Being a child of an immigrant, people don’t quite understand a few things. For me,
It means tomorrow, when I launch my own small press, a press that promotes “integrated diversity” in the face of this weird political climate and increased racism, classism, ageism, the only family who is going to show up is my younger brother and my nephew.
It means I had to fight to get into college, and fight for everything I’ve done and everything I have… on the plus side, everything I have is unquestionably mine, and everything I’ve done is to my own credit.
It means growing up with expectations, not being given any clear idea of how to get there (fine), but further, actually being hindered from getting there.
It means, when I left a mentally abusive marriage, I was told by my mother that I’m an embarrassment. Eventually, I was told by my father that I am no longer welcome in their house. They couldn’t take the pressure of my pain.
It means that I understand. I don’t hate or begrudge my family… Instead, I help other people who need help… I’m a mentor, a teacher, a confidante… I’m helping to pave the way for young men and women who come after me.
It means I am tired of being marginalized by my home culture AND marginalized by American society, and through my small press, I want to help other people’s voices be heard.
It means I will fight for others the way no one ever fought for me.
<3
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3 comments:
Interesting to note that I have over 100 family members in the Bay Area. And, only 2 showed up - my brother and nephew. Yes, the important ones.
oh yea families... all of us can tell some stories.. funny how u ahve to be up to their expectations.. do they ever think that they have to be up to urs sometimes? songrats for the publishing co. and good luck... happy diwali
Thanks for sharing Rajshree.
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