By: Farishta Anjirbag
-- On 19th April, 2020, the Coronavirus lockdown had been in force for a little over a month. Every night, my family and I – all finally in the same place at the same time – had been eating dinner together, talking, discussing, sharing opinions. It was a time of getting to know each other all over again. On 19th April, in some unprecedented revival of the teenage angst I used to carry around with me at age 14, I wrote in my journal: “My parents seem to take all the wrong things seriously.” I think there is a time in every person’s life when they get to take control of their experiences and worldview. They get to develop an identity. That time, for my peers and me, began a few years ago, and will go on for many more. We’ve developed opinions that are not only evolving with each passing day, but also becoming closer and closer to our identities. Casteism, racism, homophobia, islamophobia, for example, are all ideals a lot of us are strongly pitted against. If someone blatantly propagates any of them, it is not in our interest to engage with them. These opinions – both in us, and in others – are then really important to our identities, our perception of others, and whom we choose to surround ourselves with. Recently, India was plagued by the huge controversy of our new citizenship law. Our social media was stormed with news, opinions, and protests. Like those of many others, my opinions on this law were so strong (as they continue to be), that I unfollowed and removed every person who disagreed, even if it wasn’t with me directly. I just didn’t want to have these people in my life, and it was easy to let go of them. They were only acquaintances, only people I followed on social media. But what would I have done if these views were held by someone I had been attached to my entire life? We can’t really choose the people who have surrounded us since birth. We can’t choose our family, or the community we were born into. While this doesn’t present itself as a problem in our childhood, things change as we start to develop minds of our own. Opinions change, and often, they don’t align with those of our family or community. Suddenly, it’s not so easy to just leave these views behind, or distance ourselves from them. And we start to question whether we really belong in the midst of the people we’re supposed to have loved all our lives. This is precisely what provoked the return of my teenage angst that night. Over the years, my parents have defied a lot of my beliefs and expectations in small but important ways. At that particular moment, having been indoors with them for a month, I felt like my we didn’t value the same things. For them, issues like the climate crisis and homophobia were easy to overlook, but premarital sex was always a subject of great disdain. I couldn’t understand how we were so similar in some ways, and so fundamentally different in others. It didn’t help that they took me lightly; that they probably thought my beliefs were only a result of my youthful idealism, and I would calm down once I was older. This is a conflict that recurs not just with me, but with a lot of people I know. We all deal with it, albeit in varying forms and degrees of intensity. It got me thinking about the relationship we have with the people we’re expected to love. Is that really love, or just a familial or communal bond? And in the face of foundational differences in opinion, where does this bond factor in? Is it easily shaken? If so, then what about love – the thing that supposedly defines our attachment to our family or community – where does it come in? For more insight into these questions, I spoke with a few peers and friends about their own experiences with this conflict. I asked them what the differences in opinions were in their relationships, how they dealt with them, how they felt about them, and where love came into the picture. Before I tell you their stories, it is important to note that while a lot of these disagreements are centered around social and political problems, the conflicts I am narrating are personal. Everyone has their own way of dealing with things, and their decisions are determined by a number of factors. There might be some opinions in here, or some manner of handling the conflict that won’t resonate with everyone. But all the insights in this article are valuable, and is not a call for undue judgement, criticism, or counsel. *** The first person I spoke to is passionate about body positivity, and seeks to devalue the concept of an “ideal body”. Her mother and aunt, forever on the quest to hide their stomachs or choose the most “flattering silhouettes”, disagree. Moreover, her mother is also tired of being constantly corrected by her daughter for her implicit sexism. Then there’s her Hindu nationalist father, who doesn’t want her to marry a person from another religion, “...god forbid a Muslim.” While with time, she has managed to create a slight dent in her mother’s sexist remarks, nothing she can do or say seems to change her father’s mind. So, of course, it affects her relationship with him: “I can’t talk as freely without starting an argument or making things uncomfortable. But that’s also where it ends. Because…conversations of those sorts are not an integral part of my relationship with my dad. We connect on other things...” She recognizes also that changing one’s mindset is a process and takes time. So, despite the fact that she doesn’t agree with him on a lot of issues, her love for her father remains unaffected. “I may not like him all the time, but I love him for what he is, flaws and all.” So far, so good. There is definitely hope that we can coexist in peace despite our differences. There are ways to work around it and slowly make a change. Love, in this relationship, has a simple and easy place: it’s there. It allows the person to criticize, but also to understand; to disagree, but also to accept. With the next few people I spoke to, however, things were a little more complicated. *** My second conversation was also with someone whose parents are supporters of the nationalist ruling party – the BJP. She never talks to her father about politics. It would inevitably infuriate them both. With her mother, she tries a little harder to listen and understand, but sees no reciprocation. Superficially, her relationship with her parents isn’t much affected by this because she hardly ever brings it up in conversation. This is a source of guilt for her, because “according to whatever we see online, you’re supposed to be continuously having these difficult conversations at home”. Be that as it may, these rhetorics never really mention the mental strain of arguing about these things, for everyone involved. They describe very one-dimensional situations. This is not to say that avoiding active conflict has made everything okay for them. Their communication has been hampered – she feels like she needs to keep things from them. Despite this, she doesn’t want to cut her parents off, because she’s lived with them her whole life, and knows that at the end of the day, they are good people who have just been misinformed. Further, they are her parents – if this had been an aunt or an uncle, she would have cut them off. So, even though it went away a little when she learned about their political leanings, she still loves her mother and father. This love, in turn, allows her to recognize their goodness and their capacity to do better. Of course, since these things are hardly ever one dimensional, she acknowledges that had her parents’ opinions affected her more directly, things would have been different. She is bisexual, and if her parents were homophobic, for example, it would bring another array of emotions and complexities. She would obviously want her parents to accept her. But if they did, how would she cope with the guilt of getting them to forgo their religious beliefs (which bring them peace) to condone her sexuality? But if they didn’t choose her, she would probably have to cut them off once she was financially independent. However, this would in no way be an empowered decision, but a necessary one – it would bring a lot of pain and even some regret. So, what guides our actions in these relationships? Society’s norms? Our fear of confrontation? Our desire to have peace in the house? And then, is it really peace if it has an underlying conflict? *** A little more insight into norms and confrontation, came from the person I spoke to next – a young woman from a patriarchal home, tired of the taboos and gender roles that roam her house like additional members of the family: sex cannot be mentioned even when it’s part of the word “sexist”; it’s most appropriate for women to be married by the age of 23 (by which time they will know all about cooking and nothing about sex); and everyone must compromise and accept the decisions of the man in the house. For the person I spoke to, this man is her father. She has tried relentlessly for several months to make a change, subverting expectations and promoting conversations whenever possible. During the lockdown, she and her father would spend many nights talking about their issues, discussing what they didn’t like about each other’s behaviour, and trying to reach a compromise. However, when an “I’d like you to stop complaining all the time” turned into a “you don’t even talk to me anymore”, she could tell it wasn’t working out. Because of these differences in opinion and lifestyle, she no longer feels like respecting her father. With her mother too, things aren’t always great. The expectations to be a perfect household manager, to accept everything the way it is, and to appreciate rather than challenge, are overwhelming. All this conflict keeps her up at night, for hours at a time. She doesn’t feel like there’s any love left, and she doesn’t know whether she wants to stay in this kind of a relationship forever. Yet, several years down the line, she still sees them being a part of her life. She wants to earn a good income and provide them with all the comforts of the world – not necessarily out of love, but not really out of obligation, either; some middle ground, some other bond. What is familial love, then, really? Is it different from a familial attachment that we mistake for love, because we can’t know any better? For her, there’s little doubt that the two are distinct. Familial attachment becomes different from love for her family, since there is no common ground for love to work on. She does try to see where her parents are coming from and promote a healthy dialogue; but understanding becomes hard because they refuse to even acknowledge the existence of these issues. So then, what happens to overlooking these differences? How do you peacefully coexist with someone if all they do is disregard your identity and emotions? Even finding common ground on other subjects requires some connection, some understanding. What happens if there’s no understanding? According to this person’s experiences, the relationship might sustain because of their familial bond, but it won’t have much place for love and empathy. *** Understanding was a prominent theme in my conversation with the next person. I spoke to a classmate and friend, who disagrees with her parents about social institutions, political support (not centered on the BJP), their approach to resolving societal problems, and Catholic homophobia. Among her reasons for not wanting to cut her parents off, is the fact that they also agree upon a lot of things. Moreover, she recognizes that her parents don’t relate to a lot of her opinions because they were raised differently, in a different time. This makes it “kind of unfair to expect all of it to make sense to them one fine day”. She appreciates them trying. “I think they can see where I'm coming from with a little more effort...So, it could be that hope, or it could be...a sentimental attachment that I share with them, which leads me to overlook minor disagreements.” At the same time, she knows that even though her parents may not be strongly opposed to her opinions now, it’s only because they don’t take them very seriously. For the time being, they enjoy having these conversations for the sake of healthy discussion. “But that’s just the problem. They think that it’s just a healthy discussion...they think that it’s a phase, you know.” They don’t realize what their daughter’s opinions actually mean to her; and they’ll only truly understand this when she is 25 and still has the same outlook. She also makes an effort to keep things from getting too messy by not bringing them up, because she cares about her parents. With that being said, if, in the future she has a disagreement with her parents that seriously disturbs her mental health, and she is financially independent, she won’t think it “unfair” to cut them off (but maybe a little sad). Apart from love, understanding, and familial bonds, mental health was a recurring theme in my conversations with these people. How do conflicts of opinion affect our mental health? Is overlooking these differences and avoiding them good or bad for our mental health? Does a deterioration in mental health stunt our love? Is it worth breaking bonds over? *** The last person I spoke to has parents who are “hardcore right wingers” (nationalistic, BJP supporters), and have completely different opinions from him on important political and social matters. Any arguments against his parents’ Islamophobia makes him liable to such remarks as: “Looks like you’re going to become a terrorist one day”, as well as suggestions to “get circumcised and convert to Islam”. If he had financial independence, he would prefer to cut them off because of their toxic beliefs and emotional abuse. “Throughout this lockdown,” he told me, “I have watched my parents gradually transform into monsters. I have watched as they devolved each day. I barely feel love for them anymore.” The detachment from his parents is not merely a result of differing ideologies, but also of the lack of understanding and the emotional abuse, of “being robbed of a normal family life”. He also added that he would have forgiven their abuse if they had at least opposed the BJP and what it stands for. In the future, however, things will only change if his parents admit they were wrong in treating him this way. When asked whether love had any place to grow in relationships like these, he said that though he wasn’t sure, it might be possible. He says, in the end, “All this hatred and venom that they have put on...has basically come from a small political class who have (with good PR) managed to get my parents on their side. This is just their latent Islamophobia coming out, along with other complex, unresolved feelings. I know that in spite of all this, they're actually mostly disillusioned. I choose to hold on to hope.” Based on what I’ve seen, the general opinion in the media and amongst people has been that conflicts and differences in opinion are a normal part of family life, especially between generations. Everyone has to deal with them, and learn to work around them. But, is there a limit to their normality? What boundaries do we have to push to take these conflicts too far? When can we no longer work around them? Moreover, can understanding do any good in escalated situations? We may see where the other side is coming from, but does that automatically warrant acceptance? *** And so ended my interactions for this article: with a lot of questions for a lot of different situations. I had begun work in the naive ambition for answers: where does love find its place in this kind of conflict? I am left only with more questions, and perhaps a better grasp over the complexity of the matter. I will say that noting complexity is probably worth the while in a time where dismissing it has become so easy. We live in a world of difference and subjectivity, and there is no universal right or wrong in the way we deal with conflicts of opinion. You aren’t a bad person for not trying to change your parents’ minds. You aren’t a bad person for cutting people off. You aren’t a good person, either. You’re just making your own way. The only thing that pays off is knowing your situation and preserving your identity in the way you see fit. On April 19th, after much deliberation, I didn’t take my conflict to bed with me. My journal entry ended on a relatively positive note. I love my family, despite the fact that we don’t agree on a lot of things. I know them as people, and as parents. In all their capacities, I know their compassion and their desire for peace. I understand that we have different ideals because of our generation gap, and also that they try their best to not let that get in the way of relating to their children. I know that they wouldn’t do anything to promote hatred, even if their opinions are sometimes misguided. We disagree on a lot of things, and this conflict will persist in me for a long time to come. But I am willing to look past it because I love them. In terms of the limited factors I discussed in this article, I can say that my parents and I often try to understand each other, we compromise and relent, and we support each other. Is that what it takes for love to grow out of familial bonds? I don’t know, I can’t answer that for you. I can only leave you with questions. Farishta Anjirbag
0 Comments
By: Beatriz Atienza I had a difficult relationship with my dad. Even before I was born, he was controlling towards my mum, he wouldn’t let her spend her own money without writing it down, choose her clothes or, when things got worse, go over to see her family. She left him right after I was born, but of course then it started with me. While growing up, I wasn’t allowed to take part in any community activities. He wouldn’t let me join extracurricular classes, go to my friends birthdays, etc. I also had a holiday turn with him which lasted 40 days and during those I couldn’t talk to my mum. He didn’t pick up the phone when she called and when I got older he used to take my phone away. I barely spoke up for myself because I was scared. He never physically hurt me but I had been raised in fear, always afraid I would get a bad mark at school, and he would be disappointed, or afraid that if I said something he would sue my mum (which he couldn’t because he had nothing against her, but I didn’t know). I lived like that for 18 years. Going to his house every evening, every half holiday, with no life of my own. That affected the way I was at school, my ability to make friends, and basically the construction of my own life. But when I was about to start college, I wasn’t having it anymore. I spoke up and told him everything I thought. And nothing happened to me. We still have a complicated relationship, I see him from time to time, bur now I’m free. With the support of my mum, my family and some true friends, and also with professional help, I’m working on it. What he did to us was psychological abuse. I didn’t know it then. Isolating us, controlling everything, asking for perfection standards no one can reach. To anyone going through the same, both if they have realized it or not, you’re not alone. There’s people out there, close ones and professionals, who can help. But please know you are free and the only owner of your life. There is a way out, not an easy one, because it has taken me years to realize I needed help and that I was indeed affected by what happened. But there is. By: Vanessa C. We all dream of the world being a better place- better people, better dreams, better hopes, and a better future. In a world of increasingly educated and aware youth, I explore what it means for me, personally, to be a global citizen who aims to learn more and more each day of my life. I think it is finally time for me, just a humble person, to give my opinion on the world. Not terribly drastic, but this, in my opinion, is what I want and what I envision the world to be. Right now, the world is more divided than ever. It is always about the politics, politics, politics. However, I think something we must get over and recognise is that the world is more than just our politicians and policymakers. Of course, some scepticism helps to keep things in check and balanced, but right now, nothing is united. People are not trusting their governments and there is a visible divide and marginalisation of people in many different aspects- especially when it comes to politicians and racial issues. As much as these issues are incredibly important, I hope that the people of our world, all 7 billion of us, learn to be kinder and happier. Our increasingly digitalised world means more stressed and unhappy people, and you have seen the stats with what happens. Couples divorce, people lose their jobs, fire employees and in general, this creates a bipartisan divide and separation of people which causes undeniable rifts and divides that cause further harm to our mental and physical health. Internet videos of kind souls who help others often garner millions of views and likes, and people comment, "I wish there were more people like him/her, we need more of them!" It is ironic that the people who do comment and like the video hardly do anything to become that another kind person. Is being rude, mean and angry a part of modern society? I think not, I hope not. I pray not. In a world where mental health has now taken centre stage and many people are being more and more involved with it, I think it is a timely reminder to the world that being kind to others both improves their happiness and mental health, along with yours. Changing the world starts with being kind, being human. Of course, talking about the future means we now must grapple with technology that is changing every single day. Quantum this, computer that. Now, computers can replace humans in almost every mechanical task. Long gone are the days where you require quality control checkers, clerks and other administrative jobs which require, among others, sorting, cataloguing, and recording. Machines can do all that. One thing which I hope happens is that robots and mechanical power becomes a friend, not our foe, and is our handy partner for whatever task we want to do. Some people view the dawn of AI as the end of our world as we know it, but I do not think we should do that. People and human beings are naturally curious beings who strive for progress and development. What I want for the world is one where we can slowly sit through and discuss what is worth advancing and what is not. Our technology will only be as powerful as we make it to be, are robots are valuable mechanistic objects that could really save time, energy and effort. People worry so much about the rising influence and advent of AI and I can see why. What about our jobs? What about money? I think AI can be a tool for people to reinvent and upskill themselves instead of using the old ways. I believe that if you can successfully raise a generation of people who are competent with technology, the demand for such skilled handlers will only grow with the ever varying tools and technology which we have all been heavily reliant upon. I hope that, in time to come, we will see the true value of systems such as AI and machine learning which may help us to do better as a whole human race. It is not too far-fetched to think of a world where technology is the future. In fact, it already is and will continue to be. I hope we learn, as one humanity, which technologies are present and what to develop. I am sure we will not want a world where robots control everything, from our human conversations to our valuable daily commutes where thoughts are bred. We must be cautious with what we invent what we develop and must be ready to bear the full consequence of the disastrous result should this get out of hand. These are just some examples of what the world can be. Kinder, more aware, and lastly curious. This is one of those human values we must not leave behind, and as I see people inventing, discovering, creating, I remain convinced that our natural thirst for knowledge will remain intact for long to come, and I certainly hope it does not die out and float away, like the embers of a flame. Passion is fire, not ash and we must let that fuel our species to discover new heights and ride the wave of an advancing species. We have come this far, we still have a long, long ride ahead. Who knows what maw await at the end of the road if there is one? There will be hiccups, mishaps, terrible errors, but learning has and always will be one of those things that does not change for us as a species. I look forward to the ride where we get to discover more of our world. Would you come along for the ride? I encourage you to! Let us explore, empower, grow, and fuel like we always have and always will. Welcome to the future. It begins now. By: Ira Sharma I was born in 2006, and I would turn 6 years old a few months before the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting. At the time I was far too young to understand what a “mass shooting” was, but as I grew older, these events became regular occurrences, and they faded in my memory as the years went by. As awful as that sounds, the shootings became so commonplace there was an almost numbness towards these tragedies that I saw. My family and I would watch the news at 5:30, and it felt like almost a weekly occurrence that another shooting would occur. One that hit at my heart more than others was the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High shooting. I was only in the 7th grade at the time, but the shooting made me realize that my school could be next. There was even a walkout in our entire district to honor the lives of those who had lost their lives, and while we weren’t allowed to participate, it struck me just how close to home this shooting was. I remember starting to look around my classrooms and looking for places to hide in case of a shooting, assessing just how dangerous my desk position was, and looking to the classroom door wondering if someone would just start shooting. My entire life we’ve done school shooter drills at school, at least a few times a year. Every teacher goes over the plan at least once a semester to make sure we know just what to do come time. The plan usually went to turn off the lights, cover the window, lock the door, and either hide beneath our desks or in a closet, as silently as possible to avoid any attention. As months went by and more shootings happened, teachers would sit us down and have conversations on the likelihood of shooting, for what to do if we were trapped in the hallway or restroom. I’m currently a rising freshman in high school, and even with the COVID-19 pandemic looming, the thought of school shootings still creates a horrible image in my mind. In the case of the Stoneman shooting, there were many, too many, warning signs for the possibility of the event. Nikolas Cruz, the shooter, even once commented “I’m going to be a professional school shooter” on a Youtube video, and someone even submitted a tip to the FBI about him. This and many other warning signs created an image that should have been impossible to ignore, yet it was. This tragedy not only showed the nation how dire our situation with guns is, but also our hidden mental health epidemic, especially among our youth. No other country has as many mass shootings and deaths caused by guns than the U.S. Yet, our lawmakers fail to pass gun control legislation every year. However, out of the ashes of Stoneman-Douglas High rose March for Our Lives, an organization founded by survivors of the shooting. When you go to their website, the first thing that pops up is “We are the voices you can’t ignore. We are the young people committed to ending gun violence in our schools, in our communities, in our nation. This is about reclaiming our futures.” As I learned more about their organization, I realized just how much bigger their movement is. They’ve not only gotten youth to vote in record numbers, but they’ve also proven just how different this generation is. Many of the most respected and trusted people in Gen Z’s lives have brushed this generation off as useless, lazy, not-going-to-amount-to-anything. I disagree- Gen Z has accomplished more in our first few years of life than that of any other generation. While we haven’t seen war (yet), and we grew up with phones and tablets, we’re anxious to see change and aren’t afraid to be the ones creating it. Other than March for Our Lives, our generation has created activists, scientists, and the leaders of tomorrow who will quite literally revolutionize the world. With resources available to all on the internet and through social media, Gen Z is most definitely going to change everything. Incredible people like Greta Thunberg, Emma Gonzalez, and many others are all part of Gen Z. We’re yet to see the full impact of our generation, but in my view, it’ll be more than ever before. We grew up scared, but I’m sure we won’t let another generation go through what we have. By: Hannah Graham In my first relationship, I told my then boyfriend that my sister said my shirt was showing too much of my stomach, even though it was only a small amount. Through that, we somehow got on the topic of clothing and how it affects women. I specifically remember him telling me that if a girl is wearing revealing clothes, she should expect men to look at her and even make comments. This kind of took me aback because I had no idea that that was his way of thinking. Then I realized it was a lot of guys' way of thinking. Society has shaped the minds of men to believe that what a girl is wearing determines what they want from them and the minds of girls to believe that whether a man respects them or doesn’t is their own fault. Rape culture is not just rape, it’s everything leading up to it. Men have been taught that they are owed something by women based on how they dress or act. This ideology tends to start with the school dress code. It is much harsher on girls than it is on guys. I remember one instance where my sister was sent to the office for having holes in her jeans above her knees, but they were patched holes. We have to miss class to change clothes into more “appropriate attire” which harms our learning experience all because they don’t want us to harm others learning. We are made to be responsible for the eyes and attention span of others. Everyone needs to be taught to focus despite any “distractions” instead of being allowed to blame others just because of their clothing. There are many instances where in a rape case, the victim is asked what they were wearing that night. As if a shirt is consent. In one case, a woman’s underwear was held up as “evidence”. I think it is obvious that her underwear was not visible until the man decided he was going to rape her. I have been taught, along with the majority of other women, to be super careful in everyday life. You have to check under your car, check the backseat, leave a parking lot immediately, never pull over for a suspicious cop car or call 911 to ask if it is a real officer, never walk alone at night, don’t leave your drink alone at a party, carry keys in between your fingers and pepper spray in your bag as a weapon, and so many other precautions to keep us safe. Instead of preaching to boys to respect women, we are taught to be careful around them. Victim blaming is a huge problem. Recently there was a trend on TikTok, a popular video app for teens, where boys asked whether false rape accusations should result in jail time. What they failed to understand is that it is already a criminal offense but less than 2% of all rape allegations are false. These boys are trying to turn the focus off of the largest problem which is that 60% of rapes are not reported and only 6% of rapists are put in jail for usually a short amount of time. Most victims are too scared to come forward with their story due to men like them who will not believe them. While false accusations have happened, it is a very small amount and does not need as much attention since they are already punishable. If you ask any girl, they can tell you at least one time where they have been uncomfortable in a man’s presence whether because of what they have said or what they have done. It is so common and it shouldn’t be. We need to start denormalizing preaching to women on what they need to do to prevent rape, and start normalizing teaching men to have self control. We are not responsible for the actions of other people and it should not be taught to us that it is. By: Dohyeon Kim A month ago, my grandmother passed away. This was the first time that I’ve experienced the death of someone I was intimate with. (When my grandfather died, I was very young so I don’t really remember anything about it.) When I first heard the news, I was studying for my final exams at my school. It was a late night, and my eyes were fixed on my AP English handouts. Sleep-deprived, all I wanted was to finish what I had to do that day and go back to my dorm room. That was when my mom called. I picked up, and she said in a trembling voice, “Dohyeon, your grandmother passed away.” Then her voice turned into a cry. My heart sank, and I could feel part of it turning cold. My mom shortly told me that she’ll pick me up from school and then hung up. Waiting for my parents to come, I felt empty and numb. I didn’t burst into a cry right away as people do in movies, probably because my relationship with her hadn’t been particularly special. Maybe the news of her death didn’t sound real to me, then. But regardless of the reason, the fact that I didn’t immediately cry made me feel guilty. I felt as if there was something wrong with me. When I was trapped under those thoughts, my parents arrived and I hugged them. I could not even imagine how sad my dad would felt so I tried to comfort him. As we headed to where the funeral was going to be held, the world as I saw through the window seemed nothing but dark and desolate. Then I remembered that I hadn’t explained my situation to my friends so I texted them. A few minutes later, they each sent a kind, loving message that warmed my heart. My relatives were waiting for me and my family at the funeral. The place was empty since it was almost 2:00 A.M. but people would start to come starting from the next morning. My siblings and I ate some snacks and had a little sleep. Then throughout the next three days, people came: people I know, people I don’t know. People who had ties with my grandmother during her life came and talked about their memories about her. They cried as they approached my grandmother’s photo and put white chrysanthemums in front of it. But they also smiled as they chatted with my parents and patted my shoulders. I listened to their stories and made sure that they felt comfortable: bringing them food and conversing with them when my parents were busy accepting other condolers. I felt thankful for them who took their time to drive all the way here to say goodbye to my grandmother. The three days passed, and it was time for us to really let my grandmother go. As we were led to a small room where her body was kept in, I was nervous. When I saw her laid on a table, I started to cry. The room was cold, and I didn’t want my grandma to feel cold or lonely. The undertaker started to shroud the body and did his best to be as soft as possible. Yet, I could occasionally hear the sound of my grandma’s body mildly bumping against the hard table she was laid on. Every time I heard the sound, a tear rolled down my cheek. My inner voice screamed: Please don’t treat her like an object. Please don’t remind me that she can’t feel pain anymore. Please, please. When we were finally allowed to approach her, I stroked her arms and said that I thank her for everything. It was heartrending to see her because we hadn’t been able to visit her for the last few months before her death. Due to COVID-19, no visitor was allowed to enter the hospital she was in, and I hated to imagine how lonely she would have felt during those days. After the process was completed, we exited the room. My mom hugged me and wrapped her arm around my waist. Everyone was exhausted from crying so hard. My father suddenly handed me his phone, which showed a post uploaded by my grandma on her blog. It was me: a photo of my younger self, taken more than ten years ago. Someone had left a comment there and my grandma had replied: “She is my granddaughter, Dohyeon. She is almost four now!” That comment reminded me of how much she loved me, although she wasn’t the type of person who says “I love you.” out loud. Looking at the trace of my grandmother, I imagined the way she would have looked at me when I came out into the world, learned to speak, and started to walk. And then I thought about how much I loved her. I was still sad, but I was no longer just sad. I had learned an important truth: wherever the pain is, there’s also love. The love that my friends, family, relatives, and all the condolers showed taught me that loss is not entirely tragic. Sorrow may overwhelm us when we lose our loved ones, but love will always protect us. That’s how strong love is. By: Hannah Graham My family and I have been very careful with what we do in order to protect us from getting COVID. From March-June, we did not go inside stores, saw very few people while social distancing with masks, and we basically only left the house to go run at a park. In June, we could see a few people without having to social distance and we went into grocery stores and bookstores as long as they required everyone to wear masks. We still do not go to malls, shop, or eat inside restaurants. It’s been very hard because we all miss our friends and family, but we also want to be safe. My mom works at a high school so she is currently not working but my dad is since he’s a boss at a construction company. On Monday, July 13th, my dad came home early with a headache. My mom freaked out and quarantined him in his room. He started to feel a little better and on Wednesday he went to work, still being careful and not being around anyone, and we all watched a movie. On Thursday, I woke up feeling awful. My head hurt, my throat was a little sore, I felt nauseous and tired. I tried to get up to go get a thermometer but I had to sit back down. When I finally felt good enough to stand up, I got the thermometer out of the drawer and went back to my room. My temperature was 100.3 degrees. I called my mom and she brought me some vitamins and an ice pack for my head. I felt a little bit better that night and I went for a run. I couldn’t finish the workout so I just did 3 miles. The next day I felt much better but my sister woke up with a stuffy nose. When we went for a run I could only do 2.8 miles. When I got home I still felt almost completely normal. Then, my dad came home early. He couldn’t smell. My sister and I panicked because we did not want to get corona. We got in the car and drove to town to pick up smoothies from the drive thru and then we came back home. My dad had gone to get tested. I was watching Netflix and I heard my mom yell my name. She told me and my sister we needed to go get tested, my dad was positive. We drove to an urgent care that had rapid tests but they were closed so we needed to go in the morning. I couldn’t sleep because I worried about whether I could have given it to anybody if I had it, and I prayed that that wasn’t the case. The next morning we drove back to urgent care and got the test. It was very uncomfortable, they stuck the q-tip so high up in my nose. After about 30 minutes, a lady came out and told us, “Interesting news,” which when they say that about COVID tests you know it’s not necessarily interesting, “both of the girls are positive, but mom- you are negative.” My mom nodded and she told us we needed to quarantine and all of the basics we already knew. We drove home almost in silence until my mom said, “Well Hannah, I guess you won’t have to social distance from your boyfriend after this.” She was trying to make light of the situation. We didn’t tell anyone except close family that we had it until a few days later when we told the two girls we had been running with and my boyfriend. My brother was at the beach when all this came to light. He is a severe asthmatic and there was a very good chance he did not get COVID because he’s rarely around us and is usually at work or in his room. Right now, he is living in our camper until we are all clear. I think my mom is immune, that maybe she has antibodies already, because it is very weird how everyone else in the family that she is around frequently got it and she did not. My mom is trying her best to keep everyone healthy. She gives us different vitamins three times a day and makes us do breathing exercises. My family is very lucky. COVID has not harmed us as badly as others who have contracted it. As of now, I have 3 days until I should be no longer contagious and I am very ready for that. It gets very boring staying at home all day without even being able to go to a park and run. We do not know how my father got COVID, we just assume it was from someone from his work, but we do know that we still got it even after all of our hard work. No one is above a disease and that’s why it’s important to understand it. We must all do our part to love others enough to protect them even if we think it’s a hoax or it’s uncomfortable. Please wear a mask, social distance, and wash your hands. Three simple steps to save the people we love. We can beat this virus. By: Khushi Pasrija & Shejuti Wahed
Student Substance Awareness (StuSA) is a student-led nonprofit dedicated to promoting substance-free campuses in educational institutions. Although in theory prevention sounds rather easy to accomplish, it’s actually quite difficult. Students won’t decide not to try something solely because someone told them not to, especially when there are countless peers encouraging the behavior. In fact, most are already aware of the negative consequences surrounding substance use and yet still fall into addiction. StuSA’s challenge is not just to educate, but instead to assist students in understanding how to implement awareness into their daily lives. Prevention diminishes the need for a cure. We’ve seen this idea come to play in the real world with COVID-19: preventative measures such as social distancing and masks reduce the immediate necessity for a vaccine. Our mission is similar in this manner, as preventing exposure to substance abuse limits the necessity for addiction treatment. At first, we were stubbornly hopeful that absolute prevention was reachable. However, we were quickly faced with the harsh reality of the matter — it is nearly impossible to prevent every student from exposure to drugs or alcohol. Given this realization, we decided that we would veer away from the common approach of assemblies and instead approach these large groups by working with them in smaller cohorts. The manner in which this topic can effectively be addressed varies from person to person. In smaller groups, it’s easier to address individuals in a meaningful way rather than hundreds of students at a time. Schools are going about the issue in the wrong way. Most hold merely one or two school wide assemblies, and some schools in lower income areas wind up holding none. There are numerous studies that demonstrate this evident correlation. Individuals living in environments not conducive to economic growth bare the highest threshold for substance abuse. A specific study from the National Institute on Drug Abuse found that the leading risk factors of substance abuse include community poverty, low peer refusal skills, and drug experimentation. These are all main issues that StuSA has carefully devised a plan to tackle. It has been psychologically proven that repetition improves retention and understanding. StuSA’s team decided that instead of just hosting one or two big assemblies, speakers and lessons implemented into the general curriculum of courses in intervals throughout the year is integral. Through hands-on activities, group roundtables, speakers with all levels of experience, and drug abuse topics related to particular academic subjects, students will have the highest exposure possible to information they’ll need to make the right decision when the choice comes along. By: Anyssa Matia When I first heard the news of the murder of George Floyd, I felt numb. Not in the sense that I couldn’t move, but in the sense that I felt nothing. We’ve become so dehumanized to police brutality against black people, I expected nothing to come of the situation other than Floyd being added to a list of names, becoming another statistic. So you can imagine my surprise when the protests started. I’d never seen anything like it before. People from all across the country, across the world, banding together to fight for black lives. I loved everything about it and felt proud to be part of the generation that was leading the protests. However, there was one thing that I couldn’t shake about the situation. I hated being black. Living in a big city at the heart of police brutality, those first few days where protests were turning violent, I was terrified. I jumped every time I heard a loud noise like the police were targeting me no matter where I was. I began to fear all of my daily activities. Every time I went for a walk I thought I could end up being the next Ahmaud Arbery. Every time I went to sleep at night I thought I could end up being the next Breonna Taylor. Every time I watched the news and saw a video of another black person being attacked, I couldn’t breathe. At times I still can’t. Maybe it’s because of my anxiety, thinking about if that person in the news could be me or one of my brothers. Maybe it’s because I can’t begin to fathom the thought process of why someone would hurt another person based on the color of their skin. America may not be the best place in the world to be a black person. Even with all the fighting and protesting, we’re doing, that won’t change for a while. However, anytime I begin to feel anxious like I can’t breathe, I think back to a quote I once heard that will always stick with me: “despite adversity, I persevere.” By: Avanti Savur For the past several years, seven, to be exact, I’ve lived my life under the shroud of depression and anxiety. There are times when it is bearable, when I can ignore the intrusive thoughts and attempt to soldier on, and other times, I am on the precipice of collapse, but it is always there at the back of my mind. Indian culture, and society in general, dictates that mental health isn’t something to be taken seriously, and the general attitude of my peers was that speaking out meant I was asking for attention. This conditioning that I had internalized and believed to be true, left me shuddering at the prospect of opening up my inner world to well-intentioned loved ones, for fear of being misunderstood, laughed off, not taken seriously or dismissed. I am now happy to say that I’ve been seeking therapy, and am surrounded by friends who try to understand, and will always listen. Still though, I ferociously guard the existence of my depression and anxiety from everyone other than my inner circle; a part of me still clings to the shame I was taught to feel. About a month ago, news broke of a popular Indian celebrity’s tragic suicide, and with it came a flurry of posts on social media, stressing the importance of mental health awareness and telling their followers to message them whenever they felt like they needed to talk to someone, and that they would always be there for them. Despite being an advocate for mental health awareness myself, and in a way, being the target audience of such posts, I can’t help but be wary of yet another spate of attempts to bring mental health awareness into mainstream conversation. By now, I know what this means for us. I know that despite the cries for awareness, it means seeing the word “suicide” splashed everywhere on the internet without any thought given to trigger warnings. It means uninstalling Instagram and calling my therapist three times a week instead of the usual one. It means practising self-soothing techniques and wondering when mere words will stop affecting me to this degree, blaming myself for my strong reactions in spite of knowing that I have no say on the matter. And the most frustrating and disheartening- I know that this conversation will take place in an echo chamber of neurotypical and non-mentally ill voices, be reduced to a hashtag and will last less than two weeks. These sorts of discussions wrongfully assume that mental illness is a monolith consisting of only depression and anxiety- aspects of the conditions easily lend themselves to aesthetic quotes and romanticised renditions in all forms of media- but they couldn’t possibly encompass the pain these illnesses bring with them. Mainstream cultures adopt and appropriate whatever symptoms are deemed to be palatable and discard the rest- reducing the biopsychosocial model of mental illnesses to plot devices and sympathy-inducers and almost seem to imply that these devastating, life-ruining conditions are desirable in order to be seen as unique and quirky. It hurts to think about how much easier my diagnosis and treatment would have gone, had I known better, had my peers and the media we consumed done their due diligence and researched the topic before attempting to tackle them. There is also a crushing need to recalibrate conversations surrounding mental health to accommodate for the heterogeneity of mental illness. Conversations around mental illness display a clear dissonance- we find ourselves picking and choosing the issues we’re comfortable with and shying away from the facets that induce discomfort. At times like these, those suffering from less-talked about conditions like paranoia, bipolar disorder, OCD, addiction, schizophrenia, or PTSD, to name a few, are completely ignored. Not only are these conditions not addressed in these conversations, they’re often reduced to caricatures of themselves- for example, OCD being perceived as a “neat freak” tendency rather than a debilitating illness with a plethora of symptoms that takes years of professional help and possibly medication to cope. The accepted representation of these conditions perpetuated by the media are nothing but running jokes that are meant to be perceived as eccentricities in the character, and other times, they’re demonised and used as one-dimensional plot devices in the arc of villains to justify their destructive actions and personalities. The rampant misrepresentation of mental illnesses adds to the already-pervasive stigma that exists in our society- one that contributes to the already distressing emotional hardships mental illnesses bring. We’ve been taught to perceive certain aspects of mental illnesses as wrong or scary- seeking professional help, auditory/visual hallucinations, consumption of medication, for example. Dealing with these issues is hard enough on their own, the added stresses of dealing with the slander and vilification from society can often be too much to bear. It’s incredibly, unimaginably hard for us to acknowledge our feelings as valid and worthy of receiving help, much less opening up to others, with the taboos around mental illnesses. I treat my illnesses like they’re deep, dark secrets; very few people in my life know of their existence and that I seek professional help. Despite everything I now know about mental health after much reading and listening, society’s conditioning takes over and I find myself feeling ashamed about my feelings and anything to do with my illness must be dealt with in clandestine fashion. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told by family, friends, teachers and other authority figures to simply “not be stressed,” as though any feelings, those having to do with mental illness or otherwise, can be turned off by a flick of a mental switch. Even well meaning responses of “just open up to people around you” tend to do more harm than good- negative stereotypes of mental illnesses make it almost impossible to do so, not to mention the people who post such messages aren’t professionals and therefore aren’t qualified or able to take on the emotional burden of becoming deeply acquainted with someone’s struggle with mental illness, especially when it’s one that is already underrepresented. There’s so much secrecy and misunderstanding around mental health and mental illnesses, from the causes to the effects. It’s important to understand that different conditions manifest themselves in different ways, and the exposure to and consequence of all mental illnesses are not the same- and they’re all equally valid. We as a society need to acclimatize ourselves with the aspects of mental illness that we don’t fully understand. Every person with a mental illness has different experiences, and it’s important to not apply the details of one person’s unique struggles as dogma that others with the same illness must adhere to, but rather use that knowledge to broaden our understanding of mental health. Mental health is a heavy topic to deliberate, but it’s vital that we do so while keeping in mind those who are most affected by these discussions and being mindful of boundaries we may accidently cross. Perhaps that’s how we can make this conversation marginally easier to have. Perhaps then, we can truly achieve the allyship that’s so desperately sought after; we can find it through inclusivity, empathy and education. |