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Elegy for Grandma

It’s been seventeen years since your southern drawl

slinked down the stairs to my basement bedroom,

since the aging floor creaked under your weight.

You wouldn’t recognize this house now, sterilized and swept clean.

Sometimes I dream I’ll find on the sofa,

snuggle into your warm and chest and sleep there

while you watch your soap operas, your cat naps as predictable

as love triangles that never resolve.

I wonder what you would think of this life, far away and foreign.

I wanted so badly to sneak away, to hang myself

from some other family’s tree. But you showed me that roots

run deep, permanent as varicose veins and the chalky taste of Ovaltine.

I would carve your name in any tree.  

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

Some Self-Diagnosis

Over time, I learned from my abusers to own the blame, to turn it inward because that is where I knew it would land eventually.

I became sensitive to any feedback or criticism because I grew up in an environment where I was always being criticized. It felt hard for me to accept any feedback as coming from a place of someone wanting to help me or help me improve myself.

My altered sense of self came from my family having one set of expectations for me and dominant culture having an entirely different set of expectations for me. I never knew who or what I should be. And because of that, it took me a long time to realize who I really am.

Obsessive behavior is a way to control situations when we have little to no control over things. This still flares up for me the same way it did when I was a little girl.

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Full Moon in Virgo

You never know what you are capable of becoming until you are capable of finding out.

You don’t have to know what to do. Al that you need to know is that you are capable of learning how to.

I don’t know if I believe in plans anymore. I have always relied on blueprints to calm my anxiety. The unknown has always unsettled me more than it has intrigued me. But this past year has seen my heart shift more toward the idea of uncovering my destiny day by day, choice by choice. I have seen that I can make plans for a lifetime only to find myself grasping for straws several years later. Strangely, I do not feel a sense of disappointment. There is something life-affirming about the fact that my plans, for the most part, haven’t “worked out”. And how lucky, I think I must be, that the person I was yesterday doesn’t get to decide what all my tomorrows look like.

But I still want to be able to believe in the idea of a promise. I have to believe that there is some way we can make promises to ourselves and to each other that can expand and contract with us over time. I want to believe that every day we make and remake promises, and it in that daily (re)imagining that promises’ strength lies.

You don’t have to know what to do. All that you need to know is that you are capable of learning how to.

I’ve been thinking a lot about work and what it means to me, what role I need it to play in my life. I have never been happier with the work I am doing. And at the same time, there is an impulse in me to follow new paths to see where they lead. I never want to be afraid to sacrifice who I am for who I might become.

I am so different than I was two years ago. I knew nothing of this world, and now I feel (most days) like it is my oyster. And that makes the idea of leaving it seem so scary. But if this world could transform me (and I, it) in such a short time, how can I not want to walk toward the horizon in search of what happens when I fall off the edge? I am not afraid. Fear is always in me, but it does not become me. I am ready to explore new possibilities, expand to new territories, make new goals for myself and my life’s work. I have never felt so confident, so capable, so bruised and so resilient. I must just be sure to stand in my light, be clear and kind and intentional. I feel nothing but warmth around me as I walk toward the sun. I give myself permission to forge ahead.

You never know what you are capable of becoming until you are capable of finding out.

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

Strength from the Margins

Recently, our nation has seen its people rise up in unparalleled large-scale movements like the Women’s March, protests in airports opposing Islamaphobic travel bans, and the forthcoming “Day Without a Woman” strike set for March 8th. These events, while inspiring testaments to democracy in action, present opportunities for us to consider how the most privileged members of our communities have the power to center their narratives in political struggle. For example, by questioning which women can afford to participate in a strike, we can engage in conversations about the racialization of feminized labor. According to a July 2016 report by the Congressional Joint Economics Committee, women of color constitute more than half of workers earning less than minimum wage. 

National strikes and protests undoubtedly send messages to political leadership. But who gets to send those messages? How does our activism systematically silence the most vulnerable among us? 

For queer and trans folks who reside at the intersections of marginalized identities -- undocumented queer and trans folks, queer and trans people of color, and working class queer and trans folks, to name just a few -- the need to address terrifying political realities comes as no surprise. As individuals who navigate interlocking systems of oppression like transphobia, racism, Islamaphobia and ableism in addition to heterosexism, we have known for far too long how it feels for laws and policies to dehumanize us and for our own communities to abandon us at the slightest promise of political gain. We know what it means to be excluded from white queer activism, our bodies and our stories always relegated to the margins. 

Amidst this exciting time of democratic engagement, the LGBTQ community must take the opportunity to ask ourselves whether or not we are making the same mistakes of yesterday. Is our activism accessible to rural queer and trans people, queer and trans people with disabilities, and our incarcerated queer and trans siblings? And if the answer is no, then is our activism really activism?

In Sister Outsider, Audre Lorde writes, “We are all more blind to what we have than to what we have not.” In these uncertain times, it is our instinct to focus on how we feel threatened and erased based on our marginalized identities as queer and trans people. We have shown our strength as a community by rallying together to fight back. However, it is more difficult for us to turn inward and examine how the unexamined privileges we have (read: white, able-bodied, documented and middle class) lead us to marginalize and erase others as we advocate for ourselves. How can we push ourselves past our discomfort toward activism that is inclusive of all members of our community?

As we engage in national movements and protests, feeling the warmth and solidarity of our community around us, let us question whose voices we do not hear and whose faces we do not see. And in recognizing those absences, let us remind ourselves that we are truly strong only when we leave no members of our family behind.

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

How Far

It’s been almost a year since I set into motion the biggest decision of my life: to leave a relationship that was harmful to me, that no longer served me, and in which I had invested almost eight years. I’ve been living completely on my own for eight months. I’m feeling drawn to take stock of where I am now that all this time has passed.

There are moments when I feel nostalgic, but I have not felt a consistent sense of mourning or sadness. Maybe this is because I mourned and healed even when I was still in the midst of it all. When I found my way out, all I found waiting for me was room to stretch out and sunshine to light my path. Sometimes I miss what was good, but those moments pale in comparison to the warm, clear, inviting air that wraps around me when I step through my apartment door each night. 

I feel saddest when I think about the original narrative for my life and how I didn’t get to see it play out. I thought I would spend my whole life with Marv. I thought we’d raise kids together and travel the world. I thought we’d grow and change together. But somewhere along the way, we stopped investing in each other’s growth and each other’s dreams and started investing in our own. He wasn’t kind enough to me and I wasn’t brave enough for him or for me. Together, those things sealed our fate long before we recognized that it was the end. It’s never seemed this clear to me before. Sometimes, it still feels messier and more inclusive than others. But it has come into focus and I am grateful for that. I have learned that kindness and bravery must be at the heart of any love I might find.

My heart feels open to love. There are moments when it wants to close but I have refused to let it. That lifelong impulse to run has returned. I didn’t feel it for years and years and years because I found a love that made me want to stay. But it’s in my veins. I remember so clearly the night my dad picked me up from my grandma’s house to spend the night with him. I cried and cried and cried. I didn’t want to be there with him. Life in his world was scary and unsettled. And instead of being the strong parent I needed him to be, instead of letting me cry it out and driving me to his new apartment, he pulled over in the parking lot of our church and we argued until he agreed to take me back to my grandma’s house. He threw down the flowers he had bought for me. Petals were smashed everywhere on the black asphalt. 

I think it was that moment that taught me I had the choice to run from love, that if I listened to my fear long enough it could convince me that running was best. Since that moment, every time a potential love that feels scary or unsettling comes my way, I want to run from it, even if in my heart I know there is a warm and revolutionary love waiting for me on the other side of fear.

I don’t want to run from love any more. I want to bleed fear from my veins and open myself up. I am learning how to do that, slowly. And even when I make mistakes, I will be gentle and forgiving of myself. Wanting to face the fear and heal the wounds is brave. And I am nothing if not brave.

The rest of my life feels pretty good. I am struggling to get back on my feet financially after what was pretty much a complete overhaul of my life’s plans. But I’ve made it work for myself and I have a pretty solid plan in place to keep working on my financial wellbeing. Sometimes, when I feel discouraged, I look at my life and feel grateful and accomplished that I am able to live and work in Colorado all by myself, despite all that has gone down in the past year. I am very privileged. And I feel ambitious about work and where I want to be in a year, five years, ten years, and ultimately as a professional.

I’ve never felt so much warmth and support from friends. I truly have met some of the most amazing folks I’ve ever met. I have rarely felt alone in this. I believe we have all come together precisely at the time we’ve needed each other. I feel more committed than ever to nurturing those connections. I’ll never let my whole life be about one person again.

I like the person I am. I know that I have a strong and good heart. I love my right now, the prospects and promises of my future, and even the pain and fragility of my past. How far I’ve come.

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

17 Intentions

I want to set my intentions for 2017. I don’t want to think of them as resolutions. I don’t think anything about me or my life is broken. 2017 will be a year of expansion for me, of greater depth. And I will make it happen.

1. Cook delicious and nutritious food

2. Spend time in my beautiful little home

3. Read books that speak to my soul and frame my journey

4. Push back against my fears about love and commitment

5. Listen to my intuition

6. Say exactly what I mean and with urgency

7. Travel near and far toward the people I love

8. Make financial decisions that serve my present and my future

9. Continue on the path toward loving my body

10. Balance energy expenditures and relaxation

11. Introvert proudly and unapologetically

12. Move in ways that make my body and spirit feel good

13. Have grace with myself and others

14. Harness the growing courage within

15. Get divorced and change my name

16. Advocate for myself professionally

17. Perform daily acts of good and gratitude

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

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The best thing is to be alone but not quite alone.

Charles Bukowski (via wnq-writers)

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

Which is the lie: my love for my fat body or my desperation to escape it?

Yesika Salgado - “On The Bad Days”

Performing at Art Share LA  Help bring Button to you.

(via buttonpoetry)

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Run or Hide

I have been drinking wine, so please forgive me if this makes no sense. Or maybe you’ll forgive me for any liberties I take with metaphors. 

My impulse has always been to run. Away from what is good, away from what is bad... just indiscriminate running, really. I feel compelled to do anything but stay where I am, because setting down roots with someone, no matter how shallow they might be at first, means something. And I only like to say what I mean.

I’m sure this impulse to run reveals so much about me: perhaps a deep-seated disbelief that I deserve good things, a refusal of the idea that I am worthy of love. But underneath it all, what I think it really points to is a fear of that moment I begin to put someone else’s heart first, to privilege its beating and its happiness over my own. Because isn’t that what love means? Is this not the plight of a 21st century romantic heart: not knowing now to put her own heart first and not wanting to? 

Melodramatic? Possibly? Overthinking it? Definitely. 100% vulnerable and authentic to my experience at this point in time? Yes.

In the moments when I have chosen to stay, I have surprised myself... for six months, for seven and a half years. Somehow, in those moments, I’ve convinced myself to be still long enough to realize there is truly nothing to fear. Or that the fear is real and the risk is worth it. And sometimes, I have been happy with the decision to stay. Sometimes I have felt claustrophobic and silenced and inert and panicked. Untangling my roots from the soil that no longer nourished me seemed impossible.

This year, through jarring (and often mortifying) trial-and-error, I have learned lessons about how to be vulnerable and brave, about how to speak words that help me tangle and untangle myself. The feeling of strength it brings me is intoxicating. I’ve never felt so in charge of my own life. I’ve never felt so open and so calm and so ready to wander unguided into new spaces.

The impulse to run is still there. Maybe now more than ever. I fear losing my openness. I fear that someone will take it from me. I fear that I will end up the same tangled mess I was before I learned how to speak through my fear. Isn’t that a lovely, ironic mess? Being afraid to lose that which allows me to push through fear toward something brighter? This is the source of my resistance. 

You feel significant to me. You are fiercely intelligent and kind and brave and sexy and beautiful and funny and thoughtful and warm and you have your shit together. You are your own lovely person. The soil you grow in nourishes you. I can envision my roots thriving there. And I feel like I am a disease, that I could disrupt your ecosystem.

Liberties with metaphors. I take them.

Maybe I write these words to myself (and now to you) to justify the impulse to run. Maybe you’re thinking now, more than before, that I am a tangled mess of a person who has no place in your life or anyone else’s. And though you say I do not owe anything to you, I think I do. I owe you this truth, however unsightly and tangled.

I cannot promise I will not want to run. I cannot say anything with certainty except that my heart beats a little happier when I get to grow under the same sun with you. 

[yeahlikethehindugod-blog]

Never ignore the aftermath of a loss . This is when you interact with the universe . This is when it hurts , this is when you change.

Kriti.G (via wnq-writers)

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T minus 2ish weeks until i get my head tattooed

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I am trying to remember you, and let you go at the same time.

Nayyirah Waheed (via wnq-writers)

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Finding my Femme-of-Color Consciousness

“If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.” -- Audre Lorde

Some very special people have come into my life lately. The community that we are building together and the conversations we are having are helping me to connect with my identity, which, for so long, had been completely shrouded in someone else’s sense of self. It’s exhilarating and scary to find my way back to myself after all this time. 

I have never had the chance to be connected to a QTPOC community until now. My anxiety and shame made me resist this gift at first. I felt too raw and embarrassed to meet anyone new. I was afraid that no one would like me if they met me. I feared they would see the weak, beaten down, uncertain person I felt I was. But, in showing up and forcing my broken heart open, I found the community that has helped to heal me. We don’t need to explain our intersections to one another because we live amongst them, together. We legitimize one another. We revere one another’s stories. I have never felt free to be as whole and present as I do with this community. I can describe the experience of spending time with other QTPOCs only as the first chance I have ever had to not feel alone. I think often of Audre Lorde’s words, “Without community, there is no liberation.” I am so grateful to my QTPOC community for helping me to feel free.

I started crawling toward a queer-femme consciousness a few years ago when I met some queer-femmes who were beginning to articulate femme within the context of academic literature and queer community-based organizations. I felt so alienated from femme back then. I didn’t look like the queer-femmes I knew, with their red lips and their pinup aesthetic. I didn’t share their upper middle class, white experiences. They wrote about their struggles toward visibility, their desire to exist beyond a false butch-femme dichotomy that disarmed the very same queer sensibilities they were trying to enact. They. They, not we. They were the closest thing I knew to community so I tried to force myself into the mold they cast, but it was very clear to me and to them that I was an other, some different type of queer creature without a name. Femme didn’t seem to be made with me in mind and I could not figure out how to manipulate it into something that fit me and all my curves and contradictions.

Until I met M. She came into my life in a strange (ahem, queer) way. We came together queerly, connected through similar misadventures with butch masculinity and transmasculinity. We have both been subjugated, silenced and shamed for being femme. M is fiercely intelligent and talks and writes about queer femme identity in a way that cuts and demands contemplation. She has survived, like me. Even though I have felt disenchanted with femme, I have held onto it, hoping I could some day make a home inside of it. M and I talk about femme beyond issues of visibility. We do the tricky work of pinpointing the moments of pleasure and pain in claiming a femme identity, all the contradictions and caveats of our privilege and our erasure, the moments of feeling like accessories, punching bags and muses. We talk about the possibility of femme love and its potential to incite revolution. But mostly, we validate one another. We remind one another to feel deeply without remorse, that our feelings, experiences and aesthetics are not excess and mostly, that we are as deeply and fiercely queer as anyone else who inhabits queerness. Together, M and I are doing what Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha describes as “finding a way to be a girl that doesn’t hurt.” I am so grateful for M and the friendship and insight she brings to my life. 

Eight months ago when I cast aside my fear and set out own my own, I feared the path would be lonely. And though I remind myself to value and savor the solitude, I am overwhelmed by the love and solidarity I have found in these new friends. I am rebuilding myself, my life and my family. I have never known such fiercely intelligent, passionate and strong people. They are helping me to define myself for myself. And we will protect each other.

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It was a little hard spending Deepavali away from home! That being said, I lit some oil lamps, made some sweets, and still managed to have a good time overall. I hope everyone else’s Deepavali/Diwali was good too. 

Here’s lots of love and good wishes from yours truly!