Jan.26-Linking Road

Republic Day was a lot of fun. The place to be for the extensive hoopla was New Delhi. I watched some of the ceremony on television. Then I went outside and walked all over Bandra, where I live. There were sales everywhere. The main shopping drag in Bandra is a stretch called Linking Road. Among huge shopping centers and street vendors are many boutiques- think Rodeo drive meets Mall of America meets nyc’s Chinatown. Also add lots of dust, construction, and many people utilizing many modes of transportation fighting for a piece of the street. I turned onto a side street to find refuge from the frenzied energy of too many folks walking around with a shopper’s buzz. The street was lined with closed boutiques. As I walked along the street, I saw a cow standing on the stoop of one with her head pressed against the window pane either looking in or resting. I looked around wondering whose cow this was. She seems unperturbed, just standing there staring at all the beautiful clothes or sleeping. Don’t cows sleep standing up?




First, I’m not techie by any stretch of the imagination. That said, don’t expect pics anytime soon as I seem to have taken only three pics on a 50-pic card, probably something to do with resolution. So I know what happened but I have to figure out how to change the setting on my camera. I’ll probably need until March to figure out how to take, download, and then upload pics without such a time delay. Bear with me.

Baby Steps and more

Today I decided to rely on people other than Bombay Dream. I don’t know if I am getting on his nerves but I am getting on mine. Sometimes I get stuck, I forget how old I am. I have these worried pangs of 8th grade woe, “What if they don’t like me? What if they think I’m annoying?” Plenty of people my age have kids that are well on their way to adolescence and I often still feel stuck in mine. So this is yet another lesson I will learn here, how to trust other people and not freak out about it. This is on my mind because I made myself call someone I don’t know at all and ask for a favor and she was so kind about it and more helpful than I could have fathomed. It’s been a while since I have fostered new friendships on a conscious level, hence the adolescent flashbacks. :)

I have taken some pics today, so they'll be up soon. I know, you wait with bated breath. heheheh ;)

Republic Day

Tomorrow, Thursday is India's Republic Day, this means parades, foreign dignitaries, and a day off. This year the Saudi King has been ivited to initiate the opening ceremony. India has had a contentious relationship with Saudi Arabia for many years because of Saudi's support of Pakistan regarding Kashmir. The Kashmir issue has not changed...I am forgetting something major. I'll have to read and come back with this. Apparently after 9/11 the Saudi government reacted by developig counter-terrorism strategies and renewing alliances with other countries such as India to work against terrorrism. It's interesting to get to know more about terrorrism from this end of the perspective. The US airstrike in Pakistan has been defintely interesting to follow, I wonder what went down in the meeetings held between Musharraf and his Ministers and Bush delegation.

The day that India gained Independence from Bristish rule is August 15, 1947. Republic Day celebrates January 26,1950, the day that India's Constitution became effective.

For me Thursday will also be picture day. So you'll finally get a glimpse of auto ricksaws, my exciting walk to the train, etc.

I'll get back to you on Saudi-India relations, more for me than you I guess. ;)

Joy ride

Kai sa he? Hmm no.

Ap ka nam kya he? Hmm, no

How to say:

Who pimped your ride?

Your standard auto rickshaw has blue vinyl seats, brown-black roof, minimum comfort, and some masala of human smell. The tricked out ride I got today was Pleather. A beautiful egg shell white pleather covered the seats and the roof. The roof was lined with a border of faux velvet with a brown background and a swirly pattern of neon green and fluorescent orange. The sound system, of the sub-woofer variety, blared a similarly chintzy but appealing hindi filmi tune. I so enjoyed the ride. I had to refrain from laughing with joy and puzzling the driver. Most autos are embellished, but usually awkwardly so with a fluorescent light that glares like an interrogation lamp or huge speakers through which the music warbles out. But this, my friends, was artwork of the urban landcape.

Correction

So I have to correct myself. The people who set up the squatter's settlement pay a large amount of money relative to their incomes for space but the gross value is in the land they sit on. The land they sit on is often prime development property, so if a group of squatters want to settle there and want to fight corporation they can by enlisting the backing of another corporate party. I am not sure how this works on the other corporate party's behalf. Anyway, that huge amount I mentioned previously is more related to the land-value than to the cost for a squatter to get space within the settlement.

Cardio Coach

Did anyone read the article in the New Times Style section about the cardio coach, basically a personal trainer on your MP3 player and now iTrainer available on your ipod? Crazy but absolutely compelling. Has anyone tried it out?

The Neighborhood

Life is settling down these days, I can feel routine's tentacles trying to grab hold. Even the train is becoming routine, which is heartening for me.

Two little guys, kids who live on the street, were scampering between the tracks. I am disturbed that while I watched them the image of the little rats in nyc subway scamper in the same benign way popped into my mind. I was watching them in the same way. A little worried about them, but they seemed to know what they were doing. The kids seemed old for their age. They had a pet puppy with them, a stray who was scared to leap down to the tracks, so one boy hoisted the spotted pup over his shoulder and they ran to the other side of the tracks ran on the tracks toward town a bit and then hopped up onto the opposite platform. Thank god they were not in the tracks when a train was arriving. Those kids would be interesting to talk to. I got the feeling that I could learn quite a bit from them.

I changed my routine a little today, so I feel a lot better. I walked around the neighborhood, had a litte lunch and I took an auto rickshaw to the train station. While in the auto I looked to my left and saw Bandra Lake. I did not realize that I pass that lake everyday. I knew that I had to walk some way around it, but I never saw it. You know why, because I am busy looking at the ground to maneuver the uneven roads and dance around beetle juice or I am looking forward to dodge people since I still haven’t quite figured out the rhythm of things yet. That was eye opening, I missed a lake.

I notice that people tend to move in groups, especially women. I did not realize until now how much time I like to spend alone until now. Bombay Dream and I went to part of the Mumbai festival (the festival is a citywide celebration that is happning around Jan.15 and Jan.26, Mumbai marathon and Republic Day respectively. There are workshops, performances, fairs, craftsmen selling their wares, etc.) tonight and then walked around my neighborhood. Happily we found a little movie theater within walking distance of my home. So at least I can pick up going to the movies by myself again. I love to go to the movies by myself, it’s so relaxing, no commercials after the movie’s started, no one wants to change the channel, and I can get completely lost in the movie and hold on to that feeling for a longer period of time. Luckily Bombay Dream gets this as this is a hobby we, sounds strange I guess, that we share.

Thanks for many e-mails. I am a little inside my head these past few days, bear with me. I’ll peek out again soon.

Dust

Despite all of my efforts, I woke up yesterday morning thinking I had lost vision in my left eye. All day long I used copius eyedrops and I was seeing double at work. So by the end of the night I made one last ditch effort by putting this cream in my eye that a doc precribed in December. If that didn't work I would go to the opthalmologist in the morning. Well, I woke up this morning with my vision restored. At the edge of my eyelashes I found, not normal sleep sand, but tiny dust particles that covered my eye all day. That fine layer of dust is called 'silt' I believe, but I thought that only occurred in arid, desert climates.

The weather the past couple of days has been cold by Mumbai standards, beautiful by my standards. It's been very breezy, so lots of dust in the air. I assumed this would not affect my eyes as I wear these huge sunglasses any time I am outside and I use eyedrops like they are an addiction.

Why all this fuss about my eyes? i had eye surgery some months ago and they are still healing. without contacts my eyes feel very vulnerable. at least with contacts if my eyes were irrtated I could just take out my contacts and problem solved.

What I Miss

I’m sorry, but I have to indulge:

I miss seeing an abundance of people of different races.

I miss fully grasping the nuance of language. I am getting used to Hindi-English but I feel like I am listening to static. Only now I can understand more if I strain to listen. I dream in Hindi every night. This is surprising to me since I don’t really hear that much Hindi all day. Strange considering I have no idea what is being said in my dream and I have no idea when I wake up either.

I miss cold weather and snow.

I miss my winter clothes.

I miss nights at home with the fire going and watching Netflix with the family.

I miss weekends away. This I could easily remedy here, but going away so often when living in nyc made adapting to the city a longer process. So, I choose to stay put.

I miss indy movies.

I no longer miss nyc as much, mostly because I am in another of the world’s great cities.

Generally I have been cranky this week because of a fever and cold and I feel like homesickness is on the brain because a few people have asked me about it. I guess I’d be more homesick if I felt really entrenched in my life at home, but I didn’t. By no means did I see everyone I care about everyday when at home. So I still feel connected to everyone I want to be connected to. Hmm. Okay, got that out.

Here's a pic for a friend who was slightly miffed that the monkey made the list and not this stellar photo :P

about the Street

Early this morning the maid explained to me that she has a daughter who is a physician living in Connecticut, a son who is in the Merchant Navy living in New Zealand ,and a third son (she grimaces) has "some job" and lives with his mom. Tonight the lady of the house and I ran an errand together and she drove us to the copy center and then drove me around the neighborhood. Right across the street from Abhishek Bachan's mansion-house (he's a huge Bollywood star and the son of an even bigger Bollywood star) is a squatter's settlement. The Lady of the House had taken me around to these mansions to show me how to get to the beach from the house. We were talking about the maid and her children and she said, "her children are so successful and, you know, she lives in a house like that," pointing to the squatter's settlement, "after all that she has done for them, they don't help her leave." When the maid had told me about her children I thought she was talking about her sister's or brother's kids, because here many communities share the raising of their children. She was talking about the children she gave birth to. Apparently the two living abroad are brilliant and this woman is originally from Gujarat and converted to catholicism in Mumbai. Her church helped to fund the older two kids' educations. The youngest kid,a son, he is a goon for work. He is hired by various types of lending institutions to beat up the folks who do not repay the loans given to them. Her husband works for the railways. ---The middle class in India is growing, but here, especially in certain parts of Mumbai the divide between the haves and have nots is stark and misleading in some way. I say it's misleading because to live in those squatter settlements costs serious money, sometimes as much as a crore or two (approx. between $200,00-$450,00). Also, since the settlements are not in anyway legal, but the government cannot demolish them (this i need to further explore), these sidewalks are sold to builders for large sums of money and then the builders either pay those who have settled there or offer them flats. This scamming runs on all levels. I just read on the wire some news about a man who is a crooked politician who just got elected to a political office. He had sanctioned the building of these illegal structures for many years and now that he has moved up the political ladder, to secure the middle class' confidence, he has ordered a blanket demolition of several of these buildings. The interview was searing, he was very sharp-tongued and unwilling to address this contradiction.

Train ride

YAY!!! The ladies' car isn't nearly as daunting as the general car. I also managed to translate to my legs that slowing down in front of oncoming traffic is not counter intuitive; This allows the cars to decide which way to go around you. Okay, back to work . YAY!!!

The Street

I have been thinking about the squatter’s settlements/slums lately. These villages within the city are set up on the sidewalk. The other day, Sunday evening, on my way to work, we drove by a group of young men and boys playing an intense match of cricket. They had blocked a section of the road where it divides as their ground. The road is supposed to be a double lane road on each side, but really it’s a single lane. The living, in the pretty sturdy structures built on the sidewalk, spills into the road. You see people cooking, washing up, doing their laundry, making the craft they will vend in the street. These people are not homeless, the street is where they have made their homes. The societies they have created are organized, there is a hierarchy of authority, people pay to buy or rent a space in these dwellings. General knowledge is that these folk come to the city in search of money and a better standard of living. Sometimes I have sick feeling in my stomach when I think about how much worse things might have been in the place they left. But then, maybe they are stuck here now. There is a lot that I do not understand on these streets. Like in the paper the other day a gangster was arrested for killing a man. The way the facts read it seems that the deceased man may have had some unfinished business with these gangsters, but somehow the police decided to make an example of this gangster and brought him in on charges of homicide. The photo of the gangster was a picture of a podgy, unassuming everyday man. I guess my sense of who I am looking at is in a tizzy. I was walking around my neighborhood Sunday afternoon before work, trying to find a particular place, as I kept walking around the fact that only men were on the street, except for a white woman who smiled at me, were on the street dawned on me. Was it dangerous to walk around on a Sunday afternoon? I was not nervous until I had to walk by clumps of men. I felt like I was being paranoid a little, but I think it’s because my warning alarms kicks in at weird times. Like when crossing the street I get an overwhelming sense of “uh, just stay here” I really feel like my life is threatened every time I cross a street unless it’s at night and relatively few cars are on the road. I am also freaking out a bit because this is the first day I take public transport, the train, by myself. I know, I know, I’m being a big baby. I am just having a surge of feeling lost. I should be fine once I walk out the door, out of my safe, comfortable, abode. Seriously, as I continue to explore my surroundings I am sure this sensation of feeling overwhelmed will dim and vanish soon enough. That’s my alarm, telling me to get ready and go to work.

The House

Every, single morning I hear someone in the bathroom splashing around like an elephant in a kiddie pool. So yesterday I ventured to ask the lady of the house about this. She told me that a man , who cleaned the place we live in for the previous tenants, comes at 6 am everyday to clean this bathroom. She said after they moved in he showed up saying that his father did the same work and that he has been cleaning this flat since he was a kid, so they must pay him. He is now an older man. After one month of waking up to open the door for this person to clean one bathroom, the "new" owners of this flat told him that they no longer need his services as they have a woman coming in at a very reasonable 10:30 am. He said, "No, I will arrive at 6am and you must pay me." I asked the lady of the house, "oh so when did u move in, recently?" She said, "Mmm, well, he has not missed a day in the ninteen years that we are here." Nineteen years. Since he refuses to refrain from showing up every morning, she wakes up and opens the door for him and gives him access to clean the only bathroom he can get to from the hallway, which is my bathroom and which shares a wall with my room. --I live in a great area with a family of very laidback and so helpful to me folk. The lady of the house is excellent at bargaining. In our feeble attempt to bargain Bombay Dream and I got the price of an internet connection reduce by Rs.500. The net guys came early, while the Ladyof the House was still around, and in a matter of 5 minutes flat, she got the whole thing-installation plus the 3mos. lump sum- reduced by Rs.900 and got me a free upgrade to be activated whenever I want and I can retain the rate I pay now for the rest of my time here. The process is amazing to watch, I saw glimmers of this when we went gym-shopping. Apparently she's the friend who get pulled along when her friends aren't sure how to bargain. Here a rupee is a rupee and you can bargain almost everything, even for vegetables. This is taking some getting used to, but bargaining is necessary not just for "a rupeee saved is a rupee earned" but because this ability is also about being taken seriously as someone who knows what's up. She is teaching me a lot about approach here and street smarts.

More pics

***The Moms***

After the engagement ceremony his family gave me a beautiful gift that i will wear as part of my wedding jewelry in December
***The Dads***
The Families (plus Bombay Dream's Friend)

Online again

Phew. I just got my internet connection this Saturday. Here are some pics and posts that I wrote earlier this month.


All kinds of guests attended
After a blessing given in Kodavathak (the dialect of our place of origin) by one of my uncles and a small puja (prayer ceremony) Bombay Dream slips on the engagement ring.
A view of the party from pretty close to the bar, the podium, where the engagement ceremony took place is off to the right-center.
Bombay Dream tries to read my face worried that it doesn't fit. It fits perfectly.
Sorry that this is on its side. This pic is one of my favorites, because I know how shocked Bombay Dream was that I actaully touched his feet. In this culture, after the ring is on my finger, I have to kaalpudi (touch his feet) a formal three times. To kaalpudi is to ask for a person (usually your elder's) blessing.


A cheesy shot the photographer took before the ceremony began.

My Guide

Luckily on my first train ride, my companion and guide was a native Mumbaiker. Walking to the train station I envied the way this person maneuvered the broken sidewalk and uncovered manholes, sidestepped stray dogs circling the seemingly stray children, moved deftly between moving vehicles, and somehow managed to make sure I , the novice, was alive and not too frazzled at the end of our mini journey. My guide was and will be (for the next few days to work) Mr. Bombay Dream’s Man-Friday of sorts. This man lives in the hospital where Mr. Bombay Dream works. This Mumbaiker is self-employed as a liaison between the patients and the social workers who are supposed to be at their service. Apparently he knows the ins-and-outs of how things get done in the hospital. He tells us, Bombay Dream and I, stories of how heavily greased the palms of social workers are. In this town, this is the man from whom to learn street smarts. He is a wiry gentleman of average height, with more salt than pepper hair. He speaks English and claims to have lived in the US in 1978 in Pennsylvania coincidentally. In trying to relate to me he turned on a little American effusiveness, “Mr. Bombay Dream is my best friend.” I appreciated his effort to relate to the way I speak English, but- good man, okay...good friend, acceptable, overshot with “best friend.”

He has got it in his mind that he will be part of my life and Mr. Bombay Dream’s life for the next several months. Mr. Friday happens to be Gujarati. This I figured out pretty quickly, when, on one of our journeys, as we walked down a street we always have to walk, he leaned over and in an angry whisper said, “ Watch out here. This place is full of dirty Maharatis- most of them cannot even read and they have no manners.” Let me say here Gujaratis and Maharatis have a strong bickering rivalry as there are contentious neighbors. He then asked me about lunch, and I said that I usually just have something very light if at all, as the people I stay with make me a generous breakfast and dinner. Then he said “I will bring for you our Gujarati khanna. It is the best food. You will like it very much. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.” Immediately I erupted into pleading “NO,no,no,no,no,thank you, thank you, thank you, no, thank you, please.” I knew this food would be from a street vendor, food for which my stomach is not hardy enough to appreciate. One of my main objectives here is to avoid becoming ill (Hep E, amoebic dysentery, etc.) during the course of my stay. Then he said, “No,no, I already spoke to [Bombay Dream]. He said I must give you lunch.” I just looked away as if something caught my eye and said, “Hmm, really.” That night at work I called Bombay Dream and asked if he had asked Mr. Friday to bring me lunch. He said, “You think I’m crazy?! You’ll get sick if you eat that for lunch.” The next day, after Bombay Dream found Mr. Friday (who does not own a telecommunication device) and reiterated that he should not bring me lunch, though the thought is kind; Mr. Friday promptly showed up at Bombay Dream’s place around lunch and dropped off lunch for two- 8 chapatis, 5 different types of subjis, a bowl of rice, and all the fixings (pickle, lime, tiny red onions, and green chilis). Mr. Bombay Dream feels very guilty if food goes to waste, so he ate both portions and spent the rest of the day moaning about his bad stomach. Aw jeez. Mr. Friday is certainly an interesting character as long as Mr. Bombay Dream and I continue to be able to dance around the little white lies, told for our benefit.

I Haven't Forgotten You!

Oh, Internet issues! I have been writing little updates. Problem is at home on laptop only have cd drive. At work I only have floppy drive. no internet at home yet due to proof-of-address issues. Working on it and will update more regularly in time. All's well here and more to come asap. Photos a bits of story galore to come- PROMISE. ;)

On Beauty

Sunday, was a day about beauty and its politics. With the woman of the house where I live, I went to four gyms, shopping for one that I wouldn’t loathe going to. At the first gym I went to, the first questions she asked me was what my height and weight are. For some this may be benign information to share publicly. For me, this is a quick way to make me feel like a roach somebody wants to stomp on. So I sidestepped her question and asked, “well, could you please tell me about the programs you have available and about your facilities?” So, she made a phone call and a Sporty Spice-looking trainer bounced through a door near us, signaled for us to follow her and bounced through the door again. We darted from room to room, which all seemed placed at random, I felt like I was in a fun house. No one expect for our bouncing trainer was smiling. There was not a note of music coming through any speaker system other than a few ipods and Discmans. I got flashbacks of this nazi holistic fat farm I went to by accident when I was 19. At that fat farm some people who were used to hearty rich food six times a day, were cut off at the knees to a glass of coriander water in the morning, two cucumber slices and a slice of a small mango for lunch, and a small chapati and a bit of dhal for dinner. I remember a friend of mine being on this nutrition plan for over a month and she became jaundiced and dehydrated and so tired. …..Anyway this particular gym seemed like a boot camp. I found the fact that the assumption that I want to lose weight was made. Major distinction. In the U.S. they ask u what your goals are. They don’t say hey, we think you need to drop some weight, so here’s our plan for you. Here one’s sense of individuality is defined differently, I am still trying to figure out what that definition is. Here if someone feels s/he is doing something good for you, then there’s no arguing, if I don’t want to take heed of the unsolicited advice, then I just smile and nod, let my eyes glaze over a bit, and then go about my business the way I see fit. Here, there, here, there (this I have to think about, this seesaw thinking). In a way, after all the gyms with all the attitudes, the day was a rough one. I finally did end up muttering my height and weight to the very persistent gym rep. in front of my new landlady. A little bit humiliating. No likelihood of going back there again today at least. She did give me a free three day pass, so I’ll use those days and join a much friendlier, “you are human first” gym down the road. They were great and chillaxed. The place was bumpin’ with excellent music, and I smiled when I walked in to their facility. Incidentally the new gym that I will join is called Nirvana. Heh heh heh ;)

On Language

This language barrier is frustrating. I cannot even understand the most simple sentence construction. At this point I understand snatches of words here and there but mostly follow what people are saying based on their facial expression and hand gestures. Of course there are some difficulties like that “is it a yes or a no?” ambiguous nod. I am not helped by the fact that I am surrounded by plenty of English-speaking, most of the time, people and so much harder to absorb language because I only hear it when speaking to wait staff, rickshaw drives, and taxi drivers. Ugh, I hope by the end of the year I can manage basic conversation. In the mornings when I wake up I do language exercises and write these little bits. I wish I had plunged myself in the deep end and gone to Delhi. Surely I would be learning at a faster rate. Whew I am relearning patience and persistence here.

The Train and People

Yesterday everything at work got finalized. I am relieved today but yesterday I wasn’t feeling that good. I took the train for the first time yesterday. I hadn’t intended to try the train for at least a month. People, even the most relaxed and go-with-the-flow individuals, have told me horror stories about the train. I was told to “just go with the tide” and to start letting the motion of people push me toward the door I needed to get out at least two stops ahead otherwise I would definitely miss my stop. My cousin who is a solid 6’3” told me that “it doesn’t matter how strong you think you are, holding on with both hands and bracing myself, still I got knocked around.” Also the odor issue, which in my mind is worse than being smothered, is a very obvious deterrent. People hanging on for dear life inadvertently slap you in that space between your neck and the side of your face with their sweaty, odiously odoured armpits. I took the train and I was probably tenser than I needed to be. I thought too many “accidental” brushes would happen but it was not any worse than riding nyc subway at rush hour. I also took the train in at an off peak time. I hope I never have to take the Bombay train at rush hour here, the train cars look like they are spilling people at that time. Even at off peak times I wait for one train to go by, hoping that the next will be less crowded. There are people everywhere.--One night, driving home, I was looking into the back of a mini truck carrying burlap sacks of something, wondering what could be in those sacks. Suddenly one of the sacks had two white eyes dotted with deep black staring back at me. A slight man was chilling out on those sacks and had opened his eyes wondering why this woman was staring at him so intently or just letting me know I should bugger off and look somewhere else. People every where you look, except the sky I guess.

The Office

While waiting to speak to the HR director, the din of people’s voices bouncing off of the walls was overwhelming. The office is one of many old textile mills that have been turned into office spaces. The office is lavishly and whimsically decorated. The office looks more like that off a venture capitalist team or a pr firm- any place bustling with ideas and energy to create the next trend. I felt like I was on a big budget movie set where the newsroom is glamorized and comes with this bevy of the smart and beautiful. Like that movie “How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days” is sort of Cosmo meets GQ, the office has that sort of glossy feel. Shocking more so because just outside of the gated compound there is Victoria House which is actually a squatter’s slum. Children are running around barefoot, runny nosed due to chronic upper respiratory infection, and taunting each other in play. Based on this particular newsroom one might assume that the newspaper industry is booming here, whereas in the U.S. the industry is a dying breed, except for the “power hitters” (ugh, hate that sort of jargon, too much time around corporate types of late). I am excited about this opportunity. The paper is new and people seem to be buzzing with the idealism of new ventures. I think I have to get used to a lot of blustering and unwarranted respect because I am American. Funny to me, especially just before leaving Bangalore, on the way to the airport I saw some graffiti on a wall that said “Down with the USA”. So I had expected some element of scorn rather than grandiose assumptions about my background that seem to work in my favor in terms of relatively easy access to upper management and possibly against me among peers if I prove a stereotype of brash American to be correct.

I left Momma, Dad, and Mi Hermanita at the airport last night. Mom burst into tears. I felt a bit stunned seeing her face change so suddenly. I know that she was distressed about the change for a few days ahead of time because she had been a bit high strung, driving both Mi Hermanita and I crazy. This move for the year is not what the tears were about though. My whole nuclear family can feel the change in our dynamic with the presence of Bombay Dream in my life. Leaving them in transit between the domestic and international airport to follow Bombay Dream into the hustle and bustle of people jostling for a piece of the pie was scary and exhilarating for me. Mom’s never cried for any other change- not when we went to college, not when we moved to bigger cities, not when we bounced around visiting other places, not when we switched careers- we always leave in pursuit of something and mom is usually one hundred percent “go get it kid.” This particular move I am pursuing many things, but the biggest and most difficult for my folks is my pursuit to create my own family. I do not feel like I am leaving my family. In fact in some ways this endeavor scares me because I will most likely pull my family closer. During this somewhat tumultuous Charlie-Brown decade I have increasingly focused on trying to hear my voice and listening to her. I am baffled that this feels so right. Sometimes, while trolling the streets, I have the sudden sensation of waking up, like starting from a dream. I look around and put my hand to my chest to make sure it’s beating and ask myself “so this is what you want to do?” My eyes shift to my ring finger, raise my eyebrows, and I answer, “Actually, yeah, this is.”