My hair is tied up in a bun. There are stray strands all over the makeshift mop-top. It stinks too.
My fingers, despite repeated scrubbing, reek of the spices I have been chopping and grinding since last night. I have to remember not to run them across my eyes or they will immediately sting and tear. Such is the effect of raw chili!
I'm cooking. And who cares if I smell and look bad. I'm happy...and ready to welcome and embrace 2011 -- a new year and new decade.
It is going to be a good year. I already know it. All the hard work and struggles of the last few years are going to come to fruition. I'm on the last legs of grad school, working on a thesis on a topic I've been passionate about since I was 18. I have an internship with a news organization I've dreamed of working for since I was a little girl. And I'm in the process of applying for post graduate studies.
And I'm cooking. I've not been cooking for a while. I don't mean the whipping up of day-to-day meals. I mean all-out, committed, slave-over-the-stove (and chopping board) cooking that Southeast Asian cuisine is about.
The foods of the region I come from is so rich in spices, subtle flavors and layers of tastes that anyone who tries it for the first time will be blown away, mind, body and soul. Food reflects cultures, and this is what Southeast Asia is like -- multi-layered, diverse, and constantly stimulating to the senses.
As you can imagine, the cooking process is pretty much the same...layers of effort. It begins with preparing the spices and herbs -- from commonly used garlic, shallots, ginger to galangal, tumeric, lemongrass, daun lima (lime leaves), etc. Coriander, cumin...all in a cacophony of fragrant concoctions. Some are to be diced and pounded into a paste. Some are to be used "neat" to perform its olfactory duties of its own volition.
If the spices and herbs are a choral of smells, then the sauces would be an orchestra of tastes. There must be hundreds of different combinations and permutations that chili, pepper, lime juice, fish sauce, soy sauce, garlic, sugar, shallots can be blended together to make a delightful condiment. Sauces are essential companions to many Southeast Asian dishes. Getting the tone and tune right for them is critical to the enjoyment of the overall alchemical performance.
Cooking the dishes usually require stir-frying in a huge wok or slow-boiling in a huge pot -- or both. At this stage, the layers -- text and sub-text -- and the order of layering, are important. The oil, garlic, shallots; the paste, spices, herbs, and then the meats/fish/seafood or vegetables and often, coconut cream or milk. Some dishes need to be cooked in two, or three parts, and then put together in an ensemble of strings, wind and percussion.
Cooking to welcome a new year and new decade is music to my ears. I can't think of anything I'm happier doing in this moment (except taking a lunch break to send New Year's greetings to the other side of the world which has already stepped into 2011).
The menu is as multi-cultural as the wonderful guests who are coming to welcome the new year with me.
Hors d'oeuvre include cheese, pate and cute Chinese spring rolls. There will be two choices of salad -- a Thai papaya salad with crushed peanuts and a Japanese inspired enoki-and-sprouts creation. Traditional Chinese wanton (dumpling) and bak choy in a clear broth helps to clear and prepare the senses for the spice-loaded main dishes. At this point, a trio will take centerstage -- Thai green chicken curry, sayur lodeh (a colorful Indonesian vegetable dish) and glass noodles pepper shrimps (a mashup based on Vietnamese and Thai influences). The trio will be accompanied by two backup staples: a classic white rice (of the long grain Thai fragrant variety, not the lumpy, short grain whatever you get packed into boxes from the takeouts) and a darker, enhanced cousin, Thai black olive fried rice. The sweetness that rounds off the meal will of course has to come from the west -- a can-can finale of fruits, chocolates, ice-cream and cakes.
Cooking is music to my ears. I can only cook with love and passion. I can't think of a better way to welcome the new year and new decade that I know will bring amazing new experiences and paths.
Now, I must get back to the composition, rehearsal and conducting of my symphony. Happy New Year, everyone.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Across The Room...A Christmas Parable
This is a parable...a flash fiction piece I wrote for my Open Salon blog for the theme "holiday from hell."
There he is…across the room from me.
This scene is feeling a little tired. But yet, there is so much comfort in the familiarity that we keep doing this over and over again. This is how we see each other all the time – among warm bodies in a small room, imbibing insane amounts of alcohol and huddled close to form a human ring of heat against the cold outside.
It is Christmas day. I sometimes wonder if there would be as much cheer during the holiday season if we didn’t have so much alcohol around. Will I feel closer to him, or more distant? Wait…we won’t even be in this room.
It is also his birthday. I watch him, perched on a barstool and presiding over the giggles and guffaws gathered around him. Most people take him very seriously. But some prefer to rely on humor when approaching him. As for me, I just like talking to him. But that is not a privilege he accords me all the time.
It has been the same scene and the same old story for a few years now. He is always across the room. He is always there – just near enough for me to see him, and feel as if I can touch him if I just reach out. But I’ve never really been able to reach him.
I know that he knows I’m watching him. I know his name and I think he knows mine. We’ve been friends before. In fact, we’ve known each other for a while now. Or, at least I think so. Yet he is always across the room from me.
Perhaps it is all in my mind that I knew him for a long time, and knew him well. Some of these people here tonight probably knew him longer, and better. What did they do to earn their stripes in his company? Did they just stick around long enough until he decides to let them into the inner circle? Or did they say or do something special, exciting or amazing?
I don’t know. I would like to know. It seems so easy for them to talk to him, and him to them. Yet, I can’t seem to talk to him, and him to me. It’s as if there is this huge chasm between us, and if either of us should try to venture forth, we would plunge headlong into a deep valley.
I move over to the bar. It’s time to get another drink. It’s also time to make my move. I keep trying. I have to because he doesn't seem to be able to. Or, maybe he just doesn't want to.
I’m too late. He had just passed out the wine. Everyone is raising their glasses and clinking and sipping. I stand there, watching, not quite at the bar, but not quite away from it either. Am I just unlucky to miss the celebratory round? Or has he timed it so that I wouldn’t be in time to be included, but will still be near enough to witness the cheer. Am I just not worthy?
Last Christmas, I made the same move to approach him. He left me standing an arm’s length away and didn’t invite me to his table. I stood there for a long time – the eternal outsider, watching. I left without supper.
I open my mouth to speak. But she is jumping in front of me. She grabs him and plants a big kiss on his lips. That sparks off a chain reaction of affection for him. The women are hugging him and the men are thumping him on the back and shaking his hand.
He is like Bacchus, with the revelers all surrounding him. But the scene feels more to me like Italian divine comedy than Greek drama. Once again, I feel like I’m in hell.
Or, perhaps it is purgatory that I’m in. For this state of sub-existence, hanging in his peripheral vision is truly the worst form of torture. I’m not quite engulfed by the infernal flames, nor lifted by redemption. I get the feeling that this is where he wants me to be – hanging out in this awkward mid-space, neither outside nor inside, but still there…somewhere.
But this is not where I want to be. I am leaving. I say it out loud. I’m going. He seems surprised. For a moment, it even seems as if he doesn't want me to go. I walk towards the door. He's not stopping me. I’m not surprised. I’m across the room from him. I open the door and walk out.
This is the last year I spend Christmas in hell.
I still want to be with him and to know him But I will not be looking for him in a roomful of people anymore.
I’ll be looking for him in solitude, rather than in a crowd, in silence rather than in a cacophony. I’ll be looking for him on a walk in the woods, rather than a restaurant or a bar. I’ll be looking for him in the smell of the breeze on my cheek, rather than the taste of wine on my lips.
One day, I will find him. Or maybe, he’ll find me. And we won’t be across the room from each other anymore.
There he is…across the room from me.
This scene is feeling a little tired. But yet, there is so much comfort in the familiarity that we keep doing this over and over again. This is how we see each other all the time – among warm bodies in a small room, imbibing insane amounts of alcohol and huddled close to form a human ring of heat against the cold outside.
It is Christmas day. I sometimes wonder if there would be as much cheer during the holiday season if we didn’t have so much alcohol around. Will I feel closer to him, or more distant? Wait…we won’t even be in this room.
It is also his birthday. I watch him, perched on a barstool and presiding over the giggles and guffaws gathered around him. Most people take him very seriously. But some prefer to rely on humor when approaching him. As for me, I just like talking to him. But that is not a privilege he accords me all the time.
It has been the same scene and the same old story for a few years now. He is always across the room. He is always there – just near enough for me to see him, and feel as if I can touch him if I just reach out. But I’ve never really been able to reach him.
I know that he knows I’m watching him. I know his name and I think he knows mine. We’ve been friends before. In fact, we’ve known each other for a while now. Or, at least I think so. Yet he is always across the room from me.
Perhaps it is all in my mind that I knew him for a long time, and knew him well. Some of these people here tonight probably knew him longer, and better. What did they do to earn their stripes in his company? Did they just stick around long enough until he decides to let them into the inner circle? Or did they say or do something special, exciting or amazing?
I don’t know. I would like to know. It seems so easy for them to talk to him, and him to them. Yet, I can’t seem to talk to him, and him to me. It’s as if there is this huge chasm between us, and if either of us should try to venture forth, we would plunge headlong into a deep valley.
I move over to the bar. It’s time to get another drink. It’s also time to make my move. I keep trying. I have to because he doesn't seem to be able to. Or, maybe he just doesn't want to.
I’m too late. He had just passed out the wine. Everyone is raising their glasses and clinking and sipping. I stand there, watching, not quite at the bar, but not quite away from it either. Am I just unlucky to miss the celebratory round? Or has he timed it so that I wouldn’t be in time to be included, but will still be near enough to witness the cheer. Am I just not worthy?
Last Christmas, I made the same move to approach him. He left me standing an arm’s length away and didn’t invite me to his table. I stood there for a long time – the eternal outsider, watching. I left without supper.
I open my mouth to speak. But she is jumping in front of me. She grabs him and plants a big kiss on his lips. That sparks off a chain reaction of affection for him. The women are hugging him and the men are thumping him on the back and shaking his hand.
He is like Bacchus, with the revelers all surrounding him. But the scene feels more to me like Italian divine comedy than Greek drama. Once again, I feel like I’m in hell.
Or, perhaps it is purgatory that I’m in. For this state of sub-existence, hanging in his peripheral vision is truly the worst form of torture. I’m not quite engulfed by the infernal flames, nor lifted by redemption. I get the feeling that this is where he wants me to be – hanging out in this awkward mid-space, neither outside nor inside, but still there…somewhere.
But this is not where I want to be. I am leaving. I say it out loud. I’m going. He seems surprised. For a moment, it even seems as if he doesn't want me to go. I walk towards the door. He's not stopping me. I’m not surprised. I’m across the room from him. I open the door and walk out.
This is the last year I spend Christmas in hell.
I still want to be with him and to know him But I will not be looking for him in a roomful of people anymore.
I’ll be looking for him in solitude, rather than in a crowd, in silence rather than in a cacophony. I’ll be looking for him on a walk in the woods, rather than a restaurant or a bar. I’ll be looking for him in the smell of the breeze on my cheek, rather than the taste of wine on my lips.
One day, I will find him. Or maybe, he’ll find me. And we won’t be across the room from each other anymore.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Why this Christmas is all about Me, Me, Me...
This is the year I spend the holidays with myself...and for myself.
This must sound incredibly selfish, irresponsible and indulgent to anyone reading. On the contrary, this is the best thing I could ever do for the people and world around me.
My kids are having a great time in San Diego, enjoying LegoLand despite the rain. They will be spending Christmas at the Bellagio in Las Vegas with aunts, uncles, and cousins all around. They are also going to the Grand Canyon. At their age, I could only dream of doing all of that. So they will be fine... more than fine, actually.
This is not the first time they've traveled without me. I've traveled without them too. But it is the first time that I don't wake up every morning wondering if they have had their 3 to 5 servings of fruits and vegetables, or if anyone is breaking all my golden rules while I'm not there watching.
The first night after they left for their vacation was tough. I made up for months of paying for Netflix and not using the service, and got to bed at close to 4 am. That was Saturday. Thanks to yoga and ballet classes on Sunday, I completely crashed that night. On Monday morning, I was fine. I got to work on all my deadlines and projects -- for which I had chosen to not go on vacation.
I was the responsible, focused person again. And I was still a mom, loved and loving, even though my babies were not around to both hug and bug me. I had breathing space. I was glad for that. And it didn't make me a bad mom.
The problem is, many people would think so. What? You would let your kids go on vacation without you so you could do your own stuff?! The truth is, some years ago, that would have been how I thought too. As much as I had embraced and enjoyed my motherhood experience from the minute I knew I was pregnant with Amon, it hadn't been an easy, smooth sailing journey.
I gave my all to the role and experience from Day One. From the minute I saw the little "+" sign on the home pregnancy test kit, I quit smoking cold turkey, stopped hanging out in clubs, stopped drinking except for the occasional half glass of wine, quit coffee (I used to drink four cups a day, black, neat), sushi, etc. Whatever could have been potentially harmful, I quit...just like that. It may sound trivial but these little things added together meant a complete lifestyle change.
It was also, on hindsight, a reflection on my misguided attitude back then that motherhood was all about doing it RIGHT with strict rules and self-imposed regimes. Thankfully, at the same time as I was building my little totalitarian mom-dom, I also began to delve deeper into my yoga practice.
The question I'm most often asked is why I chose to train in and teach pre-natal, babies' and kids' yoga. The answer is simple: that was my journey. So thanks to a developing practice and slow but steady spiritual growth, I learned, in baby steps, to achieve balance.
The first six months to a year of my first child's life and my newly crowned motherhood status, I wore the badge of breastfeeding Nazi proudly on my sleeve. Anyone who dared so much as whisper the world "formula" to me was cut down to size and banished as an evil spirit. I had strong ideas and convictions, many based on research and statistics, and I would fight detractors. If they didn't concede, I cut them off.
I wasn't all wrong. In fact I was right about most things, as even my worst detractors have come to admit seeing the healthy, happy kids A & A are today. But I could have done it in a different way -- one that was less exhausting and demeaning to my spirit and that of everyone around me. It took several years of practice and growth to break through the fight-or-flight instinct.
Being still and taking the path of least resistance were not easy to learn. But I did learn some of those lessons and they came in handy with the second pregnancy and baby. By then, I didn't feel the need to fight anyone. I knew what I was doing with my kids. I didn't have to bark back at anyone that I was the MOM and I knew best. Somehow, by not doing all of that, people just understood. Nobody tried to tell me what I should or shouldn't do, well meaning or otherwise.
By then I was a certified teacher, which in many people's eyes would count as being an "expert." But it had nothing to do with that. I realized that in the early days, people were questioning and doubting my mothering because I was questioning and doubting myself. When I no longer doubted myself, everyone stopped doubting me.
That was a huge lesson. But it wasn't until three years ago, when my second child turned two, that I began to learn an even bigger lesson.
I had lost myself in my motherhood. It had taken me six years to learn how to fight without having to win, and win without fighting. The process consumed me so completely that I became just that - a struggle of motherhood. My self identity had become subsumed in the name tag that reads: "Mom of A & A." I had given up doing all the things that I loved and felt happy doing -- writing, music, dancing, etc. I didn't feel as if I deserved to have time for, or do anything for myself. And because I believed that, I led everyone else around me to believe the same. No one could talk to me without mentioning my kids. I could put together an engaging debate on the current affairs of the day but people would still be more interested in how old my kids were and what grade they were in.
I was partly to blame. It didn't help that I had given up my full-time job and felt identity-less because of that. I wasn't the only woman in my shoes. All around me, every day, I saw women who were devoid of self but brimming over with motherhood. The way society loves to glorify motherhood had a large part to play.
Don't get me wrong. I believe we should honor mothers. I've been there and I know what a feat carrying and giving birth to a child is, and how much more so challenging it is to be consciously raising that child everyday. What I object to is that latent to that sense of glorifying honor is also the attitude that mothers should subsume their own needs and identity and make self-sacrificial decisions in every way.
I had this argument with someone recently. I have $50. If I chose to spend it on myself instead of my child, does that make me a bad (or at least a poor) mom? Most people would say yes. She was a mum, of course. She said she was going to spend the $50 on a new dress for her 14-year-old daughter instead of a haircut for herself. She said it was more important for her teen to look good than it was for her, in her 50s. I told her that I would spend that $50 on a haircut for myself, so that I would feel good about the way I look, and as a result my teenage daughter would be getting positive vibes from me about self image and self esteem. That would have a much greater impact on her life than a new dress (which she may still feel bad about herself wearing). The woman bought the dress.
Mothers are individuals. We need to remember that ourselves. And everyone else needs to remember that, too. If we don't take care of ourselves, we will not be at our best in giving to and taking care of our kids. That is such simple wisdom and yet so easy to miss. I completely missed it for six years.
Even now, I sometimes find myself subsuming my needs to the instinct to mother. Not long after my kids' vacation was planned, I began to plan a mission trip. My two kids are going away, so now I'm going to go mother 20 orphans. It was all in the best intentions. I missed working with kids and what better time than Christmas for a volunteer trip?
I had wanted to go to Haiti initially, but realized that it was naive to think I could just show up on my own without any connection to an aid organization that knew its way around. Instead, I found an international organization that was reputable and well regarded. I was set up with a trip to Costa Rica, and it was perfect because I could even use my frequent flier points to book the flight. But somehow, something was holding me back and I dragged my feet over booking the flight. One, two, three days went by. It was a perfect arrangement but something didn't feel right.
I emailed my friend in New York, whose clear vision and simple wisdom I always valued and cherished. She wrote back: "Follow your heart. As long as you know you are being responsible."
That was it. I wasn't being responsible...to myself.
Mothering is a great act of selfless responsibility. But it can also be one of selfish defense. It can be a wall that one builds around to block out the world. I'm busy, I'm a mom. I have all these things to do. I can't think of anything else. It's hard. I'm doing great on a tough job. So I don't have to engage. And you'll have to respect that...and me.
It wasn't that I didn't genuinely want to reach out to the orphans and give them all the love and mothering I can. I did. But the person who was really in need of that right now...is me. In the last nine years, let's just say many bad things had happened. I've been through turbulence, trauma, life-and-death moments. But I had never taken the time out to reflect, to heal, and to tell myself that I deserve to be taken care of as well.
That night, as I sat there re-reading my friend's email, I thought of T. -- a HIV positive man in his 50s I interviewed two years ago for a grad school project. He had been in and out of jail all his life and his relationship with his daughter is strained at best. I asked him if he thought there was a chance he could fix that, now that he's finally out of jail for good and re-building his life.
His answer threw me off: "No. I'm gonna have to fix me first. You may not agree, but if I ain't fix, I'm no good to her or to myself or to anybody. So I'm gonna spend time on me. I'm gonna fix me first."
T. was no philosopher and neither had he read any philosophy in his life. But he found the answer that most of us spend an entire lifetime searching for...in books, in philosophy, in religion, in prayer. The capacity to love and be loved stems from the same space within - self love. For some, that is manifested in the grace of God that they feel inside. For others, it is a sense of inner peace and universal compassion. They are all one and the same thing.
The next morning, I got online and made arrangements to spend Christmas eve and Christmas Day at an ashram and meditation center. I'm spending Christmas with me, but not alone. I will be in an open and loving community of people who will accept and understand when I say that this Christmas is going to be all about me, me, me.
I'm gonna fix me first.
This must sound incredibly selfish, irresponsible and indulgent to anyone reading. On the contrary, this is the best thing I could ever do for the people and world around me.
My kids are having a great time in San Diego, enjoying LegoLand despite the rain. They will be spending Christmas at the Bellagio in Las Vegas with aunts, uncles, and cousins all around. They are also going to the Grand Canyon. At their age, I could only dream of doing all of that. So they will be fine... more than fine, actually.
This is not the first time they've traveled without me. I've traveled without them too. But it is the first time that I don't wake up every morning wondering if they have had their 3 to 5 servings of fruits and vegetables, or if anyone is breaking all my golden rules while I'm not there watching.
The first night after they left for their vacation was tough. I made up for months of paying for Netflix and not using the service, and got to bed at close to 4 am. That was Saturday. Thanks to yoga and ballet classes on Sunday, I completely crashed that night. On Monday morning, I was fine. I got to work on all my deadlines and projects -- for which I had chosen to not go on vacation.
I was the responsible, focused person again. And I was still a mom, loved and loving, even though my babies were not around to both hug and bug me. I had breathing space. I was glad for that. And it didn't make me a bad mom.
The problem is, many people would think so. What? You would let your kids go on vacation without you so you could do your own stuff?! The truth is, some years ago, that would have been how I thought too. As much as I had embraced and enjoyed my motherhood experience from the minute I knew I was pregnant with Amon, it hadn't been an easy, smooth sailing journey.
I gave my all to the role and experience from Day One. From the minute I saw the little "+" sign on the home pregnancy test kit, I quit smoking cold turkey, stopped hanging out in clubs, stopped drinking except for the occasional half glass of wine, quit coffee (I used to drink four cups a day, black, neat), sushi, etc. Whatever could have been potentially harmful, I quit...just like that. It may sound trivial but these little things added together meant a complete lifestyle change.
It was also, on hindsight, a reflection on my misguided attitude back then that motherhood was all about doing it RIGHT with strict rules and self-imposed regimes. Thankfully, at the same time as I was building my little totalitarian mom-dom, I also began to delve deeper into my yoga practice.
The question I'm most often asked is why I chose to train in and teach pre-natal, babies' and kids' yoga. The answer is simple: that was my journey. So thanks to a developing practice and slow but steady spiritual growth, I learned, in baby steps, to achieve balance.
The first six months to a year of my first child's life and my newly crowned motherhood status, I wore the badge of breastfeeding Nazi proudly on my sleeve. Anyone who dared so much as whisper the world "formula" to me was cut down to size and banished as an evil spirit. I had strong ideas and convictions, many based on research and statistics, and I would fight detractors. If they didn't concede, I cut them off.
I wasn't all wrong. In fact I was right about most things, as even my worst detractors have come to admit seeing the healthy, happy kids A & A are today. But I could have done it in a different way -- one that was less exhausting and demeaning to my spirit and that of everyone around me. It took several years of practice and growth to break through the fight-or-flight instinct.
Being still and taking the path of least resistance were not easy to learn. But I did learn some of those lessons and they came in handy with the second pregnancy and baby. By then, I didn't feel the need to fight anyone. I knew what I was doing with my kids. I didn't have to bark back at anyone that I was the MOM and I knew best. Somehow, by not doing all of that, people just understood. Nobody tried to tell me what I should or shouldn't do, well meaning or otherwise.
By then I was a certified teacher, which in many people's eyes would count as being an "expert." But it had nothing to do with that. I realized that in the early days, people were questioning and doubting my mothering because I was questioning and doubting myself. When I no longer doubted myself, everyone stopped doubting me.
That was a huge lesson. But it wasn't until three years ago, when my second child turned two, that I began to learn an even bigger lesson.
I had lost myself in my motherhood. It had taken me six years to learn how to fight without having to win, and win without fighting. The process consumed me so completely that I became just that - a struggle of motherhood. My self identity had become subsumed in the name tag that reads: "Mom of A & A." I had given up doing all the things that I loved and felt happy doing -- writing, music, dancing, etc. I didn't feel as if I deserved to have time for, or do anything for myself. And because I believed that, I led everyone else around me to believe the same. No one could talk to me without mentioning my kids. I could put together an engaging debate on the current affairs of the day but people would still be more interested in how old my kids were and what grade they were in.
I was partly to blame. It didn't help that I had given up my full-time job and felt identity-less because of that. I wasn't the only woman in my shoes. All around me, every day, I saw women who were devoid of self but brimming over with motherhood. The way society loves to glorify motherhood had a large part to play.
Don't get me wrong. I believe we should honor mothers. I've been there and I know what a feat carrying and giving birth to a child is, and how much more so challenging it is to be consciously raising that child everyday. What I object to is that latent to that sense of glorifying honor is also the attitude that mothers should subsume their own needs and identity and make self-sacrificial decisions in every way.
I had this argument with someone recently. I have $50. If I chose to spend it on myself instead of my child, does that make me a bad (or at least a poor) mom? Most people would say yes. She was a mum, of course. She said she was going to spend the $50 on a new dress for her 14-year-old daughter instead of a haircut for herself. She said it was more important for her teen to look good than it was for her, in her 50s. I told her that I would spend that $50 on a haircut for myself, so that I would feel good about the way I look, and as a result my teenage daughter would be getting positive vibes from me about self image and self esteem. That would have a much greater impact on her life than a new dress (which she may still feel bad about herself wearing). The woman bought the dress.
Mothers are individuals. We need to remember that ourselves. And everyone else needs to remember that, too. If we don't take care of ourselves, we will not be at our best in giving to and taking care of our kids. That is such simple wisdom and yet so easy to miss. I completely missed it for six years.
Even now, I sometimes find myself subsuming my needs to the instinct to mother. Not long after my kids' vacation was planned, I began to plan a mission trip. My two kids are going away, so now I'm going to go mother 20 orphans. It was all in the best intentions. I missed working with kids and what better time than Christmas for a volunteer trip?
I had wanted to go to Haiti initially, but realized that it was naive to think I could just show up on my own without any connection to an aid organization that knew its way around. Instead, I found an international organization that was reputable and well regarded. I was set up with a trip to Costa Rica, and it was perfect because I could even use my frequent flier points to book the flight. But somehow, something was holding me back and I dragged my feet over booking the flight. One, two, three days went by. It was a perfect arrangement but something didn't feel right.
I emailed my friend in New York, whose clear vision and simple wisdom I always valued and cherished. She wrote back: "Follow your heart. As long as you know you are being responsible."
That was it. I wasn't being responsible...to myself.
Mothering is a great act of selfless responsibility. But it can also be one of selfish defense. It can be a wall that one builds around to block out the world. I'm busy, I'm a mom. I have all these things to do. I can't think of anything else. It's hard. I'm doing great on a tough job. So I don't have to engage. And you'll have to respect that...and me.
It wasn't that I didn't genuinely want to reach out to the orphans and give them all the love and mothering I can. I did. But the person who was really in need of that right now...is me. In the last nine years, let's just say many bad things had happened. I've been through turbulence, trauma, life-and-death moments. But I had never taken the time out to reflect, to heal, and to tell myself that I deserve to be taken care of as well.
That night, as I sat there re-reading my friend's email, I thought of T. -- a HIV positive man in his 50s I interviewed two years ago for a grad school project. He had been in and out of jail all his life and his relationship with his daughter is strained at best. I asked him if he thought there was a chance he could fix that, now that he's finally out of jail for good and re-building his life.
His answer threw me off: "No. I'm gonna have to fix me first. You may not agree, but if I ain't fix, I'm no good to her or to myself or to anybody. So I'm gonna spend time on me. I'm gonna fix me first."
T. was no philosopher and neither had he read any philosophy in his life. But he found the answer that most of us spend an entire lifetime searching for...in books, in philosophy, in religion, in prayer. The capacity to love and be loved stems from the same space within - self love. For some, that is manifested in the grace of God that they feel inside. For others, it is a sense of inner peace and universal compassion. They are all one and the same thing.
The next morning, I got online and made arrangements to spend Christmas eve and Christmas Day at an ashram and meditation center. I'm spending Christmas with me, but not alone. I will be in an open and loving community of people who will accept and understand when I say that this Christmas is going to be all about me, me, me.
I'm gonna fix me first.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
I Want To Make Tea and Laugh (Yoko remembers John)
I'm sitting and sipping my Tie Guanyin.
I should be transcribing interviews for a story due next week. Instead, I'm reading "Tea Maker" in the New York Times.
This is good tea -- in fact, one of the best variety of oolong tea. It is also expensive. I had bought it for $4.50 at lunch -- a luxury I really shouldn't have afforded myself. But then, the winds were brutal today. Any other blend wouldn't have done the trick. I needed the fortification of the "Iron Goddess" tea.
Yoko Ono wrote the piece. It is about John Lennon, of course. He would have been 70 this year. She wrote about her memory of him -- making tea for her in the middle of the night in their kitchen.
This is a good night for hot tea. This must be the fifth cup I had made out of the same bag of tea leaves. So I don't feel so guilty now. This works out to 90 cents a cup (and these days, it's hard to find even bottled water for a dollar). Tea is a great winter and holiday drink. It works just as well before, or after, the cocktails and shots... or simply on its own.
He made tea for her and they had a little tête-à-tête about whether the hot water goes in first or the tea bag. That was in 1980, before he died.
I always put the tea bag in first, and then pour the hot water in. It seems to make sense. I love watching the water seep through the tea leaves and the steam rising with the fragrance. The Tie Guanyin has an amazing fragrance. It is rich and thick with an aroma often described as fruity, but which to me is more "woody."
He had always put the tea bag in before the water. Then, one night, he told her that according to his aunt, the hot water should go in first. They had a good laugh. It was a simple moment. It probably wouldn't have been significant if he had lived. But that moment became a memory of him etched in her heart and mind after he died -- someone who made tea and laughed with her.
I don't recall ever laughing over tea. I'm usually reflective or pensive when I drink tea. For many people, tea is a serious business. The Chinese and Japanese regard the art of tea as intrinsic to high culture and perform elaborate rituals in tea ceremonies. (I really just like the pretty cups.) The English partake in afternoon tea with devotion that is almost religious. (I'm impartial to Earl Grey with scones.) The Arab culture regard the drinking of tea as the center of all social activities. (Anyone who has ever tried to buy a carpet from a souk would know.)
It was a simple act of making tea and laughing together. But it was what she remembered, because it said so much.
The art of making tea can be a complex and elaborate affair. But the act of making tea is simple. I want to make tea...and laugh.
Recipe:
1. Tea leaves and strainer OR tea bag
2. hot, boiling water
3. laughter
Take 1 and put into 2. Or, vice versa.
Add a generous dash of 3 to taste.
I should be transcribing interviews for a story due next week. Instead, I'm reading "Tea Maker" in the New York Times.
This is good tea -- in fact, one of the best variety of oolong tea. It is also expensive. I had bought it for $4.50 at lunch -- a luxury I really shouldn't have afforded myself. But then, the winds were brutal today. Any other blend wouldn't have done the trick. I needed the fortification of the "Iron Goddess" tea.
Yoko Ono wrote the piece. It is about John Lennon, of course. He would have been 70 this year. She wrote about her memory of him -- making tea for her in the middle of the night in their kitchen.
This is a good night for hot tea. This must be the fifth cup I had made out of the same bag of tea leaves. So I don't feel so guilty now. This works out to 90 cents a cup (and these days, it's hard to find even bottled water for a dollar). Tea is a great winter and holiday drink. It works just as well before, or after, the cocktails and shots... or simply on its own.
He made tea for her and they had a little tête-à-tête about whether the hot water goes in first or the tea bag. That was in 1980, before he died.
I always put the tea bag in first, and then pour the hot water in. It seems to make sense. I love watching the water seep through the tea leaves and the steam rising with the fragrance. The Tie Guanyin has an amazing fragrance. It is rich and thick with an aroma often described as fruity, but which to me is more "woody."
He had always put the tea bag in before the water. Then, one night, he told her that according to his aunt, the hot water should go in first. They had a good laugh. It was a simple moment. It probably wouldn't have been significant if he had lived. But that moment became a memory of him etched in her heart and mind after he died -- someone who made tea and laughed with her.
I don't recall ever laughing over tea. I'm usually reflective or pensive when I drink tea. For many people, tea is a serious business. The Chinese and Japanese regard the art of tea as intrinsic to high culture and perform elaborate rituals in tea ceremonies. (I really just like the pretty cups.) The English partake in afternoon tea with devotion that is almost religious. (I'm impartial to Earl Grey with scones.) The Arab culture regard the drinking of tea as the center of all social activities. (Anyone who has ever tried to buy a carpet from a souk would know.)
It was a simple act of making tea and laughing together. But it was what she remembered, because it said so much.
The art of making tea can be a complex and elaborate affair. But the act of making tea is simple. I want to make tea...and laugh.
Recipe:
1. Tea leaves and strainer OR tea bag
2. hot, boiling water
3. laughter
Take 1 and put into 2. Or, vice versa.
Add a generous dash of 3 to taste.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Another Facebook Update...updated
There was another Facebook update earlier tonight.
No, seriously. It's all over Twitter. Just go search "Mark Zuckerberg" because the world's youngest billionaire was on TV...on none other than THE 60 Minutes this time, to announce a HUGE Facebook redesign.
Wait, didn't he just make a HUGE announcement like two weeks ago? Yeah, but that one was about how Facebook is going to take over email, SMS, messages, etc. and put all your communications with that special someone in one single thread for you to trail all over cyberspace.
This announcement was going to be even bigger than the last one. Yes, I'm well aware that this is what they (i.e. social media pundits, journalists, websites, etc.) say each and every time Facebook makes an annoucement. But this time it really was going to be BIGGER.
This time, it had to do with photos. Apparently, the desginers at Facebook had decided it's time to re-emphazie the fact that Facebook is all about photos. So...they came up with a re-design to emphasize just that - photos...you know, to keep things visually interesting.
As if Facebook isn't interesting enough.
So, don't take my word for it. Here's the report from Tech Crunch: http://techcrunch.com/2010/12/05/new-facebook-profile/
And if you missed the 60 Minutes episode, here's a re-cap, courtesy of Mashable: http://mashable.com/2010/12/05/mark-zuckerberg-60-minutes-interview/
It's just about to get more interesting for 500 million of us. In the days to come, we'll be eagerly looking out for our re-designed profile pages. Until then, I should go update my Facebook status.
No, seriously. It's all over Twitter. Just go search "Mark Zuckerberg" because the world's youngest billionaire was on TV...on none other than THE 60 Minutes this time, to announce a HUGE Facebook redesign.
Wait, didn't he just make a HUGE announcement like two weeks ago? Yeah, but that one was about how Facebook is going to take over email, SMS, messages, etc. and put all your communications with that special someone in one single thread for you to trail all over cyberspace.
This announcement was going to be even bigger than the last one. Yes, I'm well aware that this is what they (i.e. social media pundits, journalists, websites, etc.) say each and every time Facebook makes an annoucement. But this time it really was going to be BIGGER.
This time, it had to do with photos. Apparently, the desginers at Facebook had decided it's time to re-emphazie the fact that Facebook is all about photos. So...they came up with a re-design to emphasize just that - photos...you know, to keep things visually interesting.
As if Facebook isn't interesting enough.
So, don't take my word for it. Here's the report from Tech Crunch: http://techcrunch.com/2010/12/05/new-facebook-profile/
And if you missed the 60 Minutes episode, here's a re-cap, courtesy of Mashable: http://mashable.com/2010/12/05/mark-zuckerberg-60-minutes-interview/
It's just about to get more interesting for 500 million of us. In the days to come, we'll be eagerly looking out for our re-designed profile pages. Until then, I should go update my Facebook status.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Standing Up For Yourself - A Lesson In Life Every Child (and Adult) Needs To Learn
"Put on your coat, Amon. Stand right there. Watch me. I'm going to demonstrate to you what Master Coles said earlier about standing up for yourself."
He slid out of his seat across from me in the booth at Uncle Julio's. Ariel, who was seated beside me, did the same. They watched as I turned around to face the booth seats next to us, behind me. I was about to stand up to the woman seated behind me. It was going to be one of the most important lessons in life for my kids.
It was a typical Saturday in Bethesda for me and the babies. Ariel had her ballet class and Amon, his Tae Kwon Do class. What was different was that Master Coles had sat the white-belters down in a row and given them a 10-minute lecture on standing up to bullies.
The parents who were watching were equally surprised as the kids. Usually, Master Coles worked his teaching of principles and philosophy into the class as he taught the moves - the blocks, the kicks and the punches. His message was clear and simple: If someone picks on you, you need to stand up to him, especially if there is no one else around and you're on your own.
"In this world, there will be people who try to push you down to make themselves feel better," he told the kids (and an audience of enraptured parents). "They think that if they step on you, they get taller. So you have to stand up to them."
When Master Coles, who has been teaching TKD for 40 years, spoke, everyone listened. It was a good lesson, all the parents agreed in hushed whispers after the class. I, for one, was very glad the Master had decided to expound on bullying, fear and standing up for oneself. Amon is painfully shy and has often encountered kids who try to ride roughshod over him. It didn't help that he was also tiny, softspoken and very bright -- the kind of kid every bully loves to pick on. From his very first incident of bruised feelings and ego, I had stressed to him the importance of standing up to bullies.
"I cannot fight your fights for you," I always said to him. "You don't have to fight him. But you need to look him in the eye, and tell him in a loud, firm voice to back off. You need to show him that you're not afraid of him. And don't be."
"And if he doesn't back off?"
"Make sure you tell the teacher or someone in charged that this boy is trying to hurt you."
"And if he hits me?"
"Then you defend yourself. Never raise your fist first, but if someone hits you, you FIGHT back. Don't ever go down doing nothing. You FIGHT back with everything you've got."
We even practiced by role playing. I played the bully, and walked him through the steps of talking back in a loud, firm voice, staring the person down, and finally blocking the punches if the other person was to raise his fist.
"And if he has a weapon -- a knife, or a gun -- you get the hell away as fast as you can, you understand?"
He nodded. I hoped it would never come down to that. I was thrilled when Amon asked to take martial arts classes. That was after watching the Karate Kid movies, both the original 1984 Pat Morita and Ralph Macchio movie, and the remake with Jaden Smith and Jackie Chan, one of my personal heroes.
It has only been a few months since Amon started TKD classes with Master Coles. But I've seen his confidence grow, slowly but surely. He is still every bit the sweet, gentle, tiny "nerd" but he is a little less soft spoken now.
"There's nothing wrong in being a nerd," Master Coles told the kids. "I was a nerd growing up." I could never imagine! But I was grateful for his confession. Amon can definitely identify. We had a great discussion about Master Coles' lecture after the class. The kids wanted to eat quesadillas, so we went to Uncle Julio's.
Little did I know that the responsibility and opportunity would fall on me so soon after to walk the talk.
The woman behind me had come in with her husband and teenaged daughter towards the end of our meal. As she and her husband moved into the seat behind me, I literally felt myself propelled forward into my guacomole and sour cream. Obviously the seats were not cushioned for impact from movement.
I didn't say a thing. There wasn't a need to, because it was an inconvenience but not an act of offense on her part. Each time she moved, I felt the earth shake. Obviously, that meant she would feel my movements as well. Blame it on cheap, badly designed furnishing. I had no anger or frustration because it was clearly not a case of anyone going out of their way to annoy another person.
Just as we were finishing up our meal, I heard her raise her voice and yell, obviously intending for me to hear: "This woman needs to finish up and GET OUT OF HERE!"
That was an act of offense. Still, I chose not to engage. If she didn't have the manners to speak to me nicely, I didn't see the point of acknowledging her rudeness. Failing to get a reaction from me, she realized she had to address me directly.
"Excuse me, but you are bumping me and pushing me forward every time you move! Will you stop that?!"
I looked her straight in the eye.
"Excuse me but you are doing exactly the same thing to me each time you move. You bumped us when you got into your seats."
A lightbulb went on. You'd think that she would then have the courtesy to acknowledge the fact that I wasn't deliberately annoying her and back off.
"Well, yeah, I understand that."
No, I didn't think there was any understanding in her perspective.
"Well, then let's just both be more careful."
"Yes, let's...." I went back to the last bits of my meal and made sure my kids were done. I got the check. But I wasn't done. There was an important lesson to be learned. Some fights shouldn't be backed off from. This was one of them. I had to stand up.
My kids were watching. I turned to the woman. I addressed her: "Excuse me, we didn't mean to bump you."
She turned to look at me. She was expecting an apology. It was clear from my look that there was no remote chance of that. She gave me a nasty look and looked back down at her food, and away from me. Her daughter seated across was looking at me. She seemed embarrassed. I stood up.
"I also want you to know that I didn't appreciate your attitude in the way you talked to me. I could hear every single word you said about me having to get out of here. I have every right to be in here, as much as you do."
At this point, her husband turned and glanced sideways at me, with a look that seemed embarrassed, but really betrayed the fact that he didn't agree that I did have as much right to be in there as him.
I got out of the seat, took my kids' hands and delivered the final salvo: "So I hope you'll remember that the next time, before you tell anyone to get out of anywhere."
I walked towards the exit, all the time with my eyes still on them.
"Did you see what I did, Amon?"
"Yes, you stood up to her."
"Just like what Master Coles said to do. Did I raise my voice or my fist?"
"No."
"Yes, there wasn't a need to. But she yelled at us to get out of there. Did you hear that?"
"Yes. They looked embarrassed."
"Good. Because she had no right to tell us to get out. Firstly, she doesn't own the restaurant. We're paying for lunch, just as she is. Also, we didn't do anything wrong to be told to get out."
If anyone is thinking that I had read too much into the woman's antagonism, I will say this to your face: Bulls**t.
Her initial reaction had completely betrayed her underlying motivations. She wasn't simply annoyed by the bumping caused by my movements. If that had been purely the case, the outburst would be along the lines of: "Why does this person keep bumping the chair?!" Instead, it was that I need to get out of there. She was annoyed by the fact that I was even there at all.
Was it racially motivated? Of course! Sure, I can't prove it with empirical evidence. But let's not mince words here. Would she have been as blatantly rude if I wasn't yellow? Of course not. For whatever misguided reason, she had assumed herself to be superior to me, and hence she had the right to tell me to get out. Of course it didn't occur to her that if my movements inconvenienced her, then her movements would do the same for me. Because in her worldview, my existence didn't even figure.
So yes, this is fight that needs to be fought. This is one instance when I have to and will not back off from standing up for myself. And this is one lesson I want my kids to learn.
"Do not ever, ever let anyone tell you to get out of anywhere, Amon. You have every right to be."
The conversation had continued as we made our way into Barnes and Nobles. We were standing right in front of a stack of books on Hanukkah.
"Mom, my classmate Savier brought a menorah to class and we lit a candle together. What happened to the Jewish people?"
"The same thing that happened to us back in the restaurant. Hitler told the Jews to get out...in very bad ways. He tortured them, put them in prison camps and killed them."
"That is so wrong."
'Yes, it is."
He slid out of his seat across from me in the booth at Uncle Julio's. Ariel, who was seated beside me, did the same. They watched as I turned around to face the booth seats next to us, behind me. I was about to stand up to the woman seated behind me. It was going to be one of the most important lessons in life for my kids.
It was a typical Saturday in Bethesda for me and the babies. Ariel had her ballet class and Amon, his Tae Kwon Do class. What was different was that Master Coles had sat the white-belters down in a row and given them a 10-minute lecture on standing up to bullies.
The parents who were watching were equally surprised as the kids. Usually, Master Coles worked his teaching of principles and philosophy into the class as he taught the moves - the blocks, the kicks and the punches. His message was clear and simple: If someone picks on you, you need to stand up to him, especially if there is no one else around and you're on your own.
"In this world, there will be people who try to push you down to make themselves feel better," he told the kids (and an audience of enraptured parents). "They think that if they step on you, they get taller. So you have to stand up to them."
When Master Coles, who has been teaching TKD for 40 years, spoke, everyone listened. It was a good lesson, all the parents agreed in hushed whispers after the class. I, for one, was very glad the Master had decided to expound on bullying, fear and standing up for oneself. Amon is painfully shy and has often encountered kids who try to ride roughshod over him. It didn't help that he was also tiny, softspoken and very bright -- the kind of kid every bully loves to pick on. From his very first incident of bruised feelings and ego, I had stressed to him the importance of standing up to bullies.
"I cannot fight your fights for you," I always said to him. "You don't have to fight him. But you need to look him in the eye, and tell him in a loud, firm voice to back off. You need to show him that you're not afraid of him. And don't be."
"And if he doesn't back off?"
"Make sure you tell the teacher or someone in charged that this boy is trying to hurt you."
"And if he hits me?"
"Then you defend yourself. Never raise your fist first, but if someone hits you, you FIGHT back. Don't ever go down doing nothing. You FIGHT back with everything you've got."
We even practiced by role playing. I played the bully, and walked him through the steps of talking back in a loud, firm voice, staring the person down, and finally blocking the punches if the other person was to raise his fist.
"And if he has a weapon -- a knife, or a gun -- you get the hell away as fast as you can, you understand?"
He nodded. I hoped it would never come down to that. I was thrilled when Amon asked to take martial arts classes. That was after watching the Karate Kid movies, both the original 1984 Pat Morita and Ralph Macchio movie, and the remake with Jaden Smith and Jackie Chan, one of my personal heroes.
It has only been a few months since Amon started TKD classes with Master Coles. But I've seen his confidence grow, slowly but surely. He is still every bit the sweet, gentle, tiny "nerd" but he is a little less soft spoken now.
"There's nothing wrong in being a nerd," Master Coles told the kids. "I was a nerd growing up." I could never imagine! But I was grateful for his confession. Amon can definitely identify. We had a great discussion about Master Coles' lecture after the class. The kids wanted to eat quesadillas, so we went to Uncle Julio's.
Little did I know that the responsibility and opportunity would fall on me so soon after to walk the talk.
The woman behind me had come in with her husband and teenaged daughter towards the end of our meal. As she and her husband moved into the seat behind me, I literally felt myself propelled forward into my guacomole and sour cream. Obviously the seats were not cushioned for impact from movement.
I didn't say a thing. There wasn't a need to, because it was an inconvenience but not an act of offense on her part. Each time she moved, I felt the earth shake. Obviously, that meant she would feel my movements as well. Blame it on cheap, badly designed furnishing. I had no anger or frustration because it was clearly not a case of anyone going out of their way to annoy another person.
Just as we were finishing up our meal, I heard her raise her voice and yell, obviously intending for me to hear: "This woman needs to finish up and GET OUT OF HERE!"
That was an act of offense. Still, I chose not to engage. If she didn't have the manners to speak to me nicely, I didn't see the point of acknowledging her rudeness. Failing to get a reaction from me, she realized she had to address me directly.
"Excuse me, but you are bumping me and pushing me forward every time you move! Will you stop that?!"
I looked her straight in the eye.
"Excuse me but you are doing exactly the same thing to me each time you move. You bumped us when you got into your seats."
A lightbulb went on. You'd think that she would then have the courtesy to acknowledge the fact that I wasn't deliberately annoying her and back off.
"Well, yeah, I understand that."
No, I didn't think there was any understanding in her perspective.
"Well, then let's just both be more careful."
"Yes, let's...." I went back to the last bits of my meal and made sure my kids were done. I got the check. But I wasn't done. There was an important lesson to be learned. Some fights shouldn't be backed off from. This was one of them. I had to stand up.
My kids were watching. I turned to the woman. I addressed her: "Excuse me, we didn't mean to bump you."
She turned to look at me. She was expecting an apology. It was clear from my look that there was no remote chance of that. She gave me a nasty look and looked back down at her food, and away from me. Her daughter seated across was looking at me. She seemed embarrassed. I stood up.
"I also want you to know that I didn't appreciate your attitude in the way you talked to me. I could hear every single word you said about me having to get out of here. I have every right to be in here, as much as you do."
At this point, her husband turned and glanced sideways at me, with a look that seemed embarrassed, but really betrayed the fact that he didn't agree that I did have as much right to be in there as him.
I got out of the seat, took my kids' hands and delivered the final salvo: "So I hope you'll remember that the next time, before you tell anyone to get out of anywhere."
I walked towards the exit, all the time with my eyes still on them.
"Did you see what I did, Amon?"
"Yes, you stood up to her."
"Just like what Master Coles said to do. Did I raise my voice or my fist?"
"No."
"Yes, there wasn't a need to. But she yelled at us to get out of there. Did you hear that?"
"Yes. They looked embarrassed."
"Good. Because she had no right to tell us to get out. Firstly, she doesn't own the restaurant. We're paying for lunch, just as she is. Also, we didn't do anything wrong to be told to get out."
If anyone is thinking that I had read too much into the woman's antagonism, I will say this to your face: Bulls**t.
Her initial reaction had completely betrayed her underlying motivations. She wasn't simply annoyed by the bumping caused by my movements. If that had been purely the case, the outburst would be along the lines of: "Why does this person keep bumping the chair?!" Instead, it was that I need to get out of there. She was annoyed by the fact that I was even there at all.
Was it racially motivated? Of course! Sure, I can't prove it with empirical evidence. But let's not mince words here. Would she have been as blatantly rude if I wasn't yellow? Of course not. For whatever misguided reason, she had assumed herself to be superior to me, and hence she had the right to tell me to get out. Of course it didn't occur to her that if my movements inconvenienced her, then her movements would do the same for me. Because in her worldview, my existence didn't even figure.
So yes, this is fight that needs to be fought. This is one instance when I have to and will not back off from standing up for myself. And this is one lesson I want my kids to learn.
"Do not ever, ever let anyone tell you to get out of anywhere, Amon. You have every right to be."
The conversation had continued as we made our way into Barnes and Nobles. We were standing right in front of a stack of books on Hanukkah.
"Mom, my classmate Savier brought a menorah to class and we lit a candle together. What happened to the Jewish people?"
"The same thing that happened to us back in the restaurant. Hitler told the Jews to get out...in very bad ways. He tortured them, put them in prison camps and killed them."
"That is so wrong."
'Yes, it is."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
World Aids Day 2010
This is a feature I wrote in early 2009 as my final paper for a Global Health Reporting class. It was published in the newsletter of an NGO in Asia. I decided to re-post this as a reflection on World Aids Day. The way we've dealt with HIV/AIDS since the 80s is a reflection of how far we have come as a collective human race, from fear and prejudice to understanding, action, compassion and inclusion.
Pukaar January 2010 Issue 68
Waking up to AIDS in Asia...
Facing the fact that men are having sex with men
By Rebecca Lim
Shivananda Khan wakes up every morning in Lucknow, India, and goes to work angry. He is mad that in some Asian countries, only one in 10 MSM (men-who-have-sex-with-men) have access to HIV/AIDS services.
“It is a sense of righteous anger, like when you see someone beaten up for trying to speak the truth,” said the founder and chief executive of Naz Foundation International (NFI), a non-profit organization helping MSM groups in South and Southeast Asia develop sexual health and HIV prevention, support and care services.
Over in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Andrew Tan goes to work behind a mask. Being a HIV positive MSM and Chinese in a predominantly Malay and Muslim country, he keeps his status and other life as an advocate and volunteer counselor for HIV/AIDS a secret from his co-workers, friends and even some of his family.
“You’ll get double discrimination,” he said. “Even within the gay community, you’ll be considered an outcast...a pariah of a pariah group!”
He sits on the board of advocacy group, the Asia Pacific Coalition On Male Sexual Health (APCOM), which Mr. Khan chairs and also founded.
Both men share a common concern about the gravity of the HIV/AIDS epidemic for MSM in Asia. Here, barriers to prevention, education and treatment are deeply rooted in cultural norms, religious beliefs and social stigma.
Dr Massimo Ghidinelli, the World Health Organization (WHO) Regional Adviser in HIV/AIDS and Sexually Transmitted Infections, said at a conference last year, that in many Asian countries, national strategic plans for HIV/AIDS do not include interventions for MSM and transgender persons.
He added that targeted preventive measures are reaching only 1% of the MSM population in Asia of an estimated 10 million men.
“Action needs to be taken now if a major increase in HIV/AIDS cases is to be averted,” he warned.
According to UNAIDS, an estimated 4.9 million people were living with HIV in Asia in 2007, and 300,000 died from AIDS related illnesses, making this the region with the second highest numbers next to Sub-Saharan Africa.
In an independent study published by TREAT (Therapeutics Research, Education, AIDS Training) Asia in 2006, HIV rates among MSM in Phnom Penh, Cambodia was reported to be at 14.4%, 16.8% in the state of Maharashtra in India, and 28.3% in Bangkok, Thailand. The report also predicted that MSM in Asia will “face a crisis more devastating than that experienced by gay men in the West during the epidemic’s earliest years” if the trend of infections is not stemmed.
Facing stigma and discrimination
One of the key reasons underpinning the lack of HIV/AIDS prevention and services for MSM is social prejudice and discrimination, said Mr Khan.
This deep-seated stigma stems from the social dynamics of sex between men in Asia, and the cultural pressure on males to marry and build a family, he added.
“We have a double jeopardy situation,” he explained.
Many MSM in Asia do not view themselves as homosexual as long as they are playing the dominant or penetrative role. A large number also have sex with women and end up getting married. They continue to have casual (and potentially unsafe) sex with men, putting the spouse and children at risk of HIV infection.
A study in Mumbai, India revealed that 25% of HIV positive men are married MSM. In Beijing, China, 29% of MSM respondents in a survey said they also had sex with women. “ There is a whole spectrum of MSM and this is almost invisible for many people in Asia who think that being gay means dressing up like a woman,” said Mr Tan.
While the “masculine and publicly married” men fall on the left of the spectrum, he added, the transgender fall on the right. In between, there are different groups, including those who are comfortably gay, and do not necessarily identify with gender roles.
For the men playing the receptive or feminine role, the stigmatization is even greater. Many are transgender sex workers or young men turning to sex work to fund drug addiction. While some intervention programs, such as the condom use campaign in Bangkok, have been successful, there is still exploitation and unsafe practices.
“It’s no secret,” he added. “Some men are willing to pay extra not to use condoms.”
More than half of MSM surveyed in the major cities of Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou in China admitted to unprotected sex with multiple partners. This is the same in Vietnam, where 69% of MSM surveyed in Hanoi and 63% in Ho Chi Minh City engage in unprotected sex. In Jakarta, Indonesia, 65% of male sex workers and 53% of other MSM do not use condoms regularly.
The situation is compounded by the fact that sex between men is illegal in 11 out of 23 Asian countries surveyed in the TREAT study. In countries such as Malaysia, Pakistan and Bangladesh, religious groups and authorities condemn homosexual activities. The fear of social persecution and legal prosecution make many unwilling to get tested or treated for HIV.
“I have come across cases where a doctor slapped someone because he was a homosexual,” said Mr. Khan. “Some doctors report people who go to them for treatment to the police.”
Mr. Tan is also seeing a trend of more men being infected at a younger age in Malaysia. “The youngest man I’ve counseled is 19,” he said. “He had all these high hopes of becoming a pilot but all of a sudden, his world crumbled.”
In the 80s, when AIDS meant death, he added, people took protection seriously. Now, some, especially the younger generation, may think that “it’s a matter of popping a few pills” if they should be infected.
“It’s not like taking vitamins!” he stressed. “You have to take responsibility, adhere to the treatment for the rest of your life, and prevent other people from being infected by you.”
Facing the need for intervention
It is estimated that without further intervention, HIV infection rates among MSM in Asia could double year-on-year in the next 20 years, said Mr. Khan.
Funding is also a major issue, added Mr. Khan. Even the most developed economies in Asia, such as Singapore and Japan, have made little investment in HIV services. International aid is not likely to increase, given current economic sentiments. He noted that last year, the Gates Foundation donated US$ 200 million to India and US$ 50 million to China in HIV funds.
“We will need another US$ 3 billion,” he added.
The impact on economic growth is perhaps a way to engage Asian countries in facing up to the HIV/AIDS crisis. The World Bank estimates that when the prevalence of HIV/AIDS reaches 8% (as is the case with 13 African countries), the cost to economic growth is about 1% a year.
Thankfully, there are success stories such as Cambodia’s. The country has seen a steady drop in HIV prevalence rate from 2.8% in 1998 to 0.9% in 2006 and 0.7% last year and aims to further decrease the rate to 0.6% by next year. The government has allocated US$45 to 50 million in annual funds to achieve this. It is estimated that more than 90% of the country’s at risk populations, including MSM, are aware of HIV/AIDS and 90% of sex workers use protection. Some 93% of the country’s HIV positive people have access to treatment and support services.
On a personal level, Mr Tan’s story illustrates that while it may be tough to change old beliefs and cultural practices, there are ways to overcome stigma.
Since being diagnosed with HIV in 1994, his constant support had been his boyfriend of 25 years (who is not HIV positive).
When he first told his family that he was seeing a man, they thought it was a passing phase. He continued to do his part as “a good son” by making an effort to be home for family meals and events. Eventually, his parents invited his boyfriend to their home for dinner on the eve of Chinese New Year.
“Since then my parents have referred to my boyfriend as their godson and he is with us at all family events,” he added.
It is stories such as these that keep advocates such as Mr Khan going.
“I like what Barrack Obama said about hope,” he said. “We live in hope. If we lose hope, we will drown.”
Rebecca Lim, a journalist from Singapore, is currently pursuing a masters degree at Georgetown University in Washington D.C. This article was produced last year as part of her coursework in global health reporting.
Pukaar January 2010 Issue 68
Waking up to AIDS in Asia...
Facing the fact that men are having sex with men
By Rebecca Lim
Shivananda Khan wakes up every morning in Lucknow, India, and goes to work angry. He is mad that in some Asian countries, only one in 10 MSM (men-who-have-sex-with-men) have access to HIV/AIDS services.
“It is a sense of righteous anger, like when you see someone beaten up for trying to speak the truth,” said the founder and chief executive of Naz Foundation International (NFI), a non-profit organization helping MSM groups in South and Southeast Asia develop sexual health and HIV prevention, support and care services.
Over in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Andrew Tan goes to work behind a mask. Being a HIV positive MSM and Chinese in a predominantly Malay and Muslim country, he keeps his status and other life as an advocate and volunteer counselor for HIV/AIDS a secret from his co-workers, friends and even some of his family.
“You’ll get double discrimination,” he said. “Even within the gay community, you’ll be considered an outcast...a pariah of a pariah group!”
He sits on the board of advocacy group, the Asia Pacific Coalition On Male Sexual Health (APCOM), which Mr. Khan chairs and also founded.
Both men share a common concern about the gravity of the HIV/AIDS epidemic for MSM in Asia. Here, barriers to prevention, education and treatment are deeply rooted in cultural norms, religious beliefs and social stigma.
Dr Massimo Ghidinelli, the World Health Organization (WHO) Regional Adviser in HIV/AIDS and Sexually Transmitted Infections, said at a conference last year, that in many Asian countries, national strategic plans for HIV/AIDS do not include interventions for MSM and transgender persons.
He added that targeted preventive measures are reaching only 1% of the MSM population in Asia of an estimated 10 million men.
“Action needs to be taken now if a major increase in HIV/AIDS cases is to be averted,” he warned.
According to UNAIDS, an estimated 4.9 million people were living with HIV in Asia in 2007, and 300,000 died from AIDS related illnesses, making this the region with the second highest numbers next to Sub-Saharan Africa.
In an independent study published by TREAT (Therapeutics Research, Education, AIDS Training) Asia in 2006, HIV rates among MSM in Phnom Penh, Cambodia was reported to be at 14.4%, 16.8% in the state of Maharashtra in India, and 28.3% in Bangkok, Thailand. The report also predicted that MSM in Asia will “face a crisis more devastating than that experienced by gay men in the West during the epidemic’s earliest years” if the trend of infections is not stemmed.
Facing stigma and discrimination
One of the key reasons underpinning the lack of HIV/AIDS prevention and services for MSM is social prejudice and discrimination, said Mr Khan.
This deep-seated stigma stems from the social dynamics of sex between men in Asia, and the cultural pressure on males to marry and build a family, he added.
“We have a double jeopardy situation,” he explained.
Many MSM in Asia do not view themselves as homosexual as long as they are playing the dominant or penetrative role. A large number also have sex with women and end up getting married. They continue to have casual (and potentially unsafe) sex with men, putting the spouse and children at risk of HIV infection.
A study in Mumbai, India revealed that 25% of HIV positive men are married MSM. In Beijing, China, 29% of MSM respondents in a survey said they also had sex with women. “ There is a whole spectrum of MSM and this is almost invisible for many people in Asia who think that being gay means dressing up like a woman,” said Mr Tan.
While the “masculine and publicly married” men fall on the left of the spectrum, he added, the transgender fall on the right. In between, there are different groups, including those who are comfortably gay, and do not necessarily identify with gender roles.
For the men playing the receptive or feminine role, the stigmatization is even greater. Many are transgender sex workers or young men turning to sex work to fund drug addiction. While some intervention programs, such as the condom use campaign in Bangkok, have been successful, there is still exploitation and unsafe practices.
“It’s no secret,” he added. “Some men are willing to pay extra not to use condoms.”
More than half of MSM surveyed in the major cities of Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou in China admitted to unprotected sex with multiple partners. This is the same in Vietnam, where 69% of MSM surveyed in Hanoi and 63% in Ho Chi Minh City engage in unprotected sex. In Jakarta, Indonesia, 65% of male sex workers and 53% of other MSM do not use condoms regularly.
The situation is compounded by the fact that sex between men is illegal in 11 out of 23 Asian countries surveyed in the TREAT study. In countries such as Malaysia, Pakistan and Bangladesh, religious groups and authorities condemn homosexual activities. The fear of social persecution and legal prosecution make many unwilling to get tested or treated for HIV.
“I have come across cases where a doctor slapped someone because he was a homosexual,” said Mr. Khan. “Some doctors report people who go to them for treatment to the police.”
Mr. Tan is also seeing a trend of more men being infected at a younger age in Malaysia. “The youngest man I’ve counseled is 19,” he said. “He had all these high hopes of becoming a pilot but all of a sudden, his world crumbled.”
In the 80s, when AIDS meant death, he added, people took protection seriously. Now, some, especially the younger generation, may think that “it’s a matter of popping a few pills” if they should be infected.
“It’s not like taking vitamins!” he stressed. “You have to take responsibility, adhere to the treatment for the rest of your life, and prevent other people from being infected by you.”
Facing the need for intervention
It is estimated that without further intervention, HIV infection rates among MSM in Asia could double year-on-year in the next 20 years, said Mr. Khan.
Funding is also a major issue, added Mr. Khan. Even the most developed economies in Asia, such as Singapore and Japan, have made little investment in HIV services. International aid is not likely to increase, given current economic sentiments. He noted that last year, the Gates Foundation donated US$ 200 million to India and US$ 50 million to China in HIV funds.
“We will need another US$ 3 billion,” he added.
The impact on economic growth is perhaps a way to engage Asian countries in facing up to the HIV/AIDS crisis. The World Bank estimates that when the prevalence of HIV/AIDS reaches 8% (as is the case with 13 African countries), the cost to economic growth is about 1% a year.
Thankfully, there are success stories such as Cambodia’s. The country has seen a steady drop in HIV prevalence rate from 2.8% in 1998 to 0.9% in 2006 and 0.7% last year and aims to further decrease the rate to 0.6% by next year. The government has allocated US$45 to 50 million in annual funds to achieve this. It is estimated that more than 90% of the country’s at risk populations, including MSM, are aware of HIV/AIDS and 90% of sex workers use protection. Some 93% of the country’s HIV positive people have access to treatment and support services.
On a personal level, Mr Tan’s story illustrates that while it may be tough to change old beliefs and cultural practices, there are ways to overcome stigma.
Since being diagnosed with HIV in 1994, his constant support had been his boyfriend of 25 years (who is not HIV positive).
When he first told his family that he was seeing a man, they thought it was a passing phase. He continued to do his part as “a good son” by making an effort to be home for family meals and events. Eventually, his parents invited his boyfriend to their home for dinner on the eve of Chinese New Year.
“Since then my parents have referred to my boyfriend as their godson and he is with us at all family events,” he added.
It is stories such as these that keep advocates such as Mr Khan going.
“I like what Barrack Obama said about hope,” he said. “We live in hope. If we lose hope, we will drown.”
Rebecca Lim, a journalist from Singapore, is currently pursuing a masters degree at Georgetown University in Washington D.C. This article was produced last year as part of her coursework in global health reporting.
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