Boys and Girls, I Think I’ve Gone Cray

“Drown inside my vices all day.”

I was going to use the chorus to this song for the title of my post, since it’s basically the title song of post-election, but I decided to be kind of hipster, LOL.

I would say that this is going to be my last election post, but it probably won’t be, so why lie?

Although this post will be similar to my previous post, it’s more so something to clear things up, for you and my conscience.  I posted that piece on Wednesday, the afternoon that the results of the election were announced, after Hillary Clinton’s concession speech and President Obama’s speech.  I was heartbroken, scared, and hurting when I wrote that post, and it translated.  I look back at it, and I regret it: my emotions got the best me.  I always feel like the best arguments are the ones that a person is clearly passionate about said argument, but can tame their emotions enough to get a coherent and clear thought out.

My previous post was nothing like that: it was full of emotion, and although I stand by the things that I said, I know that there are some stuff that I should have reworded and clarified.  So, that is the purpose of this post.  If you’re tired of reading stuff about the election, feel free to leave.  I understand your frustration, but this election is pretty groundbreaking, so I will continue.

First point, and the most important: I DO NOT HATE WHITE PEOPLE.  I don’t hate anyone, really, because it takes a lot of energy to hate people, and life is too short to hate.  I’m more of a person that strongly dislikes people.  🙂  That’s besides the point though, what I am trying to say is that I try my hardest not to judge people on the basis of their race and skin tone, and I’ve been pretty successful at it for, like, ever.  Haha.  I do make jokes concerning race based on extreme stereotypes though, that is my one flaw.  I’m trying to work on it.  But, I don’t hate white people.  However, the majority of the people who backed Trump were white people (majority, not all), and with the condescending and offensive things he has said, it makes it hard for me to accept Trump supporters, no matter what color they are.

The second thing I want to say, is that I realize that neither candidate is perfect.  I was going through this huge battle with my heart and my head when I was casting my vote.  My heart was telling me to vote third party, which essentially wouldn’t have mattered because I live in CA and the state was going blue no matter what, but my head was telling me not to chance that, especially considering the possibility of a Trump presidency was imminent, and I wanted to make sure I stopped him.

It hurt my heart so, so, so much that I voted for Clinton.  She supports and has done SO many terrible things that I don’t support.  Especially when she stood by her husband and silenced the women that came forward and accused him of rape and sexual assault.  It seriously hurt me when I cast my vote for her, and I repent for what I did.  In a weird and very minuscule way, I’m kind of glad she didn’t win.  Clears my conscience a little.  But, I’m still really, really, really, upset that Trump won.

And the thing is, is that I hear a lot of people who voted for Clinton say similar things as I said.  That they voted for Clinton, but hated the fact that they did vote for her.  They believed that she was the better of two evils, as did I.  However, I don’t hear Trump supporters say anything along these lines.  Maybe because my closest exposure to Trump supporters is my Facebook feed, as well as the fact that it is hard to find news from either side from unbiased news outlets.  Typically, no matter what the outcome, you support your President-elect, but in this case, it is really hard for me to see why anyone would support Trump.

I can see why people voted for him.  His platform was enticing for a lot of people: he championed for poor and working class Americans, who have become seriously forgotten in the political world.  He spoke against the TPP and vowed to stop outsourcing jobs to other countries.  He pushed to “build the wall” between Mexico and the US and stop illegal immigration into the United States.  He also vowed to kill ISIS, and no one wants to be terrorized by ISIS again.

But Trump has said some incredibly ignorant and offensive things throughout the campaign.  He has disrespected women, people of color, Muslims, Mexicans, immigrants, and the LGBTQIA community.  He has cheated the federal tax system for years (people who call him saavy, ugh, please stop) and hasn’t supported the troops and education system and other programs that our federal taxes pay for.  He also has some serious mental health issues and psychopathic tendencies, and this person is going to be the leader of the free world.

Don’t even get me started on Mike Pence.  He is a true bigot, and has a crap ton more experience that Donald Trump in politics.  His political savviness, coupled with Trump’s lack of experience, means that he is most likely going to have a huge say in the Trump administration. He’s already taken on a larger role in the transition, and it probably won’t stop there.  Can we say Frank Underwood in House of Cards, much?  LOLOLOL, I friggen love that show.

But it hurts me that through all the negative things have been said by Trump about already marginalized groups, people support him to the ends of the Earth.  I understand that people are tired of being unrecognized by the elites in Washington, and Trump is someone that might be able to break the cycle.  But, Trump is also an elite himself, so I don’t know how he could be much different aside from the fact that he has ZERO experience in government or has not served our country.  But, when his supporters defend everything he has said, saying that he’s not racist, homophobic, or everything else, that is not being supportive, that is being ignorant.  And maybe you think of yourself as not racist, misogynistic, xenophobic, Islamophobic, or homophobic, but by supporting Trump, you’re saying that you don’t care about any of these groups.  Maybe if the supporters say something along the lines that they only supported his policies, maybe I will forgive their vote.  But even then, I’m not fully convinced about it.  I’ll just have to see if and when it ever happens.

Working class white Americans, I hear, understand, agree with your concerns.  Too many American jobs are being shipped out to other countries, and they should stay here.  There are so many Americans out there that have been stripped of their jobs and deserve to have them back.  But, America was only great for you back then because you had jobs.  That same America that you miss so much was a pretty shitty America for people of color and other marginalized groups.  We need to be able to find a balance for all people of the United States.

To say that I hope Trump doesn’t succeed is an ignorant thing for me to say.  I don’t want this country to go to shit, so I hope that he is able to do good things.  But if he resorts to any type of bigotry against marginalized groups, I will be along side the people to protest it.  Washington hasn’t been working for a while, so maybe Trump is what we need to break Washington and create the change that we want to see.  The election of Trump has brought together so many people who strive for social justice and equality for all people.  I hope that through this sad time, we are able to rise above the bigotry and hatred, and fight for what is right.

I’m sorry for all the hate filled things I said in my last post, and hope this clear things up.

Carried Me Through Desperation

To the one that was waiting for me.

The past week and a half has been a whirlwind of sorts.  The combination of studying for finals, prepping for my cousin’s wedding and a two week trip to the East Coast, which includes trips to Philly, NYC, Jersey, and the DMV area, has left me in a state of exhaustion.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m stoked to be out here instead of being stuck in boring California.  But, especially during the Saturday of the wedding, the exhaustion caught up to me.

I had come to Philly Thursday morning running on 1.5 hours of sleep, and until Saturday night (technically Sunday morning), I had gotten less than three hours of sleep each night. The day of the wedding consisted of one hour of sleep, and an endless barrage of to-do’s prior to the ceremony.  Accompanied with the lack of sleep the whole week due to finals, all I wanted to do was die on Saturday.  I was pulled one way to help with the center pieces, the other way to help with a playlist that never got to play, another way to choreograph a dance, and another way to run countless errands.

In the end, I ended up missing the Gaye Holud at an ungodly 6AM, and the Baraat, which I made a playlist for that never saw the light.  I also missed the bride and groom’s entrance into the reception and didn’t eat dinner at the wedding.

The disorganization for the wedding was astounding; I never thought a wedding being run by a planner could be done so poorly, but I can’t even blame the planner.  My family has never been organized.  In fact, we are pretty much the definition of disorganization.  But you would think that if there was a planner, some type of organization would be followed. But somehow, my family managed to override the careful planning of a wonderful wedding planner and bring about a disastrously disorganized mess of a wedding that can really only be done through my relatives.

I have never really been the person to sit down, plan, sort, and think logically, despite my science background.  That is simply not the way I function.  It’s not necessarily the best way to go about life, but it’s worked thus far, and you know what they say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

However, when I arrived Thursday at the ass-crack of dawn, instead of heading to sleep to catch up on some much needed Z’s from a not-so-hot finals week, I was immediately sent to run errands that should have been done weeks prior to the week of the wedding.

Now, this isn’t to say that I didn’t want to help with the festivities.  The cousin getting married wasn’t just my cousin, but she was the older sister I never had.  So, I put my feelings to the side because the most important day of her life, not mine, was coming.  And I was ready to do anything to help make this the best for her and her future husband.

I take that back, she is like my second older sister, right after my brother. 😉

But, despite my best efforts, my dysfunctional family always manages to disorganize everything and create huge messes of everything that don’t need to be messed with in the first place.  And they manage to start drama or rekindle the flames of old drama during the MOST inconvenient times.  As my generation of people try to put any and all beef to the back and try to bring about happiness for my cousin who has done so much for us, the older generation cannot stop their bullshit arguments for the sake of their daughter’s/niece’s wedding.  It got so annoying that I tried to avoid and ignore all the adults, including my parents, who I haven’t seen in months, at all costs.  And as always, all the drama that never should have been talked about in the first place caused an incredible amount of disorganization that all ended up falling on my cousin, despite how much we other cousins tried to keep it off of her.  She already has the tendency to take things personally and get emotionally attached to everything, which is why we purposely kept everything going on behind the scenes from her.  She cares too much about familial issues, trivial or not, something I don’t do enough of. My family is cuckoo, I don’t have the energy to care about the trivial shit.

But, despite the shit-show of stuff that happened prior to the wedding, the end result was a success.  The bride and groom enjoyed their time celebrating their love and matrimony, and we as the spectators watched lovingly as their happiness spread contagiously around the room and seeped into the hearts of even the emotionally unavailable like myself.  The alcohol was flowing, the music was popping, and two beers, three vodka cranberries, a green tea martini, and countless ratchets dances later, I was propelled through the wedding of two people who I care deeply about.

Because not even fucked up family dynamics can stop a love like theirs.

#curryfriedchicken

 

So Here I Am, With Open Arms

Hoping you’ll see what your love means to me.

July 19, 1965.

One of the two dates in my life that hold the most meaning to me. A date where we celebrate the birth of a person so special to me that if they didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be here writing today.

July 19, 1965 is the day my mother was born.  And this year, my mom is not here; instead, she is in the Motherland spending time with someone who is the driving force behind my existence.

My grandmother.

On July 19, 1965, my beloved, strong, outspoken, kind, and loving grandmother gave birth to her first child, who would lovingly be referred to as Rinku by family and close friends for the rest of her life.

And on July 19, 2016, 51 years after the birth of her first daughter, my grandmom not only didn’t remember her daughter’s birthday; she didn’t know who her daughter was.

In 2011, my granddad called my mom, and told her that her mother, his wife, was beginning to forget things.  It is normal in old age for the brain to function a little slower, but frequent forgetfulness, even of small things, is not normal.  Living in the US, it was hard for my mom, or any of us, to really do anything.  My granddad pleaded with his other two kids, my aunt and uncle, to take my grandmom to the doctor to get checked out, but he spoke upon deaf ears.  They though he was just old and overreacting, despite the fact that my granddad was the most active person in the household he lived in, which included my grandmom, uncle, wife, and their child, and he was still incredibly sharp in his old age.  He still pushed for checkups throughout the next year to no avail.

In May 2012, my granddad had a massive stroke and ended up in a coma for about a week. He was watching a major cricket game, and his team had just won when he had his stroke. He was taken off life support a couple days after my mom had arrived to his bedside.

When I think of the way I want to die, I always think of my granddad.  He literally died because his team had won a major cricket match.  Is that not the coolest thing ever?!  If I died after the Eagles won the Superbowl, I’d die happy.

But I digress, that’s not the point I’m trying to make.

My grandparents were married for 60+ years.  In a family full of unhappy arranged and love marriages, my grandparents were ones to stand out, to show love and affection all throughout the 18 years I was exposed to their marriage.  I crave a love as deep as theirs.

However, because of this deep love, my grandmom broke.  And coupled with the memory problems she was experiencing, she did not, and has not, fully recovered from my granddad’s death.  She constantly asked where he was, and cried hysterically after being informed each time of his demise.

During this busy trip to the Motherland, my mom took initiative and took my grandmom to the doctor, because she was physically in the presence of my grandmom and was able to see what my granddad was talking about.

My grandmother has Alzheimer’s.

Her progression has been a little faster than normal, most likely attributed to the fact no one would regularly give her the pills she needed to take.  My granddad’s death was also such a traumatic event that also sped up the progression of the disease.

Talking on the phone with her for the months and years following his death was like talking to a broken record: she repeated everything, and would eventually start crying because of her frustration over her mental health.  She was aware of her forgetfulness and memory loss.  And this greatly upset her. And my uncle and his wife would get mad at her forgetting, as if she had control over what was happening to her.

Her disease was progressing, and for years, I pushed to go visit her.  I needed to see my grandmom before she forgot who I was.

Finally, in December 2014, I got to go to the Motherland to see her.  And upon seeing her, I was relieved that she knew who I was.  She had trouble remembering my name, but I couldn’t give less of a fuck: my grandmother still knew I was her eldest granddaughter.  In the three weeks I was there, she said my name once, and by the end of my trip, she had forgot my name completely.

In fact, the day after my mother and I left, she had forgotten we even came to visit her.

I cried hard and hugged her close on the day we left, because I knew the next time I saw her, she wouldn’t know who I was.

Sure enough, one year later, when my dad and sister when to go visit her, and my sister FaceTimed me with her, she had no recognized me at all.

And now, 7 months after this FaceTime call, my grandmom doesn’t know who her eldest daughter is.

Physically speaking, my grandmom is in tip top shape, but while she has physical health on her side, she lacks severely mentally.  Hearing that she didn’t recognize my mom, her daughter, at all deeply saddened me.  My grandmom is the most amazing person on the planet, an idea I’m sure we all share in our respective lives with the people especially special to us.

And amazing people, especially my grandmom, in my case, shouldn’t have to go through this pain.  The pain of dying confused and alone, despite having the support of all of your loved ones.  The pain of dying with no memory of your life, of not knowing who the fuck you are.  I see and hear what my incredible grandmom is going through, and don’t wish this upon even the most disgusting and despicable human being on the planet.

My grandmom is nowhere near the same person I knew and loved growing up.  But she is my grandmom, and I love her despite her unknowingness of me, and love her because she is still the most amazing person in the universe, with or without her memory.

I love you, Dida.