Author Archives: Sabrina

Growing Up Ismaili: Celebrating Spring with Navroz Mubarak

Posted on by
1
Advertisements
Courtyard of Atlanta Khane

            Navroz Mubarak! Congratulations on the New Year! No one is surprised when I tell them that Spring is my favorite season. Blooming flowers and warm weather are only part of the reason. Growing up in Atlanta, the celebration of Spring (Navroz) was my favorite way to celebrate my pluralistic roots. My upbringing within a progressive, eclectic sect of Islam contrasted traditional notions of being a practicing Muslim. While I have chosen spirituality over religion, I can see that many of my foundational values are rooted in growing up Ismaili.

            Ismailis mark the beginning of Spring in a blend of Islamic traditions. My family, living in Georgia, adapted our own practices. If the first day of Spring fell on a school day, my sister and I were allowed to skip class! Before leaving the house to join the festivities, we made an enormous effort in getting dolled up. My sister and I might have had a new festive shalwar kameez to wear, depending on the finances. We spruced up our everyday look with fancy hairdos and ornate jewelry to complement our outfits’ embroidery, sequins, or tassels. Sometimes we adorned our clothes with tiny purses made of metal, lined in satin and sown together and clipped with a bold clasp. The whole family perfumed itself in exotic smells. Then, still, early in the day, we packed the car with the blended aroma of Dad’s aftershave and the lady’s floral perfumes. As we headed to Jamat Khane (what we called our house of worship, our church) for the beginning of festivities, we would listen to a pre-recorded religious lecture over the sound system.

Dressed up for a Song

Thankfully, getting to Khane during the daytime meant avoiding the Decatur traffic. Hundreds of other cars had already filled in the parking lot. After grumbling about parking and pulling into an always far away spot, my family entered through the courtyard gates. We were well-coifed and a bit frazzled from the ride as we approached the red brick building, our holy place. At the foyer, I turned in my shoes for a numbered token. Upon entering the vast hall, the ladies on the left, the men on the right, I found a place to sit on the plush pink carpet with dark blue borders. I breathed in the smells of Oudh and looked around to peek at the long table separating the genders. At the front of the hall,  a congregation member sang religious songs. The songs there, ginans or qasidas, came from the vast global roots of the Ismaili community. The recitations could be in Farsi, Gujarati, or Kutchi.

Namaz on Navroz

            After the singing, and on this day alone, there was a typical namaz; this is what most people imagine when they think of Muslim prayers: people stand up, bend down, and repeat the moves a few times. After the prayer ceremonies, food and drink were served in the outside courtyard. A fair-like atmosphere pervaded the grounds. Younger people could sometimes expect an `eidi` a cash gift for simply smiling and shaking hands with an elder. That first day of Spring was usually the only day I wanted to go to Khane. Celebrating Spring was a stark contrast to my other recollections of attending Khane.

Sunday School on Friday Night

            For some unknown reason, the most vital day to congregate was Friday evenings, after a long week of school or life. Being involuntarily taken to Khane on Friday nights was the bane of my high school existence. I grudgingly dressed for Friday nights and then suffered in the backseat through excruciating rush hour to arrive and be grumpy for more classes. My version of Sunday school happened on Fridays. I dutifully attended the Religious Education Center, REC, taught by a community of volunteers who all seemed to know my parents. Though it was better than forced prayers in the main hall, I could not suppress my desire to poke holes in history or doctrine. I attended REC while debating and disagreeing in most of the class. One classmate was impressed with my brain, and the others were just annoyed with my questions.

Who is driving her?

            After the ceremonies or REC was over, I headed to the Khane library. If caught by a family friend on the way there, I socialized a bit. When it was finally time to leave, my parents knew to find me in the library. When my parents were ready to go on most Friday nights, they sent me to search for my sister in crowds of people. I appreciated the brick peek-a-boo fence and flower patches between the laps or two along the courtyard outside. In my meanderings outside, I eavesdropped on volunteers and cringed at comments. Invariably I overheard people’s lives being examined and judged. A few steps into the parking lot, there was yet another version of the same game. At every turn, people were wondering: Who is driving the new beamer? Beyond that, over tea, `what does your son do now?` Or the eyes watching for what insignia or emblem is hanging off your keys? The community practiced, constantly, the subtle one-man upmanship.

Hungry Yet?

            Fridays sometimes ended well. When we returned home or went to my grandma’s house after Khane, we delighted in what my parents bought in “nandi.” Within the prayer hall, separating the male and female sections, was a low-lying table with various plates of food. The dishes were of all colors and represented a world of cuisines. They were all brought in by the diverse congregation. Nandi was the term used for these food offerings that were auctioned off after ceremonies. The proceeds went to Khane funds. The act of sending part of your home-cooking grows from the importance of an abundance mindset. You GIVE away a portion of your lovingly made meal to Khane. The by-products were two-fold: the revenue for Khane and the opportunity for Jamaat members to eat something different. The best surprises were when someone sent in an East African dish of mandazi and bharazi. The prices could get high on a special occasion day. With his foodie tendencies, my Dad always seemed to find it worth the cost. Many nandi dishes simply could not be bought anywhere else.  

Diverse and Growing

            Spring nandi sometimes included arrangements of flowers and fruit. The luxurious day was a celebration of new life, the very essence of Spring. Explaining the background of the Ismaili lineage was always a bit complicated. A long-winded book, The Ismailis, covers some history and doctrine, if you are curious Still, I can see how the sect I was raised in reflects on my life now. Of course, food, travel, self-growth, and entrepreneurship are essential to me. I came from a thriving, diverse community that was both enjoying the past and diving into a full American tomorrow. What I accepted from this past and those parts I rejected are more evident now. My spirituality is freed from the dogma of religion. Underneath it, the Ismaili spirit of pluralism, community effort, and self-growth are my foundation.  

A reflection

I Do Not Cook In Tokyo

Posted on by
Reply
Advertisements

In Tokyo, where both time and space are in short supply, eating out is a necessary luxury. The average apartment in Tokyo is small. Relative to comparable city dwellers, Tokyoites have the lowest square footage of any large city. The kitchens, then, are even smaller. Lack of counter space makes prep work itself an elaborate exercise. Usually, a single medium cutting board could fit over the top of a sink. Very rarely do average apartments have dishwashers or ovens. Multiple burners can be a rarity. Cramped cooking creates more trouble than just kitchen clutter. Smells quickly waft into living and sleeping spaces. In my former 200-square foot apartment, I used to plug in a slow-cooker and open the windows to vent. When comparing tiny apartment kitchens versus the world of dining options, homemade is no longer a pragmatic choice for working people.

Beautiful plating is standard.

Even if you have the time and disposition to cook, many choice ingredients are far-flung across Tokyo. Searching for a Marsala wine, for example, can quickly require an hour journey to a shop with irregular hours that may have just run out of their 3rd bottle of sweet Italian wine. Fruit is a sore spot for many ex-pats. If you find some appetizing fruit, the sticker shock will give you another surprise. A single mango can cost you $8 on a good day! So much for that little bit of garnish, you needed. The hustle and bustle of Tokyo is home to a great many fantastic ingredients. Making sure you can snag them when you need them is a different story. Add that to the time and energy and yen output, you may be looking at a long run about the city. Leave the cooking to the professionals in Tokyo.

The Japanese love Indian food

Dining out is really an elevated art in Japan. Tokyoites eat with their stomach and their eyes. Though it is hard to find foreign language skills, the palate is much easier to internationalize. Obsessed foodies can find pretty plates of high cuisine in nearly all city nooks. In addition to stupendously good Japanese options, Tokyo is an epicures delight of global foods. Popular options include Italian and Indian food. Looking for dinner in a well-developed, lively neighborhood often feels like searching through a treasure map. Hidden in dark alleys, specialist Burmese or German cuisine ask to be found. Ever trend-conscious, or even trendsetting, bubble tea joints are nearly as ubiquitous as Starbucks. Whether you desire fugu, mutton curry, or creamy gelato, some Tokyo shop has it.

Instead of spending your precious time cleaning for cutting space, collecting twelve different spices for murgh makhani, do the practical thing. Call your neighborhood Indian restaurant and make a reservation. Then, take a quick walk down the street, eat well, and return home. Your kitchen will be undisturbed. The rest of your home will smell like your funky vanilla spice candle instead of a Delhi-dhaba, and you can return to luxuriating, Tokyo-style.

Dessert Indulgence, anyone?

The Early Atomic Habits: Self-Growth in Lent & Ramadan

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

We are a few weeks into 2022, and amid scary war-driven headlines, pandemic aftershocks, and the demands of everyday life, the majority of us have walked away from any New Year’s resolutions. While it is easy to lose short-term hope for peace, positivity, and progress, I know that the best changes unravel slowly. Global human rights progress and even everyday cooking benefit from small efforts towards a larger positive purpose. A slow-cooked risotto, a gently raised child, and a delicately watered plant thrive from a patient approach. Our personal habits, too, grow from our desire to make our lives just a little bit better, a little bit different day after day.

Big Changes from Small Steps Instead

Habit Hacking

We are not generally content with the way our lives are; our self-help book craze reflects this desire for change. Last year, the book Atomic Habits was a best-seller. Before that, The Power of Habit. The whole idea of small changes is not new. We are now a few days into the month of Lent. While I do not subscribe to any religion, I am always open to practices that encourage self-development. During the month of Lent, Catholics give up some-X-thing in the name of God. That X can be something well-loved, like chocolate or mindless swearing, or it could be alcohol. The practice reminds me of the few times I practiced fasting during the Islamic month of Ramadan.

What do Lent & Ramadan have in common? First, of course, both are punctuated with a feasting holiday. Lent has Mardi Gras before it, that all-out celebration before a month of disciplined sacrifice. Ramadan ends with Eid, a three-day festival of overeating and family time. Both of these religious practices are reminiscent of our new-aged habit hacking experiments. These short exercises in discipline can profoundly affect our daily lives. They offer the opportunity to mold our character and behaviors through a vital purpose and with relatively easy training in habit change.  

My Experiments

Short-term experiments have brought me long-term benefits. I have developed a sense of gratitude, a commitment to writing, and an alcohol-free existence through short challenges. These exercises work because they start off with a determined purpose, are for short periods, and leave me with a sense of accomplishment. In addition, through these small shifts, I have gained a bigger appetite to work towards better self-control and the trust in my capacity to build from minor changes.

The Gratitude Jar

An Empty (?) Jar

I did not realize then, in 2015, that an empty mason jar could change my life. That year, I spent Christmas with my (then) boyfriend’s family in their enormous Charleston home. For Christmas, my ex-boyfriend’s mother gave each family member an empty mason jar with a set of instructions in it. The task: write down things you are grateful for over the year and stick them in the jar, then, on the following Christmas, open up the pot and read your recollections. I followed the instructions in earnest. I found myself taking moments to jot down sunsets, kindnesses, and kisses. When I shared these moments with the family the following Christmas, we re-lived the joys I recorded together. Beyond that, I noticed a change in myself. I found greater awareness in my day-to-day activities. I became attentive to brief moments of grace and luck. It reminded me of Kurt Vonnegut’s story about Uncle Alex; the moral was to stop and realize, “if this isn’t nice, I do not know what is!” Even today, and primarily through the pandemic, I found space in my heart to notice and enjoy what is beautiful, romantic, and meaningful. Having gratitude is a precursor to any happiness. For that, I have this initially empty gratitude jar to thank.

Morning Pages

The work of uncovering my inner artist is still ongoing; it started through daily morning pages, a required part of the 12-week course in Julia Cameron’s The Artists Way. In early 2020, I lived in my less than 200-square-foot apartment in Tokyo. Just as the string of pandemic closures and restrictions shrunk my world, I started this inner journey to expand my horizons. The morning pages, a daily writing practice, gave me room to grow during the maddening and dark times of 2020. I never imagined calling myself an artist. But through the morning pages, I learned to recognize an under-appreciated sense for art. Through regular writing, I realized I had an opportunity to look at my life and see it as a drawing board. I could honestly touch what was working and what could be improved. My social circle shrank without the regular routine of going into work, but my inner life blossomed. The practice of writing regularly, particularly in the morning, has opened me to deeper realms of my inner life. From this course and the morning practice, I sprang into energizing projects (TokyoGround & this blog, among others). I leaned into my introversion and found strength there. I have the small task of morning pages to thank for this significant change.

Alcohol

Wine Down

Just as good habits can grow slowly, my casual drinking sneakily became a norm. Eventually, I realized that drinking had become a fixture of my life in Japan. For the sake of experimentation, I began doing a dry January in 2019 and 2020. Each time, I marveled at how my energy and my skin improved during the dry months. Then, in 2021, dry January turned into dry February. I knew experimentation had developed into resolve when I turned down a glorious aged bourbon among friends. Though the setting was perfect, in the company of my Tokyo family, in a winter log cabin and with the background of heady Tom Waits, I knew that if I could resist a tipple then, I could resist any time. I decided I no longer needed to have a drink to enjoy myself in that cabin. I found the strength and courage to turn down that last round from my practiced resistance. In so doing, those few dry months paved the way to 14 months of abstinence.

The Next Challenge

My self-improvement method involves taking tiny steps from gratitude to writing to abstinence. Habit hacking starts with a small move driven by a significant purpose. Though my first introduction, from the gratitude jar, was an accident, it grew on my past appreciation for Ramadan. In a way, those old religious practices seem a lot like our new-age hacking experiments and challenges. Though I’m not too fond of sweeping and broad commitments, I enjoy the challenge of tiny steps. Beyond Lent & Ramadan, I look to take my hacking into new realms.

I have a pending challenge to try. The 21 day-no complaining challenge is next on the to-do list. My college study abroad teacher called me Llorona, Spanish for whiner. I suspect completing the 21-day no complaining exercise will be good to throw off that ignominious title. A month of Lent or Ramadan can nourish an extraordinary power even without the adjoining religious beliefs. Minimalism, eco-consciousness, and even global progress are accessible to us. With the power of a strong why, we can commit to choosing one small step after another.

Politics in the Garden: Flower Farm

Posted on by
2
Advertisements

The global implications for the war in Europe are huge. It can be overwhelming to address directly. So instead, my take on geopolitics at a grassroots level in this garden saga.

The Bright & Beautiful Lily

The Saga of the Beautifuls

Lily grows taller than the roses in this Garden. She wrinkles her ribbed petals open into an upside-down umbrella.

The Rose Sprays grow in clumps of threes and fours, spreading their petals in tight circles. They want to sun themselves and hope for a smell-drunk bee to fall into their eager bellies.

Prideful Lily spreads wide over them; her indulgent display casts a shadow on all the short flowers underneath.

“NO!” the Rose Sprays protest. “We need the sun, the glorious sun!” So, the Rose Sprays place their hopes in that wee sliver of sun that might slip through the gap between Lily’s far-flung grabby petals. Lily adjusts her angle. She cheekily stretches, closing up even the tiny sliver of hope.

The Rose Sprays pipe up under mumblings. The Rose Sprays schemed. “We could probably stab at Lily bit these thorns; we just need a breeze to reach over there…. or maybe our caretaker might show Lily some sense.”

Overhead, a bee lands inside Lily’s newly advertised pistil, erect and pointing to the sky.

In the Garden’s next row, the Freesias are fighting amongst themselves. One new bud is opening over the top of the older ones. Resigned sighs & self-imposed tremors came from the dilapidated white blooms below.

A stand of tulips watched silently. Most of the tulips are proper and keep stiff upper lips. They won’t fight out loud amongst themselves. In all the fuss, though, just one, Mr. Tulip is just beside himself. Can’t all those grumpy flowers just shut up! Mr. Tulip recently developed a rash of red among his set of yellow petals. He tilted his body slightly, hoping that the garden master won’t notice his red hue.

Orchid’s bold bloom is withering away in the other corner with potted fellows. She tries hard to keep her petals tight until the deceased blossoms fall. If she manages to stay gorgeous, she’ll get to hang out in the showroom just a bit longer.

Next to the Orchid is potted Hydrangea. She is super pregnant with tight unblossomed babies. She silently wishes the fighting Rose Spray & Lily would keep it down. Hydrangea needs all her energy to push through tiny bursts of purplish flowers. Her blooms are due to burst any day now.

Allison came out to look over her Garden. Allison is the keeper of the Garden, equalizer, and consummate adjuster of angles, positions, and hierarchies. All rules and orders were delivered under her watch. She noticed the bright blooming Lily. With a snip of her garden clippers, Allision brought the sun to the Rose Sprays. Allison: the peacemaker, and the murderer too. Allison returned indoors with Lily in her gloved hand to adorn her dining table. 

Sunny the Cat meandered into the Garden. He liked to play with the flowers unsupervised. He nuzzled Mr. Tulip and then gazed at the other flowers. Suddenly, Sunny pounced across the Garden and swatted at the base of the Freesia. A few older blooms fell to the ground. Casually, Sunny pawed at the dead flowers here and there. Allison popped her head through the window. “Stop that silly cat. That is MY Garden.”

The Orchid shuddered. The Hydrangea pushed a bit more. Mr. Tulip blushed deeper. The Rose Sprays sighed. The Freesias cried.

A Place in Paradise: Housing in Hawaii

Posted on by
1
Advertisements
Beach Bums & Babes

           While the beaches and scenic vistas on Hawaii Island are unparalleled, in between those lovely views, the country’s more significant housing issues are playing out in paradise. In my few weeks here, I am learning to see a few systemic problems just under the surface. My perspective comes from my ability to choose where I would like to stay. As I get to know the island, I see the truth to the classic complaints about this island. Housing is expensive, and there is little public infrastructure.

              The old adage, “it is who you know NOT what you know,” goes quite deep in Hawaii. I initially spent two weeks at the home of an acquaintance, introduced to me by our mutual friend in Tokyo. From there, I began to search for my own place to rent. Getting started here required me to call upon a lifetime’s worth of patience and resourcefulness. I found both my current home and my car privately through a circle of acquaintances.

Between Luck & Charm

              My studio rental is a convenient sub-lease from another traveler. With a gorgeous garden setting, fully furnished, and entirely solo, it is a pleasant change from my first two weeks here, in the acquaintance’s home with five other housemates. Though my temporary studio is beautiful, it includes a cat, traveling geckos, and barking neighbors. As I explore homes in this area, I know people like me are part of the problem. I have some savings to work from and can work online.

              The influx of computer-clad techies is pushing the cost from residents beyond control. A new friend and fellow slow-traveler is renting an off-grid cabin (hear, no running water, solar-powered electricity, and 10Mbs speed internet) for $1,300 a month in Puna. For her, this is a good option. A helicopter pilot rents a furnished single bedroom with no kitchen and no internet for $900 a month in Kona. He has running water and hot showers. I think he got a deal. For the locals, these rates are beyond reach.

Poverty in Paradise

               The town of Hilo, for example, is densely packed and rainy. Poverty is all around. I cannot help but notice the people pushing worn-out shopping carts from corner to corner. The Landless Lot, my free-verse poem, was written in Tokyo but echoed here. Affordable housing for working people is often in poor condition, if even available. Many city-side homes have upwards of 5 cars parked outside, a tell-tale sign of house-hacking when some share a home with multiple renters (much like my acquaintance’s home).  

              Though I am in a decent position to look around my limitations go beyond my budget. (I do not have the F-U money to buy a $3 million condo with thousands in monthly association fees. For anyone interested, there are some of those available in the posh North Kona.) For creative solutions, I have considered buying land and building on it. Two immediate hurdles are (1) permitting and (2) wastewater management. 

Delays & Cesspools

              If I were to buy land and build on it, there are multiple avenues for delay. First, the best contractors, builders, and architects are booked up through the following year. Second, getting a building permit could still take over six months with housing plans drawn up. The slow-moving housing and building departments remind me of Japanese bureaucracy. A labor shortage further compounds these delays. Most surprisingly, while I have been looking around Hawaii Island, I learned about cesspools. A cesspool is essentially a hole in the ground where you let wastewater drain. Cesspools are a popular option when a home cannot connect to the sewage system or won’t go through the expense of a septic system. The cheap solution: a cesspool that barely leads off your property. Later, it will drain into a lava tube on someone else’s land. The consequences are enormous public health concerns. Guess where the wastewater goes? When there is a lot of rain in the areas around Hilo, the beaches get runoff from turbid water. Locals know to check for water quality warnings. Though the EPA has committed Hawaii County to eliminate commercial cesspools, residential builds have a longer leash.  

Why Bother?           

   Hawaii County still manages to pull a lot of potential residents from the mainland. By comparison, cheap land prices in remote areas have their draw. Of course, incoming mainlanders create more cost competition for the islanders. Here, I have only part of the picture; the federal government’s program for native Hawaiians still has not delivered on many promised homes. As I pop around and everywhere, I see that Hawaii Island is a microcosm of the country’s housing crisis. The crisis here is compounded by a few active volcanos and poor infrastructure. Thank you for following along on my adventure!

The Worst First Date: A Motorcycle Story

Posted on by
5
Advertisements

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear reader. Along my way to a single’s V-Day, I celebrate the rite-of-passage known as the first date. I love meeting people, and that curiosity keeps me open to encounters of the romantic kind. Today, I am relishing the online stories of many bad dates. One of my absolute worst first dates was so disastrous I still remember it over a decade later.

A shiny, red, fast Ducati

Early in my career, I worked as an immigration attorney in Atlanta. Around that time, I had a cute scooter and rode it to an immigrant justice rally. There, I met Amir (come on, you didn’t really think I would share his real name). We had a few mutual friends, and we shared a multi-cultural background. Towards the end of the rally, he asked if he could take me out on his own two-wheeled transport. He was cute, clever, and seemed like good company.  I am, also, such a sucker for a motorcycle ride and, of course, said yes.

When he showed up a week later at my place in Midtown, a tad late on his very lovely red Ducati, I immediately forgave his tardiness. I hopped onto the back of his bike clad in boots and a sweet rider’s jacket. We were off to dinner at the Vortex, I thought…

We took the gorgeous Ponce De Leon Avenue up towards Little Five. The road was smooth, but we were wavering a bit in the lanes, and at a traffic light, I stopped to ask if everything was OK. Amir replied: he was not used to so much weight on the back of his bike! He did not dare look at my face and sped off as the light turned green, and I sensed that I had just to hold on now for an interesting evening…

We had decided to get burgers at this lively spot in Little Five, but he drove right past the turn. So I asked what was going on, and he told me he had a package to drop off in downtown Decatur. It was a gorgeous night, and I enjoyed being a passenger, so I patiently and curiously hung out, enjoying the ride.  

Finally, we arrived at an office complex’s underground parking, and Amir pulled out a package from his jacket. He dropped the thick stack of materials into an after-hours dropbox. Coincidentally, I recognized the attorney’s name where he shoved his delivery. She was a rockstar lawyer with a very niche focus in removal defense for immigrants with criminal convictions. I did not let on that I recognized her name. The night only got more interesting from there.

By now, it was getting late, and we were both getting hungry. We finally get to the Little Five neighborhood, and Amir pulls the bike into a parking lot about two blocks away from the Vortex. On the walk there, we saw a pop-up shop that had a line of over 50+ people waiting outside. I did not recognize the artist’s name, but Amir was eager to check it out. I uncomfortably agreed to wait in line (I no longer do this, Tokyoites!), so we waited outside for nearly an hour and made small-talk with one another. I learned he had several motorbikes and that apparently, he was behind on bike payments…. When we finally made it to the entrance of this pop-up, the staff asked us what we would like to get signed by the artist. Amir ended up springing for a $50 T-shirt. We shot a few selfies with the graphic artist and then rolled out of the pop-up. At this point, I sensed we were not on the same wavelength.  He seemed amused, and I started to see the evening as a wash.

When we finally got to the Vortex, the dinner crowd was already seated at all the tables. The hostess suggested sitting at the bar. Amir stepped up with a yes, please, and we were seated, next to each other. At this point, I would have loved to use Uber to go home, but it was not around yet… Over burgers at the bar, I obliquely inquired about his delivery. He explained that he was in deportation proceedings stemming from a night of partying that resulted in a criminal trespassing arrest. His specialist immigration defense attorney would try to help him stay in the country. I knew from my legal work that he would need an excellent basis for relief in his removal proceedings. When I asked the basis for his relief was, he mentioned his marriage to a US citizen spouse! I am not in the habit of dating married men (on principle). I was already surprised, and then he casually mentioned that he and his wife also have two kids. Some surprises are best shared on a first date.

All the while, Amir seemed intrigued by my knowledge in this area. I had been working in immigration now for about 2 years and knew the legal shithole he was in. I imagined that things were not working out too well for Amir and his wife. He did seem quite eager to lean in and feel me out for free advice on his predicament. By this point, I was certain this date was going nowhere. When I thought it could not get any worse, the dinner tab showed. He said, I would have paid for you, but I just spent my last $50 on that T-shirt.

After we split the bill, he commented, you are pretty cool. Let’s hang out again sometime. I managed to keep from laughing in his face. Luckily, he drove me home without any other surprises. His audacity still gives me a good laugh. I no longer hop onto any old bike. In fact, I learned I much prefer walking to motorcycle surprises.

Watch out, ladies!  Amir is still out there. He managed to stay in the US and now is an attorney too.

On Darkness

Posted on by
Reply
Advertisements

Last month, after I taught a class on flower arrangement, a class participant wrote to tell me she was envious of my life. I still have not found the right words to respond to her. Perhaps my life seen from social media does not show the dark spots along my path. Today, though, I want to acknowledge the darkness.

Despite all my expeditions into the light, sometimes only the darkness rises up. I know I am not the only one. Here in Hawaii, an acquaintance of mine carries his pain right on his chest; he has a tattoo of a lost soul floating in the dark ether of space. When I feel this type of pain, I tend to hideaway. We live in a culture that pushes us to look happy constantly. However, being human requires us to touch the whole range of emotions. For me, the very heart that chases beautiful vistas is also home to a heavy spot of sadness.

              I have known the darkness my whole life. Growing up, I was accused of being moody, too sensitive, or full of attitude. I, now, have learned to recognize a few triggers of that darkness. For example, an insensitive comment, a perceived injustice, or sometimes dreary weather can cloud my disposition. After my father’s death, that darkness exploded into a full-blown depression. Through therapy, I learned some tools to help me manage those darker moments.

              My pen has been a lifelong medium in confronting the dark spots. I have written in journals from about age seven. Those recollected pains are a history of my temperature changes. They are also reminders. I have seen the darkness before. I have looked right into the abyss, and I know there is more for me than that abyss.

              A recent bout of darkness followed the harsh words of a retreating romance. Again, I tried to write through it. This time I could not manage to ink away from the blues. But through a chance conversation with a wise soul, I have started to consider the salve of gratitude.

              Then, in the dark, I began to find space to give thanks. I gave thanks for my past experiences with the darkness. In knowing this pain, I touch my humanity. I gave thanks to the capacity to be present with the discomfort. Though patience is challenging to muster when we are in pain, I felt gratitude for the faith that the darkness will lift at some point. I pulled all my strength together to put one moment after the next. By some stroke of luck, or sometimes, just patience, that dark will give way to light.

              My own tools are not always a panacea. Sometimes, the dark still hangs about. The darkness has a message for us. Perhaps we have lessons to learn from it. At the very least, it is a reminder that we must embrace all of ourselves. The colors and the shadows add depth to our world. When it is too much, I hope a friend, a conversation, or a shift happens. There is a way out of pain. The course requires walking through the darkness. If it is too difficult, there are resources to find help. For anyone reading who struggles with the dark, I am sending faith. Faith that you can make it past the darkness. I send confidence that the sun will rise again. I trust that her warm rays will kiss your face.

A Recipe for Meaningful Discussions

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

Have you tried to get a dynamic and thought-provoking discussion going with a diverse group of people? Every time you interact, virtually or in person, with someone with a different cultural background, you have the chance to open yourself up. It is like flipping a coin. You could become offended, confused, or dismissive. Or you can use that opportunity to learn something new. Whether you are in a Facebook group, Zoom call with your remote office, or in a challenging board meeting, a few principles can help create the conditions for a meaningful discussion instead of discord.

To begin understanding a different worldview and potentially reach shared positions, establishing a safe discussion environment is the first step. With a shared purpose, mutual trust, the desire to listen, and mindfulness skills, diverse groups of people can come together to improve their understanding of new perspectives.

Down Home in Georgia

My life is riddled with experiences in contrasting world views. I was a high school student in suburban Atlanta, Georgia when the twin towers were attacked during 9/11. My family is a Muslim part of the Indian diaspora. Although I do not identify as Muslim, I felt sympathy for those in my community experiencing Islamophobia or marginalization. In the tense times after that tragedy, I saw countless instances where people missed nuanced points of view. Anger cannibalized the ability to detect or understand nuance.

Since then, I have been paying attention to identifying the optimal moments to exchange perspectives. My practice of law and work in litigation clearly showed how expensive it is to fight in courts instead of finding common ground. My interest in community organizing, conflict resolution, and ultimately, even travel, is grounded in hearing ideas that are different from mine.

Talk it Out.

Nowadays the headlines announce climate change, racial injustice, and divided national politics. There seem to be countless topics that could antagonize us. The basic principles I started to learn in Georgia laid the groundwork for my toolkit in learning to hear another person’s perspective. With shared goals, a safe space to discuss, empathetic listening, and mindfulness, we have the basic ingredients for a meaningful discussion.

1. Solutions, not Reactions

Around June 2020, shortly after the murder of George Floyd, the Black Lives Matter demonstrations went from an American concern to a global movement. In Tokyo, I became a moderator for the local BLM Facebook group. I shared a video of a prominent Atlanta-based rapper who consoled an angry crowd. People in Georgia were angry at years of abuse at the hands of police; they were ready to burn Atlanta again. The rapper reminded the crowd that they would not solve anything by burning down their own homes. He moved people’s attention, instead, towards a search for solutions. With his moving example, I called for any forum members who wanted to join me in discussing solutions. From there we started a smaller, informal discussion group. For the next six months, and onwards, we held regular discussions in which we talked through social justice solutions.

At the end of 2020, I proposed the idea of opening the group to new people. Our purely online discussion group had coalesced and formed its own sense of community. As we debated opening up to other people, we realized it would require an understanding of our implicit code of conduct. Our chat about our healthy group dynamics is where the idea for this article was born. Since then, I keep finding myself in the midst of great discussions where the objective is to seek solutions. Through this work, I’ve come to appreciate and identify the ingredients for a sincere, meaningful exchange of ideas. Beyond a search for solutions, we also must provide psychological safety, empathetic listening, and mindfulness within our group dialogues.

2. Fear Keeps People from Sharing

We started our discussion group with the knowledge that we do not know everything and cannot speak for everyone. As a group, we represented various passports, professions, and educational backgrounds. Together we sought an antidote to “cancel” culture. In our first group chat, I informally proposed that we be kind and patient with one another as we learn and grow in our search for solutions.

This established a critical baseline, the idea of psychological safety. We were not going to summarily shut someone down just for voicing an unpopular opinion. If someone is in an exploratory phase with certain ideas, they may be afraid their opinion will be seen as stupid or biased. A conversation in a psychologically safe discussion group can be a place to flesh out ideas.

People in a casual discussion are reluctant to fully share their thoughts because they are afraid that they will get chewed out for their opinion. If someone shares, “Most white people make me angry,” the speaker would very rightly be concerned that those words may be used against them out of context. When confronted with the prospect of an angry response, people shrink from their willingness to share. They do not want a fight just to feel understood. The labels of “racist” or not being “woke” enough carry a real social stigma. People are afraid their voices will be “canceled” if an idea is unacceptable. Furthermore, the biggest fear looming over anyone bold enough to share a controversial opinion is that they will be called a hypocrite if their perspective changes.

All of these concerns can be assuaged if people can be confident that they are sharing in a safe space. Ground rules for privacy and also for the style and tone we take with one another can ensure civility and a willingness to share.

3. Listen to Understand, Not to Reply

Early in our discussion group, as an exercise, we each took turns to share a moment that made us feel marginalized or dis-empowered. We listened to each other’s lived experiences and pain. For example, I shared how I felt in high school when someone casually informed me that non-Christians will inevitably go to hell. In turn, I also listened to the perspectives of a new immigrant facing racial discrimination in Canada.

This type of sharing was one of the greatest tools we employed in our discussions. In our sharing, we developed the capacity to listen empathetically. Instead of replying with justifications or excuses, listened with the purpose of understanding how that experience affected the speaker. We realized that empathy is a tool for good discussions.

If you are ever struggling to find a way to understand someone’s pain or sense of indignity, think of a time you felt wronged. Recall that feeling in a physical sense. Without intellectualization and justification, get in touch with how that moment felt in an emotional sense. Then, when you hear someone sharing their own pain, you can “call upon” your own feelings of that kind. At that moment, you have the potential to see how the world operates from another person’s perspective.

4. Apply Mindfulness

Using empathetic listening, and then building on that with mindfulness makes it possible to have a meaningful group discussion. The formal practice of meditation includes cultivating mindfulness. That tool is critical in good discussions as well.

A common mindfulness metaphor is to see our thoughts as a gushing stream or river. That stream often carries with it a constant flow of critiquing and judgmental thoughts. If we can be an observer on the banks of the stream of our thoughts, instead of judging, critiquing, or becoming offended by what someone else is saying, we can refocus our awareness on the other’s perspective. Doing so allows us the possibility of truly hearing what the other person is saying.

By curtailing your own thoughts, I mean that you put away your desire to be right. Keep a pulse on your own emotional reactions through mindfulness. While your own thoughts and feelings are a signal that something does not resonate, those observations can keep you from really listening, with ears and heart. By being mindful listeners, we can make the person across from us feel understood. When you have made some feel understood, you create the space for your own turn to share.

Every opportunity to engage with someone from a different background is a chance to learn. Having a curiosity about the reasoning behind another’s perspective starts from a place of mutual respect. While none of the above is new, I hope to see these kinds of meaningful discussions taking place more often. We close the door for understanding in discussions while we are angry or want to prove someone wrong. This attitude impedes our ability to understand motivations or have an exchange of ideas in dialogue.

If our objective is to vent or to prove that we are right, it won’t get us far. If, however, we are operating in a discussion to seek a certain common goal, and we are able to listen mindfully with our full hearts, there is enormous potential for mutual understanding. We all have the potential to build bridges and understand one another.

As online forums and Zoom meetings become the norm, the subtle cues of in-person, face-to-face interactions are unavailable. In times like these, using these dialogue tools becomes even more important. As our world gets closer and closer through globalization, travel, and technology, I hope varied groups online can apply these tools to nourish and join in on the many interesting discussions enjoyed in a pluralistic society.

*This is essay is a revision from my previous post on Medium.

Asking for A Friend: Do you Trust in Science? Or Nature?

Posted on by
2
Advertisements

For two years now, we have faced an unexpected, unknown monster. COVID and its various forms have surprised and challenged all of us. Each of our lives is reeling from different interactions from the novel pandemic. In April 2020, the American Embassy sent a chilling email to Americans living in Japan. They suggested Americans leave the country immediately or hunker down for some indefinite period.

Initially, I chose to stay in Japan. My life in Tokyo was clean, low-tension, and bike-friendly; an excellent place to lay low. In Japan, ex-pats left, social life dried up, and the calendar became riddled with canceled events. New strands & COVID scares kept people home. I found new hobbies and took long, solo walks. As time wore on, the discomforts in my Tokyo life grew, as did a longing to see my family. In the early summer of 2021, when shots were available for Tokyo residents, I urgently took my first vaccine. Pre-Olympics, at least half of Tokyo was still unvaccinated. By August 2021, I was ready to face and see a different world. When I left Tokyo, I naively expected last summer to be the end of this conundrum.

Sunsetting

Hawaiian Shocks

Before heading back to the continental USA, I wanted to prepare myself for reverse culture shock and thought stopping here on the Big Island of Hawaii would help. Instead, when I first arrived in August 2021, I got a new culture shock. So many stores and restaurants here seemed oblivious to COVID. I went into a south island coffee shop with some acquaintances and nearly had a panic when I noticed no one was masked. I ended up stepping outside to keep my cool. Later on that first trip, we drove through Hilo where I saw a city block of anti-vaxxers holding demonstrations.

The few times I engaged in honest conversations with COVID deniers, I saw Swiss-cheese logic in place for the fundamentals of reasoning. For the sanctity of my surroundings, I did not push for agreements. Instead, I just started listening. In trying to understand and know this place, I noticed an aversion to the mainland. People moved to this remote island to find a place that is not America, but still is technically in America. I see a distrust of the government, disdain for nosy neighbors, and a strange disregard for science. Here, the appreciation for science is limited to the bounties of fruits in nature. This part of Hawaii island, the Kau region, also has an outsized share of poverty, hunger, and homelessness.

This island gave me an actual culture shock. A few words, overheard from my time here: —Why should I pay the DMV $200 to register my car? — I pay for snacks with my EBT, but will pay cash for the beers. — Let me advise you on cars, but I don’t believe anyone’s expertise on anything else.

Mask, eh?

Team Science?

Growing up in a family of doctors, I take a different attitude towards expertise—especially medicine. My mother, raising two children, returned to school to get credentialed to continue practicing medicine in Georgia. My sister and I were lucky. For minor coughs and fevers, our doctor-Mom could fix us up without visiting the clinic. Did the rest of the world forget that modern medicine has reduced human suffering, increased our lifespan, and sometimes improved the quality of that lifespan?

But, of course, American medical treatment is costly, bloated, and skewed towards a defensive practice of medicine. Perhaps the companion to our medical industry, the pharmaceuticals eroded some trust after all those ads suggesting you nudge your doctor into a prescription. After working towards better health in my own life, I hear the loudest and most extreme anti-vax voices growing in adherents from the sheer rage. I get the rage (there is so much to rage about: voting rights, a social safety net, women’s issues, climate change, to name a few), but I also have a certain respect for biology.

How Does This Even Work?

Nonetheless, our general knowledge of science is relatively low for an increasingly technologized world. Unsurprisingly, our health is poor, and as a country, we have suffered an enormous loss of life in the last two years. Ironically, the country still has to import doctors, engineers, and scientists to keep our high-tech industry competitive. Our attachment to the luxuries of technology only matches our distrust of science here.   At this moment, we can re-examine our lives. I love the audacity of Naomi Klein’s perspective in the Shock Doctrine. Can we use this moment to learn how we might re-align priorities? How about education, health care, and genuine housing equality. These factors undermining general public health come from poor public education, a distrust for science, and a disrespect for the government. The anti-vacciners seem to be right at this subset.

Reflecting on MLK Day: James Baldwin & Last Year’s Insurrection

Posted on by
Reply
Advertisements

This Martin Luther King Day, I am reflecting on Dr. King’s legacy while still wondering about the mob attack on the Capitol last year. The mob, led by a demagogue, carried to the symbolic heart of our democracy the fire of America’s unaddressed spiritual crisis. The joint tensions of race, class, and social change fueled the rage of these angry white men. The work of James Baldwin, Dr. Martin Luther King’s contemporary, can shed insight on the rage of the mob. Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time diagnoses our current predicament with the juxtaposition of history, myth, and an understanding of our personal American psyche.


James Baldwin & Dr. Martin Luther King:
They Did Not Always See Eye to Eye

Though first published in 1964, Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time can shed light on the psycho-spiritual issues in America today.  Baldwin’s work provides insight into how contemporary race relations grow from the country’s history and how this history has tainted our social relations. While Baldwin is searing in his criticism for America, he also has an unshakable hope for the country.  His optimism is rooted in our capacity for spiritual growth. Baldwin suggests that the black & white souls of America must work together to resolve our racist pollution.  The way out of our mess requires confronting the same venom that led to the Capitol mob on January 6, 2021.  We must face our past injustices, our current inequality, and our national psyche.

An Unmitigated Disaster

In early January 2021, I was re-reading The Fire Next Time when I saw that Baldwin’s language could speak directly to the attempted coup of January 6, 2021:

“…the political institutions of any nation are always menaced and are ultimately controlled by the spiritual state of that nation.  We are controlled here by our confusion, far more than we know, and the American dream has therefore become something much more closely resembling a nightmare, on the private, domestic, and international levels.  Privately, we cannot stand our lives and dare not examine them; domestically, we take no responsibility for (and no pride in) what goes on in our country; and, internationally, for many millions of people, we are an unmitigated disaster” (emphasis added).

The tarnished American dream, seen on private, domestic, and international levels, grows from our unconfronted past.  Baldwin points to America’s early history as the origin of our crisis.  The American experiment began on lands taken by force and then cultivated by slave labor.  This violation of humanity and land speaks to America’s imperialist roots.  We have used stories of chivalry and the white man’s burden to appease the victors’ conscience.  We have scrubbed away our guilt in the washed-out versions of American history in high-school textbooks. Irrespective of the justifications provided, this pillaging of land and humans requires a blatant disregard for indigenous cultures, ways of life, and belief systems. For the sake of profit, an entire empire was built. The profiteering at the onset of our country set the pace for our current breakdown.

Our Injustices

              In the book’s first essay, Baldwin addresses his nephew: “You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways as possible, that you were a worthless human being.  You were expected to make peace with mediocrity.” In America, without a doubt, the cards are stacked against blacks. Housing is the clearest example of America’s inequalities. Many abroad wonder why the world’s most prosperous country has so many slums and ghettos.  A fascinating video based on the book, The Color of Law, by Richard Rothstein points at how the federal government has helped create the defacto housing segregation we see now.  Our various other inequalities illustrate a pattern of systemic injustice.

             Baldwin shows with heart-breaking tenderness the spiritual consequences of racial prejudice.  Baldwin writes, “One did not have to be abnormally sensitive to be worn down to a cutting edge by the incessant and gratuitous humiliation and danger one encountered every working day, all day long.” A life of indignity compounds the difficulties of an adult trying to earn a living to support his family.  A poignant example is the helplessness a black parent feels when they cannot prepare their child for the cruelty of the outside world.  There can be no compelling explanation for why police might beat up a 7-year-old child or why that child may be called `boy` well into his adulthood. The psychological effect of this implicit oppression cuts deep.

              Baldwin’s insight parallels the lessons from Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Without a sense of security in life’s necessities, individuals cannot rise to their full potential.  Before arriving at self-actualization, we need a sense of psychological safety and reliable daily bread. The injustices of police brutality, social prejudice, and overt hatred gnaw away at the very peace of mind required to truly blossom. While there are outstanding examples of individuals rising above their circumstances, for many the path to flourishing is obscured. In this way, Baldwin carries forward an extended metaphor. Imagine when an entire community is subject to the whims of white supremacy.  Indeed, imagination is not required; we see examples of the wreckage every day. American society does not provide her black citizens the psychic space to self-actualize. Many blacks worked through the toughest odds to self-actualize in a meaningful way. Nonetheless,  for generations, the nation has used its collective energy to suppress the full humanity of its people.  This loss is magnified in America on a much larger scale, from the individual to our dominant culture.  

A Difficult Identity

For Baldwin, the social identity of whites in America is dangerously linked to the subjugation of others. He writes that American mythology places the white man at the top of the social hierarchy. In our status-anxious society, whiteness is a mark of higher social standing. In this world, color represents stability, success, and predictability. Any move, then, towards equality is threatening to those at the top.

A groundswell of new activism suggests that the social order is changing. The mob on January 6 represents an angry reaction to shifts in our race relations.  The first psychological response to that threat is existential fear. In turn, those benefiting from the status quo are awash in fear and insecurity about the new world. Our national non-response to the mob of January 6 suggests our difficulty awakening to a more egalitarian world. The country’s lackadaisical response to the insurrection reflects the calloused soul at the heart of our institutions.  Our spiritual crisis will be unresolved while a contingent of America is uncomfortable with being social equals with a black man.  

Baldwin demands, “We, the black and white, deeply need each other here if we are really to become a nation.” We must go beyond our reason and logic. We must address one another through brotherhood.  We have that capacity within us.  The angry mob of January 6, 2021 was pointing to our problem.  Can we look within ourselves to expand our idea of America?   Baldwin writes, “It demands great spiritual resilience not to hate the hater whose foot is on your neck, and an even greater miracle of perception and charity to teach your child not to hate.” This depth of psychological understanding, emotional intelligence, and generosity of heart is just the start.  Baldwin’s solution and power come from reaching for our shared humanity.  It is necessary.  Can we hold a vision of a more just and equal America? This wealthy nation has a whole group wanting to see a better version of the country. Where could we all be if we saw race as fiction?  Who has it in their heart to hold such hope? Imagine what we could be if we shook out the fear in our insides and turned that energy into helping one another confront the struggles of life.  Ultimately, Baldwin’s insights are the starting place to see America in the context of history. It is within ourselves that we must ask the hard questions about our prejudice, injustice, and inequalities. The mob last year was seeking out a better America. Through great courage, we can work on that together.