Words for Thought

Almost two weeks ago, on July 8, I celebrated sixteen years of being in remission for my leukemia. That’s something I’m immensely grateful for and something that blows my mind. It’s been such a long time and my family didn’t think I’d make it this far, so I’m proud that I get to celebrate it. But it’s something I struggle with everyday.

If you look up the word survivor, it states the obvious and says “a person or thing that survives.” The definition more fitting for me is “a person who continues to function or prosper in spite of opposition, hardship, or setbacks.” I think for a really long time after my thyroid cancer, when I was just a person who had survived and was too young to understand all the consequences, I was prospering. I was bragging about my story, and proud of myself for surviving. I considered myself brave, strong, a fighter. But in the past couple years, especially in the past year, I feel like I’m just functioning. I’m living despite the opposition, hardship, and setbacks. But I don’t feel like I’m prospering anymore.

I’m realizing things I didn’t understand when I was younger. I’m feeling emotions I don’t think I ever really processed. I think I was too busy fighting the disease that I never felt it. And now I’m feeling it all.

This is part 2 to the piece I shared last week (click here for part 1). Hopefully, reading the full piece will give you a clear picture as to how my perspective changed over time. Hopefully, this second piece closes the circle and provides insight into the first part of the piece.

Again, this is by no means meant to offend anyone. My use of race, ethnicity, gender, etc. is only stated because the point of the piece is that those aspects are brought out and noticed in everyday life. Those aspects are what have allowed for judgment in society.

**Also, disclaimer, the first paragraph states “my cousin could have gotten into great schools.” Something I didn’t know then that I do know is that she did get into great schools regardless of being female in engineering. But, at fourteen, I didn’t know that.**

This is one of my favorite songs, and some may find it a bit cliche given the context of the piece, but here’s Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. And, as always, here’s my not-quite-as-amazing version: Born This Way.

My family is sitting at the dinner table talking. I’m fourteen, still at the age where other people’s opinions don’t matter to me, where the problems of the world haven’t had an effect on me. My cousin has recently decided to double major in political science and aerospace engineering. “If she had decided to pursue engineering earlier, she could’ve gotten into great schools,” one of my parents comments. I wonder why that is, but the explanation comes soon after: she is a female and not many pursue engineering. Colleges want more females in STEM fields. It’s interesting how colleges try to initiate equality in their schools, but in doing so, end up isolating students by gender and color. They want more females in STEM fields so they can show others that women can do anything they want, but they have to make an effort to recruit females. Females won’t just be accepted on their own merit, but accepted because they are female.

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This piece is part 1 of a two-part series (click here for part 2). They actually come from the same piece of writing, but I figured it would be too long to put up all at once, so I decided on splitting it. I wrote this in my English class following a similar reflection I had done prior (refer to The One Who Taught Me To Stand Up). I loved writing this piece because I thought the end result weaved everything together really well. I also enjoyed writing it because it is about a topic I am extremely passionate about: equality. 

**Disclaimer: I’m not pointing fingers at anyone in particular, and I don’t mean to single out specific race in this piece. This is only the first part, so please keep in mind that I grew in my mindset as I continued to write. I hope you all see that part two will bring the full idea into the picture. The main theme is judgement, whether that be about race, gender, or thoughts. I hope I don’t offend anyone because that is not my intention.

So, with that, I’ll let you get to it. Here is my cover of the song Try. Here’s the original: Try by Colbie Caillat.

She didn’t care what they thought of her. It was a Thursday evening, December 1, 1955. A 42-year-old black woman sat in the first row of the colored section on a Montgomery bus in Alabama. When the white section was filled, the bus driver asked her to give up her seat for a white man; she refused. Rosa Parks remained seated. White passengers were standing in the aisle, but Parks just sat. The driver called the police. At a stop, Parks was arrested. She knew she was judged for her skin color, told to stand up. But she refused to listen. The minute she stepped foot on the bus, they judged.

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This is almost a response to my last piece. I wanted to post it so you get to know more about me and so I can share an important part of my life. I didn’t play a song for this piece, but I have attached one of my favorite Hindi songs. It’s pretty popular. I love it for its beat and music, but also because of the way it describes drums and some of our gods. Here is the song: Nagada Sang Dhol, and here is the translation (it does have a video of the song but the YouTube version might be better).

*Italicized words in the piece are defined after, at the very bottom.*

I used to be embarrassed. My parents would talk in Gujarati in public and I would pretend I didn’t know them. My mom would wear her punjabi to go shopping and I would check to see if anyone was staring. When someone asked, my middle name, I was nervous about telling them it was my dad’s name, Dilip.

I wanted to be more like my friends. I wanted a name that was easy to pronounce and a regular middle name. I wanted to converse in English in public and not be embarrassed of my mom’s clothes. And I didn’t want my passport photo to be of me with a chandlo on.

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This is unfortunately a true story, and something I will never forget. Disclaimer: this was written for an English class where my teacher told me the original piece’s ending was “too pat” and resolved. So the ending is part of the edited part. And while in that moment I was feeling the way I did (referring to the last sentence), I in no way currently feel like that or wish that.

Sometimes, our thoughts are silenced, and as Sia puts it, we have to set ourselves free: Bird Set Free (sorry, I was sick when I recorded it so I may sound a little stuffed or pitchy)

Here is the original version: Sia – Bird Set Free

I’m sitting next to the aisle toward the back of a Greyhound bus while my dad sits on the other side of the aisle. We’re on our way back to Latham from New York City. There’s 2% battery left on my phone. Crap. What am I gonna do without my music?

The driver makes an announcement in a slight, muffled accent, something about being considerate of other people and talking quietly while on the phone. I’m ready to settle in, knowing it’ll be a long ride.

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