thoughtsfromaboundlessmind

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Just a Typical Day at the Georgia Capitol

Working at the Georgia Capitol has been an eye-opening experience for me. Since I am not currently working for the State, I can speak freely about my experiences here.  I want to make it clear that we have some wonderful people who work here and some great politicians. However, I’ll divide this into two sections. I will start with the “tea” if you want to call it that. Then, I will dive into the much more positive side of my experience which is the “sweet tea.” Let’s get right to it!

The Tea:

 Running around the Georgia Capitol super early in the morning can be frustrating especially when you do not have a badge. You constantly have to go through security if the security guard does not realize you are there all day every day. I am grateful the buildings here are kept secured, but my driver’s license does not change on a daily basis. Nothing I carry with me to work changes on a daily basis either.

 Second, I will do a deep dive on this subject- everyone knows everything, but no one knows anything. Some politicians fail to realize they are only in their positions because we elected them. They think they are better than the people around them including the staffers, administrative people, and interns. Meanwhile, we are working hard on their behalf to get them information from various meetings. Politicians have to be in multiple places at once. It makes sense to send staffers to fill in for politicians at these various meetings. Other politicians are aware of why we are there because they also are sending their staffers to meetings. Yet, they act surprised when we show up, take a seat, eat something, stand in a crowded room taking notes, and so on. Sometimes, we staffers will ask questions and get looks from those who think they are better than us. Generally, people walk around acting like they know what they are doing, but when you ask for help, you end up down a rabbit hole of misinformation. The bottom line is politicians would not be able to know everything they need to if they did not have eyes and ears everywhere in the form of interns and staffers. Communication is key and we need to work on that.

 If you do not have a slip and fall injury case from all this spilled tea yet, there is more. While we have some wonderful administrative staff members, some show clear signs of not having manners. I was yelled at by an admin person once because I walked on the wrong side of the rope. Some of you may know who I speak of on the third floor, but we will not mention names here. All she had to do was walk three feet up to me and let me know politely that I cannot walk on that side of the rope. Instead, she chose to yell from her seat while everyone around could hear her yelling. I quickly apologized and walked away embarrassed even though it is her who should be embarrassed at her lack of manners. I typically show up early to meetings just to secure my seat. One day, I had to use the restroom so I left my stuff in my seat I was sitting in for twenty minutes prior to the start of the event to use the restroom. I asked the admin at the door where to find the restroom. He pushed my question off and assisted other people he deemed more important. I found the restroom on my own. Upon coming back, he ignored letting me in to address other people and then asked me if I had a seat in the room. I said yes (which was so obvious because he saw me walk in twenty minutes early) and he let me back in. The problem is he was letting other people in when I returned from the bathroom, but then separating me out to ask if I had a seat.  So, the latecomers could go in. I had to be questioned.

 There is more fun to that story. In trying to exit to use the restroom, a house representative stopped me. They had begun Christian prayer. I have nothing against Christians. In fact, I love and respect all religions. I personally do not identify with any religion, but I support everyone’s beliefs. However, in state government, I have found on multiple occasions and almost at every event at the Capitol, there is prayer and it is always Christian prayer. That excludes a lot of people. For the house representative to hold the door and tell me I cannot leave until they are done praying was rude. If that is the case, would it have been okay for me to throw down a prayer mat and bow down to God based on the religion my family comes from? I wanted to ask her if that would be okay or if that would also be a disruption to her prayer like me wanting to use the bathroom was bothering her. This concept of locking the doors and forcing people to listen to prayers is archaic to say the least. It is also a waste of taxpayer dollars.  I say that because taxpayer dollars is how we pay for public agencies and work at the Capitol generally. It is also a waste because chair people in meetings will mention that we do not have enough time to get to certain bills or will have to extend meetings, but are willing to have five minute prayers at the beginning of these important meetings. We are there for the taxpayers and to work on the bills they want us to work on. We are not there to have a long discussion on where a certain leader of prayer came from, how the prayer leader feels about COVID-19, how connected this leader is to certain politicians, and the actual prayer. We are there to work.

 I also had the pleasure of meeting Regina George! She came in the form of a house representative. I was attending a democratic caucus on behalf of my awesome state representative. Regina spotted me immediately while I was taking a seat (among around 40-50 open ones).  She waltzed over and asked who I was. I told her I am here to take notes for my house representative. The response was that I could not sit at the table. I had to stand and take notes. Regina George is really lucky I did not read her name tag fast enough to keep note of it. If she even ever reads this, I hope it is okay with her that I am sitting in a chair right now! Put it in your burn book, sis!

 For this next part, the tea is piping hot because I can actually drop a name. It is very well known the involvement House Majority Whip Trey Kelley has had with a homicide. When Trey Kelley was informed of a severe crash, instead of calling the police, he called the police chief.  Kelley reported only seeing a bicycle when he went to the scene. The person who was on the bike died in a ditch during the time all of this was taking place. Had someone, including Kelley who has even more of an obligation, called the police, maybe that person would still be alive. An investigation is happening regarding this issue. A petition is also going around calling for Kelley to resign. Kelley is on the House Rules Committee so I saw him almost every day. One day, he was asked to lead the prayer before the committee started reviewing bills. He said in his prayer that he was glad God granted us another day. I wonder how he feels about the person who was not granted another day because of Kelley’s inaction?

 The Sweet Tea:

 Now it is time to get to the more positive things. To begin, I love the fast paced environment. From the time I arrive, I am checking off the list of things I need to get done. I am usually dodging people, making sure I report on things as fast as I can and attending meetings. Things change quickly so everyone always has to stay tuned to what is happening and where it is happening.

 Next up is there are some really great politicians that truly fight on our behalf. This is also a humble brag for the one I work for right now.  She works tirelessly and is really good at explaining to her staffers and interns how things work, what to expect, and even share some fun time with us. She is very patient and makes time for literally everyone.  That is the type of leadership that makes staffers and interns excited to come out and work for a leader. The day after I was laid off because of Governor Kemp’s budget cuts to state government, I called a good friend and asked to work for her. It had nothing to do with her giving me work to occupy my time. It had everything to do with using my time to serve someone I hold to high esteem. This is someone who fights for things I hold near and dear to my heart. It is an honor to be on her team.

 Also, interns and staffers that go to meetings on behalf of their state representative are some of the nicest people I have met. At the end of almost all meetings, we turn to each other and ask questions. We share notes. We explain things to others who may not know all the details of processes at the Capitol with no judgment on each other for not knowing everything. It is so awesome being able to look to the staffer or intern next to me and know I am free to ask questions and they are free to ask me for anything as well.

 Another thing I have loved about the Capitol is that there are a lot of kids involved at a young age in government.  You will find Girl Scout kids, kids from various high schools, kids visiting with their politician parents, and more. The more they understand at a young age how government works, the better prepared our youth are for the future. It fills me with hope when I see them looking around curiously and asking questions. Instead of blaming the youth for not knowing things, we should teach them from a young age and I see that happening at the Capitol.

 There is also an option to call or leave a written message for your representative which I think is one of the best tools. There was a note from someone so I called and left a response. The person could not even vote, but wanted to make sure to speak out on behalf of a specific community. I was blown away at how in tuned this person was with our government. The person was willing to fight for people even when that person does not have the ability to go to the polls. This is the kind of engagement we need. This is how much everyone should be paying attention to government.

 I have blogged your ear off and I am honored if you have made it this far. I want to end this by saying please continue to vote, keep tabs on what your government is doing, and keep an eye on facts rather than opinions.  Power is in the hands of the voters. Your vote counts. See you all at the polls!

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Learning to Alexandria Cortez My Way Through Life

             Recently my good friend from high school paid me a surprise visit. It is always fun to reconnect with people from my past because I have a better sense of how much I have changed. I have no idea why this particular friend and I have stayed in touch over the years and he is not sure either. However, whenever we talk or hang out, there is this undying feeling of positivity. Anytime I am winning in life, he cheers on the sidelines. Anytime he is winning at life, I am his biggest fan girl. We both looked back on the past and feel we have grown for the better.

               We both spent time in law school so talked a lot about how law school breaks you down and then remolds you as a stronger, more determined, and more confident person. To get to that point, however, is a torturous path of self-doubt. You feel incompetent, useless. You feel like you are going to fail. I remember getting cold called in class several times and being unable to form a whole sentence. Once law school is over and you hold your Juris Doctor degree in your hands, though, there is not a feeling in the world that can compare to the elation you feel.

               That positivity only exists in certain pockets for me. In my professional life, I am treated as a person who is educated and can make decisions necessary to reach goals set out by my employer. In my personal life, I was expected to return home from work and go back to being compliant with traditional norms. I could not do it. I would be selling out on my true beliefs if I could snap back into old habits that I could not justify conforming to anymore. This did not sit well with quite a few people. In their minds, I had gone astray. Simple things like going to networking events at bars after work felt like it required some level of justification and permission from people in my personal life. I had transformed into an unknown form of beast out of their control. It became a daunting task to go to work, act like the adult I am, accomplish my goals, and then come home and turn my brain off so others could feel comfortable.

               During my friend’s surprise visit, we talked about all of the above as well as some of our achievements. One thing we both had experience with is working with various migrant populations that are subject to human rights violations once they have migrated to the country where they are promised work. Some migrants experience human rights abuses at the embassy, or from their employer, or from police. One common issue is restrictions on movement. Migrants would have their passports confiscated so they could not return home. Some would have to work to earn their passports back. My friend described it as essentially having your legs cut off.

               I did not realize how much that analogy applied to me until he pointed it out. Upon returning from law school, I had to explain where I was going and who I was with at all times. I did not have control over my personal documents. Even though I could always ask for it, I have been apprehensive. My friend looked me dead in the eyes and said that if I could represent migrant workers to restore their rights, then I could likewise fight for myself. I see strong women fighting for themselves and cheer for them everyday. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez is able to verbally take down someone for claiming her clothes look too pricey, and for someone who is struggling I cheered for that. I know I should be able to do the same for myself.  I need to apply my career skills to my personal life and take control. I did not realize just how much of my career and my education I had left at the front door before I stepped inside to handle personal matters.

               As my friend and I spoke, I flagged something I noticed about myself--a constant need for validation. When I started telling him what had transpired in my life since I last saw him, I kept searching in his face for validation that it was okay to feel the way I felt about my situation. I soon realized I was looking for the wrong sort of validation. True validation came from knowing that I am on par with all of my peers. He goes through things that are quite similar in some ways to what I go through. There is a sense of comfort in knowing we all go through uncomfortable things. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez popped into my mind again at that moment. She does not wait for validation. In the face of her opponents, she says what millennials think and makes us feel like our concerns and struggles are valid because she is struggling with us.

               My friend left me with the fact that our twenties are a time for us to focus on ourselves. We’re both in situations where we do not have kids and we can pay everything we’re required to on time. Everything else is for us to enjoy. Like Lil Wayne once said “the fruits of my labor, I enjoy them while they still ripe.” I love being able to do nice things for myself. It is the best feeling ever not to have to wait for someone to think of me and do something nice for me. I am self-sufficient. I am proud of me.

-          Stef

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Final Thoughts on Amman (2014)

First Impressions:

My experience in Jordan has been extremely different from any other life experience I have had.  I have never traveled to the Middle East before so my experience comes from a first timer’s point of view.  From the time we arrived in Jordan, everyone was warm and welcoming.  My mom and I thought that would fade away after a while, but, everyone we met was really jovial about having foreign visitors. Adding to the wonderful experience is the delicious food.  Here, all types of food are available including Western food so visitors who do not like the local delicacies can indulge in other kinds of food. Personally, I have enjoyed all the food I have eaten including Chinese, American, local delicacies and more.

Language Skills:

While I studied Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) for three and half years before coming to Jordan, I feel like it did not help me as much as I hoped it would.  Modern Standard Arabic is a uniform type of Arabic used in the media to communicate across all twenty two Arab countries.  While people read MSA in the newspapers and listen to it in the news, they do not actually speak like that.  Here, people speak in local dialects (there are various types depending on what part of the country the individual lives in).  While I know a little bit of Levantine Arabic, I found myself resorting to speaking English instead.  Nevertheless, it is easy for someone who does not know any Arabic to get by in Amman because generally speaking, most people here know enough English to help with whatever we needed. Also, almost all of the sign boards here are translated into English so it was easy to find my way around.  My language skills came in handy when people talk about my mom and I in Arabic.  I have been able to translate a few conversations without people actually knowing I can understand Arabic.  We have had many comical moments with the hotel staff as well.  When we cannot find a word in Arabic, we used hand signals to indicate what we needed.  This normally leads to a lot of giggles from the staff and from us as well.  Overall, language has not been a major barrier.

How Tamkeen Operates:

Most of my time in Jordan is consumed doing work. My work involved representing the rights of migrant workers in Jordan.  Tamkeen also handles human trafficking cases.  Sometimes, cases will involve both migrant worker rights violations and human trafficking issues.  Most migrant workers work in two areas.  The first is the qualified industrial zones (QIZ) which is made up of mostly Egyptian male migrant workers.  The second is domestic workers (house maids) which are mostly Sri Lankan, Indonesian, and Filipino women.  These workers come to Tamkeen after suffering violations of their rights.  These violations include, but are not limited to: passport confiscation, overstay of visas because their employers refuse to help them correct their status in the country, physical abuse and more.   Tamkeen provides legal assistance to the migrant workers.  This includes mediation between the worker and his/her employer/embassy/recruitment agency.  If they cannot reach a settlement, Tamkeen will file a complaint on behalf of the worker in court.  The Jordanian government provides translators for the complainants.

The issue Tamkeen has been fighting for many years is that the law in Jordan is pro-employer.  Employers’ fines for violating the rights of migrants are really low and they rarely face significant jail time for violations. Sometimes, the court refuses to admit that human trafficking is taking place in Jordan.  The courts pigeonhole the issues of the migrants into different categories in the law to avoid calling the issue “human trafficking.”  Tamkeen fights for laws that are more balanced.  For example, when an employer files an absconding report against a worker, the police search for the worker and arrest the worker before doing any type of investigation.  Once arrested, the police will do a light investigation then subject the worker to deportation.  The worker hardly ever gets a chance to prove his/her innocence. Tamkeen has two main offices. One is the legal wing and the other is the administrative wing.  In reality, the administrative wing does a fair share of legal work as well.  The administrative wing also handles training programs for workers (to inform them of their rights), government agencies, and more. The legal wing meets with NGOs and groups from other countries as well to compare migrant worker issues and share ideas on how to resolve issues.

My Personal Work Experience:

My first week was extremely busy since Tamkeen was working on putting together reports on their legal findings and statistics about migrant workers in Jordan.  My task was to help improve the English translations of cases.  In many instances, I had to find the English legal terms for words/phrases in Arabic. I also had to organize the case information in legal format.  In the process, I learned a significant amount of national law.

I also worked on a questionnaire that will be used to interview Syrian child workers.  One of the issues Jordan currently faces is that Syrian children are being employed in some types of work not suitable for children.  While for some families, it is the norm for children to work in Syria so it is not unusual for the child to seek work in Jordan, Tamkeen and many other organizations believe these children should be in school.  My research found that children in refugee camps in Jordan feel the need to work because certain necessities are not easy to access at the refugee camp.  These necessities include things like fresh fruit and vegetables. To make the questionnaire, I had to constantly review national law and Jordan’s international obligations to form questions based on the law.   Lastly, I worked on a research project about legal and illegal detention of migrant workers in Jordan.  Legal detention is typically done by the police but illegal detention is done by the embassies, recruitment agencies and employers. Typically, the agencies, embassies and employers illegally detain migrants by first confiscating their passports so the migrants have limited mobility. My project was to determine best practices in the region and internationally on how to deal with this issue. I have learned that migrant worker issues in Jordan are just the tip of the iceberg.  In Morocco, migrants are constantly subject to physical violence by security forces.  Migrant camps are constantly raided and migrants are constantly in fear of arrest.  Passports are not just confiscated in Morocco, they are burned by security forces. The Moroccan government has implemented new laws, regulations and guidelines for reform on how the security forces treat migrant workers. In Bahrain, migrants also face harsh conditions. Dubai, a rapidly developing hot spot for activity is also notorious for migrant abuses. The situation of migrant workers in some areas is akin to slavery.  Some of the cases I have dealt with include migrant house maids not being allowed to shower, not being allowed access to adequate food, not being allowed to rest/sleep, and suffering physical and mental abuse.

Tourism: On a lighter note, my mom and I have taken tours around Jordan which were really fun.  Our tours included visits to Petra, Wadi Rum, Jerash, Ajloun, the Dead Sea, King Abdullah Mosque, The Roman Theater and various markets in Jordan.  It helped us get an understanding of Jordan’s rich culture and history.  The sites were breathtakingly beautiful and it gave me the opportunity to work on my photography skills (though I still consider myself an amateur).  On my days off, I became hyper-aware of the migrant workers around us and we carried business cards for Tamkeen in case I needed to slip one to a worker. A few times I spotted migrant housemaids with their host families in food courts.  I would hang around the food court even after I was done eating just to make sure the migrant was receiving adequate food and humane treatment from their host family.  

Personal Struggles with Identity:

In the US, I have struggled with my identity for as long as I could remember. I feel like my culture/history is little known to many people.  My family is from Guyana in South America and my ancestors are from India.  Much of our Indian culture still lives on today and it is infused with Afro influences as well.  The result is a unique West Indian culture with a dialect of English that is more akin to Creole.  In the US, people typically ask me if I’m from India, Africa, and sometimes people think I am Hispanic.  In Jordan, people think that we are Sri Lankan domestic workers or that we are visitors from India.  They are baffled by the way we speak English and that our dress code does not seem to fit that of a domestic worker.  We have a lot of trouble explaining to people where we are from in South America.  While sometimes over the years I have gotten frustrated trying to prove the existence of my people, it makes me feel like I have a lot in common with refugees and stateless individuals.  While I can never compare my life struggles with theirs, there is a sort of comfort in the fact that I am not alone in my identity struggle. It feels like I have a community of friends who understand what it is like to have to constantly prove that I belong somewhere.  

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

First Blog From Law School (2013)

“So this is it? I sold my soul for this? Washed my hands of that for this? I miss my mom and dad for this?” - Fun.

Class Freak Everyone has a different point in their first semester of law school where it hits them that they’re really there. For some people, it hits them on the first day, for others, it’s some random day where they have a moment of realization that this is really happening. For the most part, that realization is personal. It happens internally. For me, it happened in front of everyone. I didn’t fully realize it until I rolled out of my chair and hit the floor in Criminal Law. To begin, it was your typical law school morning. I started out positive, feeling like I��d get a lot done that day, God’s on my side, and I’d even try to have a few extroverted tendencies-venturing a smile at a few random fellow law schoolers. On this particular day, about a month and half in to my first semester, I was feeling exceptionally on top of my game. I waltzed to class as if I actually (for a split second) felt like I belonged there and I even kept my head up and made eye contact with people as we waited for the classroom to open. Today might be the day I get called on to get slaughtered for fifty of the longest minutes of my life. I had no worries about that though because I still had some of my early morning positivity pumping through me. 

I looked over my notes. The words looked strange. “Oh God”, I thought, “don’t tell me these notes aren’t for this class.” I shuffled the papers. What is the deal with my vision? Have I gotten more near-sighted? Everything was starting to look like black and white television static. “Good God, I hope she doesn’t call on me” I kept thinking to myself.  “I can’t see the casebook anymore. This must be a dream. Yes, I’m dreaming.” Mind you, all of this is happening in a matter of a minute and a half.  I rubbed my cramping legs. Soon, the television static took over and I felt light. “Am I going sideways? Oh is this the floor? Oh it’s so comfy to be down here. It takes the pressure off of my static-filled head. Wait, what?”

My head popped up to find roughly 65 pairs of eyes drilling holes into me with their stares. I was horrified. This really just happened in front of about 65 strangers. The class freak had officially announced her presence. I wanted to get up and run out of there and never show my face there again. Thankfully, the girl sitting next to me offered to escort me out. It was just what I needed so that the rest of the eyes surrounding me wouldn’t be able to pierce me all the way out of class.

Outside of class wasn’t any better. The EMT’s rushed down the stairs. I didn’t think it was that serious. The dean, too, came flying down the stairs. I really didn’t think it was that serious. They questioned me a bit, ran blood pressure and glucose tests and found nothing. I knew it wasn’t any of that.  I had dealt with severe cramping causing the blood flow to my brain to slow, and low levels of iron contributing to my lovely in-class performance (enter extreme sarcasm here). I picked myself up and went to the clinic. I cried all the way there out of sheer embarrassment, and cried in front of the doctor (because that made me feel so much better- sarcasm again). I went home and cried some more, but I really had no idea why I felt so embarrassed that day because the day after was even more joy-filled. The next day, I tried to time my walk to class down to the very minute the doors to class would open so no one would pay attention to the class freak coming down the stairs but boy was my timing off. That was probably the most humiliating walk down the stairs ever. Eyes darted to and from me. The class freak was gracing the class with her presence again. What will happen in class today? 

I was never more aware of my double consciousness syndrome as I was on that day. If only I could hear people’s thoughts. “She’s so skinny, that’s why she fainted. She doesn’t eat. She’s too scared to get called on so she fainted. She’s not one of us. Who approved her application to law school?” My cheeks were ablaze but there was nothing I could do other than keep going. In law school, there’s no time to stop and lick your wounds. You just have to keep going. This was my moment of self-realization. I was here. I was living the dream I always wanted. I was in law school. I’m the class freak and for the next three years. 

The Cult of the Arrogant The good thing about coming to law school is meeting people just like yourself. They’ve been dreaming of law school since birth, some are the first to dip their toes into higher education in their family, some just love to debate and so the list of characterizations goes on. There are a few who fancy themselves the pompous elite of the law school pack. They make it seem like arrogance is a requirement- one I must’ve missed on the application. They all identified that arrogant quality in each other it seems because soon enough, they grouped together. Luck must’ve been on my side because I happened to sit near them in almost every class (sarcasm).

There was one class where I sat right behind them. This is the class where I really got to know of their shenanigans. The clock would tick closer and closer to 9:30. I’d glance at my professor looking at his seating chart. He’d make eye contact with me and my cheeks would burn. It’s going to be me today. I can feel it. I shuffled some papers around. There was no point in reading them because they weren’t in a language I understood anymore. Through some sorcery of the eyes, my professor had translated them to a language I didn’t know. Of course on this particular day I got called on. By this point I had developed a really bad habit of looking at the arrogant kids to see if they had approved of what I said in class (or actually, what anyone else said who got called on). The professor threw a question at me and I fumbled as I vomited out words I hoped formed complete, coherent sentences. “Should I ask him to repeat the question? Maybe he could try it in Arabic this time. I might understand that better.” The backs of the arrogant kids’ heads began to move. They didn’t approve of what I had said. “Oh God, who should I try to please at this point, them or the professor?” My cheeks were on fire. They were making faces at each other like everything I said was poisoning their ears. Before my cheeks exploded, the professor released me from his Socratically torturous grip and moved on to the next person. 

I got no approval from the arrogant bunch on that day. I got no approval on any day really. Not a lot of people get their approval anyway. But, there were holes in their veil of arrogance. Sometimes they’d seem to disagree as to how they felt on certain responses from other classmates. One would make a face of disgust but the other would nod in approval. They were actually able to have individual thoughts instead of being brain warped into one uniform mode of thinking.  Sometimes they’d nod in approval in unison at a person’s response but the person would turn out to be wrong. What was happening to the cult of the arrogant? I thought they knew it all. I thought they’d get up and teach the class one day. I thought someone with a tailored black suit and aviators would walk in to class one day and just hand them their JD’s and tell them they were done with law school but the rest of us had to fight through the next two years because we weren’t as smart as the cult. It never happened. It’s mid-March of my second semester, it still hasn’t happened. I’m slowly starting to realize that it will never happen.

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Traveling Back In Time

I recently dug up two pieces I had written in law school. One was a blog post from my first year that I kept to myself until now. The other is a piece on my final thoughts after returning from Jordan. I was surprised I never shared these on the old blog. I’ll post them in order from oldest to new. Enjoy!

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

“You’re Pretty...For A Dark Girl”

The piece below was initially written for publication in an anthology on the struggles women face regarding colorism. I decided to add it to the blog as well. Enjoy! 

Colorism is an issue experienced in many different realms of life. It can happen within the confines of your home and among close relatives. Even if a person is lucky enough not to have to deal with it on the home front, there is also the social realm, in which curiosity and opinions on value attached to skin color can surface. Lastly, the media can feed into the discourse on colorism through its race representation and commentary.  My personal journey in dealing with colorism is deeply rooted in colonialism. Indentured servitude during colonialism was a form of labor that took over after the abolition of slavery. My ancestors experienced this debt bondage when the British took indentured servants from India to the Caribbean. These indentured servants were known as coolies. Coolie is a derogatory term for an unskilled laborer. My ancestors worked many hours in fields, picking rice and sugar cane daily to pay off their debts to the British.  My family in particular is from Guyana (also called British Guiana). Colonialism in Guyana ended in 1966. My paternal grandma was fairly young then and believed it was a bad move to end colonialism. The British were glamourized in the eyes of some individuals because with the British Empire came some goodies like strong infrastructure. When the British left, so did the some of the technology that came with them. The glamorization of light skin as being beautiful stuck around, though.   As a child - and even to this day - I was told to stay out of the sun. My family equated being darker with being less attractive. I was even once told that being in the sun makes you look roasted and that is not pretty. This led to my lack of participation in sports. Even though I was very curious about sports and wanted to play tennis at one point, it was embedded in my mind that this is something that could make me darker so I should not do it. My maternal grandma, of fair complexion, was particularly keen on addressing my dark complexion. I come from a Muslim household so my grandma would make frequent trips to Saudi Arabia to visit holy sites. During many of her pilgrimages to Saudi Arabia, she would buy skin lightening creams as gifts for some of the family members, including me.  I recall my mom taking them from me and not really commenting on the need for skin lightening.  In her silence on the need to lighten my skin, I found a silent rebellion against the commonplace sentiments/attitudes of my family. The world outside of my household had strong views about my skin tone as well. As I started to date more, I noticed exoticism of my skin tone was commonplace. The color of my skin was relevant to whether or not someone wanted to date me. I felt uncomfortable because my skin color had nothing to do with what was in my head- my opinions, my imagination, and my education. With one particular individual, I found that being of a different race from him was attractive, but that was all. He did not want to hear about social justice issues tied to race. I was berated for speaking on issues that involved people of my race or skin color. I was berated for showing solidarity with the issues people of other races go through. Everything to him seemed like a war waged to further white guilt. From my perspective, I was speaking out in solidarity with people of all skin colors out of an effort to create more unity. He strongly believed I made everything a race issue. What he did not take into account is that everything and almost everyone I encounter in life acts and reacts to skin color. The color of my skin is not something I can turn on and off when interacting with people and there inevitably will be dialogue about it in social interactions. Another curious experience with this individual was the importance of the shade of my skin. When we first started talking, we saw pictures of each other and formed conversations that way.  Sometimes my pictures appeared lighter than I actually am due to various contributing factors like lighting, flash, or filters on apps.  When we finally met in person, he did not hesitate to point out I was darker than he expected. I could tell from his tone that I did not quite meet his shade requirement. He seemed to have a cut- off point of skin tones he would accept on a girl and I was beyond that cut-off point.  It was hard to understand how someone could think the color of my skin mattered so much, and that they actually would have passed on talking to me if they had seen me in person and not seen my pictures from the start. The color of my skin does not change what is in my brain, but that didn’t seem to matter. It adds nothing to conversation to point out the shade of my skin save that it is an observation so strong in someone’s mind that they feel the need to comment out loud about it. On multiple occasions while standing or sitting next to things that were lighter than my skin (a white couch, white bed sheets, etc…) I would receive comments on how dark I was. At first, I was self-conscious. I wondered if I should wear dark clothes and avoid being against lighter backdrops so as to appear lighter. I realized quickly enough that I was not embracing my true self by trying to constantly disguise the fact that I am dark. I should be able to wear the colors I want to and be in any setting without having to deal with the commentary I was dealing with. The issue was not the color of my skin, but people’s perception of skin color. Perhaps the most intriguing line I encounter often from strangers and even from people I know is, “you’re pretty…for a dark girl.”  The unsolicited backhanded compliment has often left me wondering if my light-skinned sisters ever hear “you’re pretty…for a light-skinned girl.” Why is qualifying my skin color necessary? Why the constant need to point out color when offering what I am supposed to believe is a compliment? Outside of my family and my social life is another realm called the media. Here, during my younger years, there were not many women of color occupying spaces that reached a wide audience.  Even in Bollywood (a massive film industry in India), light-skinned actresses dominated the market. As I got older, I became more aware of this phenomenon. I also began noticing a shift. Darker actresses began to emerge. Actresses that were viewed as lighter refused to endorse skin lightening creams which are common in the Indian market. The makeup industry also began to diversify and become more inclusive. Brands like Iman and Black Radiance emerged for women of darker skin tones. As a makeup enthusiast, I was super excited to see this because it meant I would find more compatible colors for my skin tone.  Recently, the entertainer Rihanna created a makeup line. It was meant to be as inclusive as possible for women of all skin tones.  She even included shades for women with albinism. This level of inclusivity across the color spectrum was unprecedented and welcomed by many fans of the makeup industry.  Rihanna’s movement toward inclusiveness caused a scramble among other popular makeup brands to do the same.   Makeup brands clambering to be more inclusive has helped me understand that the lack of inclusivity before did not mean I needed to  do things like stay out of the sun and use skin lightening creams to fit the mainstream mold of common makeup shades. It meant that the makeup industry lacked understanding of the importance of making all women feel included. Being lucky enough to have earned my Juris Doctor degree, my education has taught me that no amount of criticism on my complexion from family and the social world makes me less important compared to my peers. All of my peers should have a sense of belonging no matter their skin tone. While this is an ongoing battle due to pockets of racism still existing in our society, inclusivity has become more prevalent. Inclusivity in various markets helps chip away at old perspectives of skin color. As inclusivity spread further, hopefully these old notions will no longer exist in the fabric of society.  

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Reclaiming My Time

As with almost any long trip, there was an aftermath to being away in India. I’ll separate them out as the good aftermath and the bad aftermath, though I wish it really was that black and white.

1) The Good Aftermath

In India, some states are dry states so alcohol is not available for purchase. Gujarat in particular is dominated by a vegetarian diet and no alcohol. I got a good wine detox and healthy diet going while I was there and dropped a lot of unwanted weight. I plan to continue a lot of those eating habits because the results are phenomenal. I also reset my circadian clock so my sleep schedule has vastly improved. I also have a better sense of self now that I understand my ancestry better. I achieved a lot of personal goals last year so I came back feeling empowered to achieve even more this year because I know I can do it.

2) The Bad Aftermath

This part goes back many years. A lot of you may recall many moons ago, I was in a serious relationship for about three years. We even almost got engaged and just like that, everything exploded right before me. It was like the game quidditch in Harry Potter where the goal is the catch the golden snitch. The golden snitch (my dreams) was right in front of me and at times, in my hand. I was killing it in law school, I was learning to be more social, and I had a rock star boyfriend. The snitch was mine and I figured it could only get better from here. Slowly, he began to back down from our dreams we were striving toward. People were talking in his ear. These were the kind of people who project their personal problems on anyone who is happy so they can feel better about themselves. I was devastated. I remember everything from the day I left him- the color of my lipstick, the date, the years of crying (yes, years). Anyone who knows me knows I emotionally invest in everything I do. He was even being prevented from seeing me by these people and I knew at that point I had to leave him. I was devastated. Now, I look back on it fondly. I even texted him early last year to let him know I support him in all his endeavors and I’m happy for all of his personal achievements. He was sweet about it. In the few years that followed, I let a lot of the wrong people in my life. People can sense when you’re vulnerable and some even prey on it. Heck, I even had a boyfriend for a year and a half that felt more like an adopted son. I was paying for everything right down to his underwear. I felt so defeated. I wondered how I could have so much love to give, but I can’t find the right person to give it to. So, I took a long break (well, long in my world).

In July last year, I decided to emerge again. This time I felt stronger. I met a guy and we instantly hit it off in my eyes. I could see the golden snitch again. My career was on the rise (and still is), I was investing so much time I enjoyed with someone, and I could feel myself building goals again. We spent almost everyday together. My whole life felt like it was working. I moved out to my own cute little place, my work life was fabulous, I had a ton of new friends, and I had him. He was as cute as a button and there was nothing anyone could tell me to make me see reason when I saw red flags. Granted, every time I saw a red flag, I asked questions about it. He dodged them, but I figured in time, he’d open up. Before getting on Marta to leave for India, he kissed me at the train station. He had me wrapped around his finger. In that moment, it felt like we were both holding the golden snitch.

But I was so very wrong.

There was no golden snitch. His messages throughout the trip became scarcer, but I ignored that because I figured he was busy for the holidays. Up until the day before we broke up, though, he was being nice via text. Then, he took a bestie trip for New Year’s and I strongly sense the bachelors had their fun. I texted him the day before I left India saying I was so excited to come back home, can’t wait to see him, and I miss him. Then, he blindsided me. He texted some excuse about needing to focus on himself and he’s lost sight of goals and he can’t be in a relationship right now. I was shocked. In my eyes, goals were being achieved simultaneously with the relationship growing. I couldn’t believe how cold and unemotional the text was. I was devastated the same way I was years ago. I had truly opened up and gave him even more of myself than I had to anyone else. A few days later, I gathered my thoughts and told him how hurt I was. He didn’t respond to any of the hurt, but cited the same fake excuse about losing focus on personal things. If you were to google a generalized way to vaguely break up with someone without given them a proper explanation, the way he did it would be at the top of the list. 

I went to pick my stuff up at the front desk of his complex. He wasn’t even man enough to hand it to me. He wasn’t even man enough to see me and explain to my face. As painful as this all is, I know I deserve infinitely better. I’m not a person to lose sight of my goals or party too hard or anything of that sort. Maybe, for that reason, this happened for the best. I’m the stronger person for staying focused throughout the relationship on both personal and relationship goals. I should be with someone exactly the same. 

So, here I go back into the world to reclaim my time. I’m going to go to that dance class and dance like people can’t see, I’m going take that piano class. I’m going to attend that political event. I’m going to relentlessly continue to wear my heart on my sleeve because I’m not wrong for that. Positive vibes all around.

Love, Stef <3 

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Daily traffic in India

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Attempt by Mumbai to raise awareness about cleaning up.

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

I didn’t see any elephants, but here’s this camel feeling fabulous

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

The Beauty of Being Blindsided

1) The Not So Bollywood Side of India

Mumbai is a city where everyone is going somewhere, but no one seems to reach their destination. Rapid urbanization has led to tons of traffic and people being packed in the city like sardines. There weren’t beautiful colors and people singing happily. Everyone was just racing around trying to make a quick buck.There is no such thing as a deserted street and the sound of horns blaring is the soundtrack for Mumbai 24/7. A family of five people easily fit on a motorcycle. A rickshaw could hold six (I had to sit on the floor a few times). Traffic consisted of farm animals as well. I was blown away that people accept this as their concept of everyday life. 

I was also surprised so many people were saying “Mumbai” and not “Bombay.” I was always under the impression that the name change happened so as to isolate the people who were taken as indentured servants and could never really come back. I thought it was a way of saying “We have reclaimed the city from the British and we did it without you present.” I did a little research and discovered that it is believed the term “Bombay” is a corrupted British version of “Mumbai” and hence the push for the name change. I felt some comfort in knowing people weren’t actually trying to isolate us (the descendants of the indentured servants that left). I have since switched over to saying “Mumbai.”

2) The Haves vs. the Have Nots

Hygiene was another thing I had trouble coming to terms with in India. The toilet and shower in most places were combined. As you showered, the toilet would get soaked. The toilets aren’t really designed for toilet paper to go down so you’d kind of stand there and watch the toilet paper swirl around like koi fish for about five minutes before it went down the drain. It was one heck of an ordeal. 

Hygiene was the mark of an even larger issue in India- the caste system. The have nots cannot afford better facilities, they shower outdoors, can’t afford little things like deodorant and more. As a result, they stand out immensely wherever they are. I was devastated by this especially because I felt I should’ve brought a second suitcase with more stuff to give away. I gave away almost all my clothes. It hurt to see girls staring at my clothes in the street. I wish I could’ve taken it off and given it away right then and there. None of the material things mattered. The ability to put a smile on someone’s face did.

I was even more shocked that when we shifted over to our next stop, Gujarat, the mansion included maids. I was clearly with people from the upper class. I didn’t like the idea that someone was picking up after me. It made me feel lazy. The maids were older than me and I felt like I should’ve been helping them so I did. When laundry would come in the house, I’d run over to help fold. If I put a dish in the sink, I’d try to wash it quickly before they saw. If i ever get a maid, I’d treat her like my family. That’s the only way I could fathom that kind of relationship. 

3) Pollution Galore

India is overrun with every kind of pollution you can think of. The smog in the air in Mumbai can be sliced with a knife. You can’t swim at the beaches because there are mice and litter all over the shore. People are accustomed to throwing things on the ground rather than a trashcan. The trains used to release urine and feces on to the train tracks and people used the bathroom on the train. Mumbai has taken note of this and put signs up to make people aware of the pollution issue. The air made almost all of us sick so we’d cover our noses with scarves when we went out. It made me more grateful for the simpler life I’m blessed to have here.

4) Story Telling

I was told a few stories I found fascinating about Gujarati life. One was about how peacocks mate. People in India like having them around because they keep snakes and mice away. The male peacock does a dance and cries as he does it. The female drinks his tears and that’s how babies are made. I didn’t look it up to see if it was true. I just love how magical that sounds so I’ll just keep that magic going.

The second story was quite funny. If you’re naughty in elementary school as a boy, you are made to sit between two girls in the front of the class so you can’t be mischievous with your mates. Also, boys are generally so shy of girls that they don’t know how to act sitting between two girls. If I was a teacher in India, I don’t know how I’d discipline students because I’d find their shyness so cute.

The third story relates back to the caste system. I was told by someone in the upper class that the lower class were gifted condos by the Indian government so they can move out of the slums. However, the lower class tended to lease these condos to others and just stay in the slums. The person from the upper class couldn’t understand why the poor did this. I couldn’t identify with him in that moment. When you’re in poverty and you have something that could potentially help you make money, it makes sense to monopolize on that. I was stunned that the person of wealth couldn’t understand that.

5) So What’s The Beauty in Being Blindsided?

The beauty is that I learned a lot. I used to be frustrated that my ancestors left India. I thought maybe we would’ve had an even better life if we had stayed. Now that I saw India, I don’t think that would’ve been the case. Moving upward economically is a huge challenge and with a caste system still socially in place, opportunities would have been scarce. I realize how lucky I am to now be a lawyer knowing that I came from poverty. I can’t express how grateful I am for that.

Love,Stef <3 

[thoughtsfromaboundlessmind]

Hey, guys! The old Tumblr is at the link below. Tumblr won’t let me get back in there, but just letting y’all know about the old material. 

Link: http://steffysheriff.tumblr.com