Home

"When a writer knows home in his heart, his heart must remain subtly apart from it. He must always be a stranger to the place he loves, and its people."
-William Morris

Today I heard Salman Rushdie, Don Delillo, Steve Martin, and others speak at the PEN World Voices literary festival. They read passages from their works, which spoke about home, or the “idea of home.” What is home, why do we leave, why do we long to return? How do we create a home and what happens when we lose it? In more ways than one it was poetic semblance, for I am currently wavering on my placement. I don’t know if I should go or stay. Go “home,” back to MD, working in DC, living at home with my parents. Or stay in New York, my new home, lavishing in gems of city life, living my life relatively independent of emotional strain. Is there a right or wrong decision? I don’t know, but I do know I need to decide in 4 days. I have been swollen with arduous thought and yet there is still so much to think about.

Tonight, as I listened to Rushdie recite words from “The Ground Beneath Her Feet” I felt a slight tug coming from within. Gentle at first, then nearly insolent, the tug was unrelenting. Rushdie continued with his eloquent and quirky dissertation on societal ideas of belonging. After all, he speculated, why do we desire to watch films and read books starring the wandering hero, the rebel, the seductress, the adventurer, the orphan, the robber, the drifter? Why do we constantly reinvent these people, these characters, if not because we want to live a little bit of their lives. He proposed what if kinship, citizenship, family, name, culture, religion, all of those things that make us feel we belong, what if all of that was a big scam? What if all we had was ourselves? I pondered the question and for a moment I thought it a revelation. But only for a moment, and then I found myself vehemently disagreeing with Salman The Great. There’s no scam in belonging or even returning. We return not because we are scared or because society has suckered us into some con that we are nothing without a group. No, that’s not it at all. We return merely because we’re in love. And still, we will find the courage to leave love because we know it’s there, always.

I’ve been afraid because I felt returning to Maryland meant I was going back to the same status I was at when I left. As if I were digressing, and everything I built in New York, everything I learned and found here would be useless. But that’s not the case; in fact it’s impossible. I simply need to be with those that I love and if I decide I need to return to where they are I’ll be OK with that. Sir Rushdie The Exiled has lived his life migrating from one place to another, banished from his country and like many of us can only hold onto the notion of home. But really home is just that, an idea. An evolving idea of what made us and who we are becoming. Which is something we can't quite escape, can we? Because ultimately it seems "home" resides in us.

Check out the readings and discussions all weekend:
www.pen.org/festival

Blessed

“You don't have to be a "person of influence" to be influential. In fact, the most influential people in my life are probably not even aware of the things they've taught me.”
-Scott Adams

As far as I know and for as long as I've been living the one thing I have true control over is myself; my perception, attitude and actions. There are times when we may lose this control for we are not perfect, but we all know ultimately the power of perspective lies in our own hands. And this perspective is what can make or break your world. During the hard times, the most painful and scrutinizing, perspective and attitude have saved me. But this has not been an easy standard to maintain and I certainly did not do it alone. If it weren't for my life's great influences I could easily have lost sight of the truth and what is in fact important: Toni Morrison, my 12th grade English teacher, dance, my first camera, Americorps kids, my grandparents, my Literary Theory professor, New York City, my first love, Salaam Bombay!, the radio, tape recorders and on and on. But perhaps the most powerful influence has been a group of 8 girls that I was blessed with 20 years ago. They continue to love me, inspire me, push me, criticize me, discipline me, pause with me, amuse me, wait for me and absolutely amaze me. No matter how much time passes they always seem to astound me with their patience, successes, courage and wisdom. One of these inspirational ladies has just returned from volunteering in South Africa. Since my life has been on a virtual hiatus I'd like to share a small piece of her journey with you, as this is just a typical example of events I am continually exposed to.


I met 14-year-old Sini last Tuesday and knew we would instantly become friends. She has one of those contagious smiles that makes you want to approach her and learn all about what lies beneath that great smile. As the days passed, I was introduced to her group of friends and the four of us started to have morning conversations about life, school, dance and art. Something I look forward to every morning.
Then, today, as I peeked into the window of the fabulous music class (as I often do), Sini ran up, handed me a letter and said, "I wrote this for you." The letter she wrote was so beautiful, I have decided to share it with all of you today. This letter resembles how amazing and brilliant these children are and I hope you enjoy it.

"My Friend, My Sister"
To me you're like a mother and a sister
You're like a success to my future
You're my band to my music
You're my wings to me as a bird
And my life interest

To me at first life was rude and cruel always
And now that I met you, to me life is friendly
And humble but it's depend on how you're treating it
I was in a darkness like a skeleton and you showed
me the light, you gave me hope, you gave me love, care and intelligence which i was supposed to be given

To me you're like a cure to my illness
You're a shelter to me as a human-being
You're a soul to my body
A power to my career
An addition to my understanding
A cement to me as a stone
And a traffic-cop to my way
Am i really blessed to find such a friend-teacher like you