Showing: 1 - 10 of 10 RESULTS
Living away from mom
Asia China Vietnam

Fourteen Thousand Miles Away Isn’t So Far: Keeping Close with My Mom from Vietnam — Friend For The Ride

When I was in Vietnam this summer, I had an extremely difficult decision. My relationship was falling apart, I was self-sufficient freelancing but feeling a bit directionless, and suddenly I was offered a job in China. (Spoiler: I take the job and move to Beijing) But during this difficult time, my friend Barbara asked me to write a blog post about what it is like living far from my mom. The original blog from Vietnam is below.

This is a reblog from her award-winning blog, “Friend for the Ride,” which explores a variety of topics including women’s issues, menopause, cancer, and relationships. She’s a writer and an artist and I highly encourage everyone to check it out.

via Fourteen Thousand Miles Away Isn’t So Far: Keeping Close with My Mom from Vietnam — Friend For The Ride

Living away from mom
Hanoi, Vietnam (July 2018)

You’ll be fine,” my mom says over the phone. Or maybe it was on Skype, or Facechat, or in person during one of my visits to the United States. I can’t remember because she’s said it to me so many times over the last few years.

I don’t live in the same country as my mom, nor do we talk every day, so sometimes I feel guilty dominating our conversations with self-doubt or rambles about boys. She never seems to mind being used as an emotional crutch. In fact, I believe our relationship has grown stronger in the last years, maybe not despite the distance, but because of it.

Having lived abroad (or at least in another time zone) for six years now, I’ve navigated the majority of my twenties with a lot of physical distance from my mother. My current location is Vietnam.

Last year I lived in South America, and before that, India. As a “digital nomad,” someone who makes a living by working online, I can literally be anywhere as long as I have access to a computer and the internet. It’s a brave new working world, one my mom still doesn’t understand, but at least she stopped calling me unemployed. I haven’t lived at home for ten years now, and for the majority of that time, I was not within driving distance (or even the same continent).

So what does that mean for my relationship with my mom?

Well, there are definitely times the distance bothers me. Sometimes this is due to nostalgia. I teared up in public last month when a friend left me a voice recording and I could hear the overwhelming chirp of cicadas in the background. It made me think of my unexpected visited North Carolina a year ago in the thick humidity of July, the last time I saw my grandmother. Sometimes I crave banana pudding and BBQ sandwiches and going to the gym with my mom.

Living Abroad
(Left to Right) My dad, Rachel, My mom, and me and Rachel’s Wedding (Oct 2016)

Other times I miss my mom taking care of me. Once, I got brutal food poisoning in India and spent a week moaning on my hard mattress, in so much pain I couldn’t even watch TV, and running to the bathroom to expel liquids so vile I’m ashamed (and shocked) my body was able to produce them. I was miserable. There was nothing I wanted more than to have my mom dote on me.

Often I miss her emotional support. As I have transitioned from my early 20s to my late 20s, the decisions I need to make have become bigger and weightier. Part of that is just having more options and needing to think more seriously about the future. In college, my “big” decisions were if I would live in the dorms or in an apartment and where to go for spring break. Now I need to decide if I should give up my freelance writing career for a lucrative position in China. “Big decisions” involve moving in with boys and career paths.

Mothers have invaluable life experience, are devoted to your best interest, and know you better than anyone. They can slip into roles of life coaches or therapists but are better because they don’t charge by the hour.

It’s times like these I miss my mom most of all, if nothing else, just to have her tell me, “you’ll be fine.”

And yet, the independence of living abroad has made me a much stronger adult. While I usually call to talk out difficult decisions with my mom, the consequences of my choices are ones I must bear alone. While a good Skype cry once or twice when I first moved to India were great cathartic releases, ultimately I was the one who took on those challenges without much handholding. When things got hard, I couldn’t retreat home for a weekend. I had to get resourceful.

elephant
My mom and dad enjoying their visit to India (Jaipur, India 2016)

Likewise, family time has become something sacred. There isn’t much of it, so it means really taking advantage of it while I have it. My parents have an excuse to travel to odd places. They’ve visited me in Chicago, Budapest, Prague, India, and Buenos Aires. These trips mean being able to share something a little outside the usual with my family and show them different sides of myself. In Argentina, I served as the translator. In India, I became a traffic controller to get them across the crazy streets. In every country, I have to find the best bakery for my mom.

As much as I miss the “routine” of going to the gym or lunch with my mom, or chatting in the living room, I still think the distance has helped, rather than hindered, our relationship. We value the time we have, and we make our conversations and communication count. She’s given me the emotional (and physical) distance to experiment with adulthood and find the best path for myself. It’s nice though, that technology has given me the possibility to always pick up the phone, and have someone at the other end tell me I’ll be fine.

Asia India

Big Fat Punjabi Wedding

I met Happie over the summer quite accidentally. A group of Americans plopped down in the middle of my “not so foreigner filled” city (Chandigarh, for anyone not paying attention) for an intensive Punjabi language course. Most of these were college students on scholarship. They only stayed 8 weeks. At the end of their course, I hosted a girl, Morgan, since her sponsored housing had run out. It was through her that I met Happie, the Punjabi language teacher of the course. She was just as her name might imply- happy, cute, and fun.

So in late November, I woke up early in the morning and caught a 6am bus to Faridkot, a town in Punjabi near the Pakistani boarder. If you haven’t heard of it, no worries, I couldn’t even pronounce it correctly when I got to the bus station. Four hours later, Happie’s brother picked me up and drove me to her house, a two-story farmhouse. I met some of Happie’s friends from college, friends from Faridkot, and her family. Then the craziness of all the activities began.

Day 1:
Morning: Happie showed me some of her engagement photos with her future husband (they both looked really beautiful, like Bollywood stars or something). She said she had deferred taking more photos until after the wedding because she didn’t feel comfortable with him yet. It was interesting to me how completely calm she was. She had only met him once before (he lives in Canada; she’d been skyping with him for almost a year) but only once very calmly said, “I’m a bit nervous. I don’t really know him.” This seemed to fall in stark contrast to my American friend who recently married her boyfriend of four years (whom she lives with) and was a wreck of nerves before her wedding.

Afternoon: Mehndi (henna) session on Happie’s patio consisting of Happie’s friend and two other girls doing everyone’s mehndi while we drank chai and chatted. Since I had broken my arm three days prior, I only got mehndi on one hand. Happie, as the bride, had incredibly elaborate designs. Her friend produced some eeriously impressive artwork on both her hands and feet. I was sort of jealous of how ornate her mehndi was that I briefly contemplated marrying some random Punjabi man just so he could get a green card and I could have pretty mehndi on my wedding day.Mehndi Wedding

Mehndi Wedding

Ultimately, I decided a lifetime of marriage wasn’t worth a day of pretty hands and feet. But the mehndi session was quite fun.

Mehndi Wedding

Early Evening: The photographer took photos of all the girls out in the field.

Punjabi Wedding

Punjabi Wedding

Some of the older women had gathered in the same patio area and were singing together (then one woman would come forward and sing a line or two by herself while everyone kept clapping). Someone explained to me they were singing “marriage advice” to Happie but funny advice. I think an English equivalent would be something like, “Sure you’ll love marriage when you’re on the beach on your honeymoon but just wait until five years of cleaning up his toenail clippings.” (No one said this specifically in Punjabi but I think that was the kind of advice being given). All in good jest, of course.

Evening: I changed into one of my “suits” and met some more of Happie’s friends from Faridkot. We talked inside for awhile before walking around to the back of her house where a large fancy tent was set up, fully furnished with a buffet-style bar, dance floor, speakers, and DJ. We ate and then started dancing.
Everyone danced, even the oldest women (actually, they were the ones who would make you stand up again if you sat down). Some of the older men would throw stacks of ten rupee notes into the air and then hired help would scurry around people’s feet collecting the notes. Then, they started firing guns out in the farm. Punjabi Wedding

Punjabi Wedding

Punjabi Wedding

Punjabi Wedding

Night: Close to midnight, the family decided to do a tradition (I don’t know the name) in which they cover the bride in turmeric. Turmeric is related to ginger and is usually found as a bright yellow powder. Traditionally, it is used by Indian brides before the wedding to make their skin take on a golden glow. That night we all gathered around Happie on the patio and took turns rubbing a turmeric paste on her face and putting a little oil in her hair. I think this tradition was supposed to be done at 4am before the wedding but I guess since everyone was already at the house, doing it around midnight worked better.


Punjabi Wedding

I’ve actually used turmeric paste before. It’s good for psoriasis but stains your skin yellow. Apparently it looks much better on the ‘wheatish’ Indian complexion than on Caucasian skin. While Happie looked beautiful after her turmeric treatment, I never developed the “golden glow”, just an awkward Simpsons’ yellow.

Punjabi Wedding
Happie all cleaned up

Night continued: It was fun seeing everyone getting ready for bed. Mattresses covered almost every inch of the foyer area for all the male relatives to sleep. I shared a room with Happie’s two friends from college. Everyone just piled into her house and slept there. None of that hotel and privacy nonsense we Americans “need.”

Day 2:

Punjabi Wedding

Morning: Breakfast parathas! My favorite part of Punjab. A bit like pancakes, parathas are made from wheat flour and stuffed with vegetables (potato, onion, cauliflower, radish, etc..). They are fried and one eats them with dahi (curd, plain yogurt).

Then I started getting ready. From Happie’s house we drove down the road to a very large event center where Happie was in the middle of a photoshoot looking totally fabulous. Indian brides typically wear bright colors (red most traditionally but I’ve also seen orange, yellow, and pink). Seeing Happie all dolled up, I developed Indian wedding envy again and started rethinking my potential random Punjabi green card marriage ever-so-slightly.

Punjabi Wedding

Afternoon: The groom’s family arrived at the event center. The bride’s family had a long ribbon blocking them from entering the premises. The groom bargained with her friends and female cousin. In order to “get to” the bride, he must agree to pay a price to the sister/young female relative. I don’t know how much he agreed to pay. I know they started off with $1,000 but came down to something reasonable pretty quickly.

Then we all drove to the Gurdwara (Sikh place of worship) for the marriage ceremony. Happie’s cousin stayed with me to make sure I didn’t embarrass myself. We left our shoes outside and covered our heads, walked in, knelt before the alter, put some money in the donation box, and moved to the side. I was pretty happy about the “moving to the side” bit because the fancy leggings that came with my dress were much too large. This could be solved by tying them tightly, but with a broken arm, I couldn’t tie them properly. Lest, I spent most of the ceremony worried about keeping my pants on. The cousin came to my rescue after and tied them properly for me in the bathroom.

The religious ceremony was short and sweet, about the same length as a typical Protestant wedding ceremony. Some words were read in Punjabi, and Happie’s finance lead her around the alter with a piece of orange fabric four times.

Punjabi Wedding

Late Afternoon: Punjabi WeddingWe returned to the event center. The entire area was decorated with nice chairs, couches, tables, and decorations. There was a stage with music and a large buffet area in the back. I’m guessing around 500 people had attended. Happie and her new husband sat on the stage as the guests lined up to say congratulations and give them money as a present. After a few hours, I went inside with some of her friends were there was another buffet. Happie ate with the groom’s family.

Send Off: Even though Happie won’t be moving to Canada for a few more months, the symbolism in Indian weddings (and American weddings) can be a bit overwhelming. Just like how in the US our Dad’s walk down the aisle and “give” their daughters to the grooms, symbolizing a departure from daddy to hubby, Indian weddings do something similar. In Happie’s case, she symbolically left her family and got in a car with the groom’s family and drove off. She gets slightly teary-eyed during this process, understandably.  Also during this time, older uncles were again throwing handfuls of money on the couple and on the car. In this case, the hired help even climbed on the car the collect the rupees.

Punjabi Wedding

Evening: Happie’s friend, Aman, invited me to her house for the evening. I met her family and she took me into Faridkot to the main Gurdwara.

Punjabi Wedding
Aman looking pretty and me looking awkward with my cast

Overall, it was a really wonderful experience. Unfortunately, there was a bit of a language barrier between me and most of Happie’s family/guests. Despite that, her family went out of their way to involve me and get to know me. I really enjoyed just observing the craziness and excitement in her house. Also, her friends all spoke English and explained some of the traditions as well as just chatted with me casually. In all, it was by far one of my favorite weekends in India.

Punjabi Wedding

*Professional Photos taken by Piyush Bedi

Asia India

A Day in the Life Playing Pokemon Go Indian Style

And they say it’s only available in the US. As if the Indians, masters of technology, wouldn’t be able to have it before it’s officially released.

I jumped on the bandwagon a few glorious days ago. Here’s 24 hours in my Indian Pokemon Go life:

Wednesday 5pm (Monsoon Season):

I get data in the market from the uncle who I always get data from. I just walk in and he says, “Airtel 3G?” and I say “Haanji, 295rupees (~$4.50)” and type my number in his phone and in a minute I have data. I start playing in the market and catch a Pokemon. Then the rain starts. It’s monsoon season so it rains really hard for about 20-30 minutes at least once a day. I start walking back in the rain but by the time I’m near by house it’s just a drizzle so I continue walking in the raining, soaking wet, finding Pokemon. I catch 3. People are staring at me, probably wondering why this white chick is walking around a neighborhood aimlessly soaking wet, but people stare at me all the time anyway so I don’t mind.

A man drives up next to me in his car and rolls down the window. “Do you need help?” he asks. I debate asking he if I can sit in the back while he drives around slowly so I can catch more Pokemon without getting my phone wet. Instead I say “No, I’m okay, thank you” Just keep driving, I’m trying to catch my third Rattata today but it’s difficult throwing pokeballs when your screen is covered in rain.

Thursday 1pm (Gotta Catch ‘Em All Uber style)

I decide to go to the gym over my lunch break and then meet my colleague, Priya, at her house to finish some work. The Uber to the gym takes about 30 minutes. Luckily, in India, the traffic is bad enough that the Ubers typically go slowly and stop frequently. I caught six Pokemon inside my Uber to the gym. Then three more on the stairs to the gym. It’s a good day.

Uber Pokemon
Catching Pokemon in my Uber

Thursday 2 pm (Indians and Pokemon Go)

I walk from the gym to Priaya’s house (about a 20 minute walk). While walking on the service lane in her neighborhood, a car pulls up next to me and is driving really slow. Shit. It’s probably some guys who think I’m a prostitute. I’m dressed in gym clothes but white girls don’t really walk down the street in Panchkula, India. So the assumption happens. Or just that I’m easy because I’m white. I mean, guys harass Indian girls, too. Everyone deals with it. So I stare at my phone and walk by the car quickly without looking. Nothing happens.

The cars moves forward, passing me, and then stops again. Maybe it’s a family just lost in the neighborhood? I stealthily look into the car as I pass this time, making sure to avoid contact. It’s a young man. Alone. On his phone. WAIT IS HE PLAYING POKEMON GO?!?!

The car drives off. Slowly. So slowly. But for a split second I’m sure I see the Pokemon Go style map on his phone.

No. It can’t be. It was probably Google Maps and he’s looking for directions and I just so want it to be Pokemon Go that I’m imagining things. 

IMG_0478
I could recognize the car by this weird straw hat in the back

I decided he is probably just lost. I also decide I’m still going to tell everyone he was playing Pokemon Go while driving around because that’s just so Indian to me.

He turns down a street. I keep waking and playing. The car drives back down a street near me. I cross in front of it. I stop and look at him. He looks at me. I squint my eyes suspiciously. Are you one of us? 

He drives down the road slowly. I realize I’m so involved in the game I’ve missed the turn for Priya’s house. I backtrack. On the road are a lot of government school children walking home from school. I can recognize them by the uniforms. I wonder if they will wonder what I am doing when I stop to-yes! My phone is buzzing I’m going to get another one!

I’m almost at Priya’s house, annoyed that, while most “stores” are Mundirs (Hindu temples) or Gurdwaras (Sikh temples) the Mundir next to Priya’s house is not.

Mundir Pokestops
Mundirs as Pokestops
IMG_0498
Mosque Pokestop
Gudwara
This Gurdwara is a “gym” (territory of high level Pokemon players)

So I can’t get more Pokemon balls. Why doesn’t she live near that big tank war memorial which is a Pokemon Store. Priya, you’re killing me with your living location. Then….Wait….that’s the same car again?! 

There he was. Parked in front of the Jaat Bhavan, swiping his finger wildly in an upwards direction. I started laughing. He is playing Pokemon Go in his car!!! He’s driving around looking for Pokemon. In his car! At 2pm on a Thursday! That’s so Indian! Who does that?

At that very moment my phone buzzes and I see a Pidgey and realize I do that. I play Pokemon at 2pm on a Thursday. 

As I’m standing in the middle of the road swiping he drives up closer and rolls down his window.

“Are you playing Pokemon?!”
“YES! I TOTALLY KNEW YOU WERE PLAYING!” I’m seriously so excited I want to go hug him. But I also know that’s not appropriate in India. One of his Pokemon is evolving so he sticks his phone out the window to show me and I run over to watch. Then a Zubat appears. I always have a hard time with those even though they are “green” and “easy.”

“Are you finding any over here?” He asks
“Yeah, hold on, there is one by your head.”

IMG_0479
I didn’t ask permission to take this

We chat a bit. Cars keep honking at me for standing in the middle of the street. I say I didn’t know the app was available here yet. He says he has had it since it came out last week and has 33 Pokemon. He asks how many I have and I say I don’t know (23 and I just started yesterday). I tell him I’m from the US. He asks what I’m doing in India. I fight the urge to say “collecting rare Pokemon.”

I go to Priya’s house to do work and he continues driving around. I walk completely past her house I’m so engaged. Then I knock on the wrong door since I find one on her stairs and I forget where she lives.

I find another Zubat in a pile of garbage.

IMG_0480
Behold, the cleanest city in India

India, these are the days I’m in love with you….

***********************************************

Update: I finally ran out of Pokeballs and went to what was labeled as “The British Library” but actually is the back entrance to a restaurant to get more. Very cultural.

IMG_0495
I also had a good time playing on the motorcycle until I ran out