oct '21
October came and went like the snap of a finger. It’s usually one of my favorite months and this one lived up to the expectations. I made a quick trip back home to Austin for a weekend, met some fun people in NYC, had my bestfriends visit me in NYC, and got a taste of some cold weather, finally. Oh and also, I celebrated another birthday. Yay.
i’m feeling lucky
This month’s playlist, which was updated over a week ago, is filled with nice, positive, loving tunes. Perfect for the fall of ‘21. As always, enjoy and let me hear your thoughts!
(Archive playlist can be found here)
Omar (chapter 2)
It’s not easy coming to this country and making a life for yourself. It becomes harder with each added struggle: no granted citizenship, a wife, a child, no work permit, english as a second language… the list goes on. You see, Moka has a lot of hurdles to jump over just to have a chance at making it in this country. Over the last month, I’ve gotten to know more about him and his hurdles, watching him leap over one after another with ease.
Moka’s regular week is packed. He spends 12 hours a day behind the counter at the bodega, taking money and giving receipts. He frequently wards off beggars and pests with a simple, “no, sorry”. Did I mention he also spends 90 minutes each day commuting to and from his home in Sheepshead Bay (which is basically Coney Island). He makes one thing very clear to me everyday:
“I’ll be honest with you, I am only doing this until I can find something better. I can’t sit behind this desk forever, I’ll go insane.”
I can’t blame him; I’d go insane within a week. But there’s good news.. last week he told me they hired a new guy to cover some shifts so his 12-hour days will now become 8-hour days and he might get a day off every now and then. Moka also told me that he had gotten some time over the weekend to apply for a bank account and submit papers for TPS. When I looked at him sort of confused, he proceeded to explain the whole process to me. TPS, Temporary Protected Status, is given to those who can meet a list of requirements and also come from one of the countries listed on the TPS Designated Countries list. Thankfully, Yemen made the list. The outstanding requirements call for Yemenis to be in the US from a certain date and forces them to stay in the country for a consecutive amount of days. Moka was explaining to me that Trump removed all these allowances during his term so the whole system is shaky, as they try to re-establish requirements and grant new access. Moka arrived here 6 days after the TPS rules call for “Continuous Residence”. This is the catch. The fine print states that there are exceptions made for certain folks but it doesn’t make it clear whether Moka’s tardy arrival would be okay. Moka and I spent an hour one day researching the exceptions given under the TPS ruling and if anything could be done to provide a valid excuse. It seemed like it was simply up to the government officer that reviews Moka’s papers. Nonetheless, Moka told me he applied on his wife’s behalf in an attempt to test the system and see how lenient they’d be. The application was costly so he figured if she is given TPS, then he can apply for a work permit and move on over his hurdles. While we spoke of all this, I kept remembering the one person that seemed to be left out of the equation; his son. I wondered why Moka hadn’t done anything to solidify his son’s place in this country. So I asked a simple question, “What about your son?” To which Moka calmly replied, “Oh he is a citizen. My wife and I came to the US long before, and had our son here so if we came back, he would already be citizen.”
This man planned years in advance so that his son could be protected under the freedoms and laws of the US, even if his wife and him struggled through the system. He knew the power of US citizenship and how that would affect his son’s upbringing. Moka doesn’t have to send his son to a private school, doesn’t have to apply for citizenship or TPS, and can rest assured knowing that Omar can grow up in America with one less hurdle.
let’s play on foreign turf
Often times when my mother speaks to her cleaning lady, she tends to slooooow her speech down and almost speak worse English in an attempt to be understood better. I’ve noticed my dad do it too. But then when they go back to their home offices, you’ll hear the “American” English as if it never disappeared. As a kid, I recall a friend coming over one day when my mom was working from home and he goes “Oh is your nanny home too?”, in reference to my mom’s perfect “American” English. And yet when my mother calls me, you’ll hear a mix of the “American” English and some Tamil and some heavily accented English words as well. Why do I deliberate on this simple thing that most likely all immigrant folks do? Well because it’s a very important skill that I now see myself doing. I call this skill “playing on foreign turf”.
Nowadays, I use slightly different accents and personas depending on who I’m interacting with. If I’m talking to a supplier for work and they have a heavy New York accent, then I play the part and maybe I’ll get a discount. Ofcourse when I’m talking to my parents I put on a slight Indian accent because that’s what I did as a kid and it’s built into my muscle memory. I know many of my friends who became fluent at the dual-accent English. It was most evident when friends came over and you would hear “Indian” English and “American” English back-to-back for several sentences. It’s truly a sight to see. Or a hearing… to hear?
Whenever I meet folks from out of town who don’t seem to know their way, I try to speak slow and accented so they can understand me. Maybe I have to say “Pequeña Italia” for them to understand me, and that’s okay. (No joke, I actually heard a man call Little Italy that once, I was dying) It’s an added bonus if you can throw in a word or two of their language. Practice your Spanish or French or Hindi or whatever you may know; It’s the only way you’ll get better! I have also used a heavy Indian accent when speaking to Adobe customer service, and it earned me 3 free months of Creative Suite. (Thanks, Ritesh) The one I get clowned for the most is actually my Texas accent. Yes, I will admit that I have one but it’s not as dramatic as some of you make it out to be. Albeit, when I’m on the phone with people in Texas I tend to become a bit of a “Texan Country Woman”. Ha ha ha.
Why do this? I think it adds an extra layer of comfortability. Even if it’s slight and almost unnoticeable to the other person, it starts to reduce one layer of misunderstanding and miscommunication. Sometimes it’s natural; especially when I talk to family from India. It brings the conversation onto one page and makes it easier for both sides. If what your are saying is being understood, the other person then has an easier job responding. So next time you speak to your cleaning lady, or your Colombian friend, or the guy at the bodega who has broken English, don’t be afraid to play on foreign turf.
thank about it
In third grade, I was given a writing assignment just before Thanksgiving. The assignment asked us to write what Thanksgiving meant to us and why. And we could attach drawings, pictures or anything else we wanted. We had to write 2 pages in 12pt. Times New Roman, double spaced. That part’s not important but it shows that I still fill my paragraphs with fluff in order to meet the page count. (hehe) At this point in my life, I had just turned 9 and I was still in ESL classes. I don’t think I needed to be but Mr. Tran was insistent. I also had very little knowledge about what Thanksgiving was. To me it was just another holiday when everyone got to see their family, eat a lot of meat, and people would go shopping the next day. I didn’t know the history of Thanksgiving or anything about the pilgrims. Heck, I didn’t even know what the pilgrims were because I never paid attention in class. So when this assignment came around, I had little to no idea where to start. In all reality, Thanksgiving meant hearing someone downstairs at 4am and realizing it’s my dad getting ready to stand in line at Best Buy for a $40 64gb flash drive. And I was so jealous of him every year; I begged and begged to go. I wanted to join him on all the 4am, 26°F adventures just to get a damn R/C Helicopter. In a way, Thanksgiving for me was actually more like Christmas for the rest of the kids in class. I got the chance to MAYBE get a toy on clearance pricing since we didn’t do much for Christmas anyways.
My teacher also explained ideas for the writing assignment so we could have somewhere to start. She explained that for some, Thanksgiving is about family and seeing everyone we love. For others, it’s all about eating a big turkey with yummy gravy. And most of all, it’s the day where we give thanks to all that we are thankful for. That last one confused me. You see, as rowdy and rambunctious I was as a kid, I was twice as polite and friendly. I said please and thank you, and I had a kind heart. (Past tense, folks. Notice the past tense.) But seriously, I was raised in a manner that forced me to be thankful for all that I had, everyday. I was grateful throughout the year and my parents made sure I knew it. Every time I got in trouble, the first thing they’d say is “Do you know how lucky you are?”. This was their way of reminding me to remember all that I have to be grateful for and to not f*ck it up. So I soon realized my prompt for the writing assignment. I wrote it the night before it was due (as per usual), and I even drew a picture to go along with it. I called it “Everyday is Thanksgiving Day” and attached a hand-drawn calendar in which everyday had “Thanksgiving” written on it. I explained how we should be thankful everyday for all the little things in life. We should take note of the shoes under our feet, the underwear in our closets, the roof over our heads, the food on our plates, the love in our hearts, the friends we laugh with, and the family we cry to. I emphasized how Thanksgiving as a holiday meant very little to me but giving thanks, was a daily habit. That written assignment went on to be forwarded throughout the teacher’s mailing lists and was eventually sent out on the monthly newsletter to the entire school. My mom even laminated it and hung in on a wall at home; maybe because it had the “A+” circled in big red marker on the front.
Thanksgiving since then has evolved for me. I came to realize that the day we celebrate as Thanksgiving is not the only day where we give thanks but rather a day where we can sleep in, possibly spend time with family, and maybe have some good food. And for the times I have been able to do that, I am thankful. But I think we still lose track of all that we are thankful for and forget to be grateful every single day. So I write this as a reminder to myself and whoever else reads this far down; Count your blessings, give your thanks, and show your gratitude. Everyday. As 9-year-old me said, “Everyday is Thanksgiving Day”.
link dump
the cutest movie trailer this year
mark zuckerberg and his new “metaverse”
a not-so-royal love story
a podcast episode bound to make you tear up
what does “woke” mean
Special thanks to those of you that nudged me to finish this month’s newsletter as I fell behind schedule. It makes me happy to know that someone reads this. Fall is the season to dress nice and feel good about it, so do both abundantly and smile while you’re at it. And if you need a soundtrack, be sure to tap the I’m Feeling Lucky playlist. Last but not least, send me your thoughts and opinions from this month’s newsletter.
I LOL’d multiple times