Dear Reader,
Have I disappointed you with my lack of content? Let's pretend I have since you haven't said otherwise. We'll pretend to care or not care, silently across the vast expanse of the internet.
I visited the Science Museum in London today and it has set those thought trains into motion. Returning to my in-laws, the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen is tormenting my hunger riddled stomach. The damn thought trains are sounding the horns, demanding to leave the station. The oldest is playing chess with his father. He got into this game a few years ago, when he was about five and his world was ripped out from beneath this feet. A part of me is glad my father is dead because he isn't here to drop advise on my son's opponent on how to beat him. Or maybe he only did that to me. This thought makes me angry.
Would I have been a decent chess player if my father had only sat down and played with me? Whenever I played chess, I remember being desperate to win. It's not a pleasant feeling, trying to beat your father because he was helping someone else trying to beat you.
I had that feeling in the museum too. It reminded me of the anger with which my cousin educated me of the atrocities visited upon East Pakistan by West Pakistan which would eventually result in Bangladesh being formed. I viewed the science and technology exhibit and a photography exhibit on India. It's difficult to remain interested and detached when you realize that this is your homeland and the man you married belongs to the culture that oppressed this land (along with so many others) for the sole purpose of profit.
So much anger and pain; it's not new. The current baboon sitting in the Oval or this backwards move of Brexit, they may not be the imperialists oppressing the colonials anymore, but they are still those who have who would take from those who have not. News just travels too fast these days. Maybe these atrocities are visible.
It's a new year and maybe I should make a resolution. I know myself better. Resolutions are for those who aren't afraid of commitment. So I will focus on this anger that has come to the surface on the heels of memories remembered, historical context realized, and address that. Anger, stoked like a low banked glowing ember can flare up and become an all consuming flame. It become necessary to turn the other cheek in these instances.
Its easy to say you're sorry or ask for forgiveness. The real effort comes from those who must forgive lest they become entrapped in a trap from which there is no escape. Those who have wronged you will think a simple request for forgiveness cancels the debt. They very rarely give us (those to who this debt is owed) credit for finding the courage to forgive.
It struck me, while visiting that exhibit, the pain so many people have suffered at the hands of their oppressor and will continue to do so. Pain often encloses us, walls us off. Forgiveness is the only key that will unlock that door. So I'm choosing to forgive my father for deliberately trying to help my opponents beat me at chess. Maybe the best way to exercise the demons of my memory is to start playing the game.
There goes the dinner bell. Time to partake of the delicious smells that have been coming out of the kitchen.
Have I disappointed you with my lack of content? Let's pretend I have since you haven't said otherwise. We'll pretend to care or not care, silently across the vast expanse of the internet.
I visited the Science Museum in London today and it has set those thought trains into motion. Returning to my in-laws, the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen is tormenting my hunger riddled stomach. The damn thought trains are sounding the horns, demanding to leave the station. The oldest is playing chess with his father. He got into this game a few years ago, when he was about five and his world was ripped out from beneath this feet. A part of me is glad my father is dead because he isn't here to drop advise on my son's opponent on how to beat him. Or maybe he only did that to me. This thought makes me angry.
Would I have been a decent chess player if my father had only sat down and played with me? Whenever I played chess, I remember being desperate to win. It's not a pleasant feeling, trying to beat your father because he was helping someone else trying to beat you.
I had that feeling in the museum too. It reminded me of the anger with which my cousin educated me of the atrocities visited upon East Pakistan by West Pakistan which would eventually result in Bangladesh being formed. I viewed the science and technology exhibit and a photography exhibit on India. It's difficult to remain interested and detached when you realize that this is your homeland and the man you married belongs to the culture that oppressed this land (along with so many others) for the sole purpose of profit.
So much anger and pain; it's not new. The current baboon sitting in the Oval or this backwards move of Brexit, they may not be the imperialists oppressing the colonials anymore, but they are still those who have who would take from those who have not. News just travels too fast these days. Maybe these atrocities are visible.
It's a new year and maybe I should make a resolution. I know myself better. Resolutions are for those who aren't afraid of commitment. So I will focus on this anger that has come to the surface on the heels of memories remembered, historical context realized, and address that. Anger, stoked like a low banked glowing ember can flare up and become an all consuming flame. It become necessary to turn the other cheek in these instances.
Its easy to say you're sorry or ask for forgiveness. The real effort comes from those who must forgive lest they become entrapped in a trap from which there is no escape. Those who have wronged you will think a simple request for forgiveness cancels the debt. They very rarely give us (those to who this debt is owed) credit for finding the courage to forgive.
It struck me, while visiting that exhibit, the pain so many people have suffered at the hands of their oppressor and will continue to do so. Pain often encloses us, walls us off. Forgiveness is the only key that will unlock that door. So I'm choosing to forgive my father for deliberately trying to help my opponents beat me at chess. Maybe the best way to exercise the demons of my memory is to start playing the game.
There goes the dinner bell. Time to partake of the delicious smells that have been coming out of the kitchen.
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