don’t hesitate to try the number you’ve been scared of (safely, with good form, please). Girls reading - particularly South Asian girlies - I’m looking at you. Especially you. The world wants us to be as small as possible. No we will never be the 80-90 pounds our mothers were in their wedding photos. And that’s ok. Being strong is sexy. Becoming strong in the gym is the best thing I did for myself, my sense of self, my discipline. To be able to see that I can, truly, do anything I set my mind to. With this playlist, if you’re a real one.
Journaling, particularly a gratitude journal every morning and night. Admittedly, I used to laugh at people who did gratitude journals but it brings some light to my mornings and nights. It reminds me of all that I am blessed with - which can feel disheartening on days when we don't feel ourselves, but there’s always at least one thing that makes us smile. Write it down.
Reading. It can be a wonderful tool to escape, but also to learn more and expand our knowledge. Especially during this time, I’ve found it quite grounding to read works by Black and brown writers who are committed to seeking truth and storytelling. Here are a few of my recent favorites --
Communion by bell hooks
The Will to Change by bell hooks
Remembered Rapture (especially for my fellow writers) again, surprise, by bell hooks
Azadi by Arudhati Roy
In Sensorium by Tanaïs (I’ve read this twice, and each time, I’ve learned something new. <3)
Hunger by Roxane Gay
Consuming things I enjoy - in moderation.
I never thought I’d say this, but I’m loving watching Sex and the City. I find Carrie incredibly annoying, but there is something so real, tangible, and raw about her that I’m also in awe of her character. I watch Samantha and Miranda feel like bits of myself are feeling seen. Charlotte....I’m speechless. I’m not sure if it's good or bad.
Instagram Reels of cute animals. Hey, it helps. Especially as someone who refuses to have a pet in an era where taking care of myself feels like a full time job.
Gen Z South Asian choreography on TikTok. Cooking TikTok. Gym TikTok. The random niche humor TikToks that only my best friend and I will laugh about. South Asian Content Creators getting their bag(s) on TikTok. Book TikTok (only some...some of it...nevermind). I love and admire watching people come out of their shells online. Storytelling online, teaching us something online. I will always believe that social media has the ability to change us, and push us for good, if used correctly. I have met wonderful folks online and for that, I will forever be grateful for at least attempting to put myself and my words out there. As I saw on a meme today - “I don’t care if I’m cringe. I’m just a mirror of your internalized shame.” Period.
My precious yearning playlist. Best played while staring out the window, daydreaming, or a little tipsy. Or, both. Not a day goes by without listening to yearn-worthy, heart shattering, gut wrenching Indian music. I love it. I love how it makes me feel connected to my parents and their childhood memories, to their young adult memories, to my childhood memories, to my teenage memories, to my young adult-hood memories. I love how certain lines tug at my heart, making me feel something for someone that I didn’t realize I felt. I love when a tune makes me smile unknowingly, nostalgia creeping in. Oh, nostalgia. Or how lyrics make me look forward to feeling something I have yet to feel. Or how now that I’m older, I understand Tamil lyrics better than I ever did before. And oh how sweet it is to hear your mother tongue, as if the song was written just for you.
Allowing myself to feel joy when it comes.
With love,
Nivita