Pressure that'll tip, tip, tip 'till you just go pop, whoa
When I was four, my parents put me and my grandmother on a plane from Mumbai to Belize. We spoke about 30 words of English between us; it was unclear who was caring for whom on that journey from Asia to Europe to North America.
(Side note: decades later, my Granny called spaghetti “forgetti” and my friend Pamela “Pramila”; her way with English words and names remained stubbornly hers.)
I am convinced that journey 50 years ago anointed me the responsible one, the No. 1 Immigrant Daughter.
I think you know what I mean if you’re reading this. If not, check out Luisa singing Surface Pressure in Encanto
Who is a No. 1 Immigrant Daughter?
Overachieving, hardworking, problem-solving.
The go-to person. In her family, her community, at work.
A total bad-ass.
Also – angry, sad, tired.
What are our fears?
What if I make a mistake?
What if I disappoint people?
What if I’m not good enough?
What if I’m simply not enough?
What keeps us up at night?
Money worries.
What we didn’t get to.
How mom is doing.
How dad is doing, or not.
How is _________ doing.
What are our superpowers?
Getting shit done.
Foreseeing the future - predicting challenges, planning for them, rinse and repeat
Building bridges, code switching, righting wrongs.
She is me. Is she you?
It’s our time to claim who we are, in all our glory, and acknowledge the power and pain that comes from being all of this.
Come with me on this journey. We need each other to embrace, heal, deprogram, celebrate.