⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆
Milan, Italy

Appreciating America

Reading Time: 8 minutes

It has been almost one year since I left for Italy—a year that oftentimes feels like ten.

In pre-pandemic times, my excitement for a new life experience in Italy was based on what I had read in travel memoirs, heard from Italian post-docs in my lab, and honestly, a number of baseless fantasies thought up by moi.

I had made trips to Europe before with family and by myself, and I was expecting Italy to match the classic, European allure of the other countries I had visited. Unfortunately, my expectations didn’t exactly match my imagination, and a lot of that was due to the pandemic. I’m still holding out on Rome though—I’m dying to know if the Eternal City matches up to all the pre-teen dreamy scenes of the Lizzie McGuire Movie…

When I see pastel-colored Vespas, I immediately think Lizzie McGuire Movie…

This, and many other observations and experiences over the past year have led me to actually feel something I never thought I would, to the extent that I feel it now.

I am very, very proud to be an American.

Part of being a good American is complaining about America. We are enlightened about our right to free speech from a very young age, and it’s something we shamelessly take for granted. And of course, I was one of those complaining folks. I would shake my head with embarrassment every time America ended up on the news for a radical remark a president had said, or for decisions the American government had made that other countries had the right to tease us about.

I once thought I was one of a country of uncultured swine, but that is too cruel of me to say. Especially since I now realize no country is perfect, including Italy. I’m not saying America is without its faults, in fact, incessant gun violence and a money-guzzling healthcare system are not things to brag about. But as an American citizen, I’ve come to realize that there are plenty of things I have taken for granted that living abroad has made me reflect on and “re-appreciate”.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————

1) Financial security…

Before coming to Italy and taking on a post-doctoral scientist appointment, I was given an award letter for my fellowship. At first glance, I thought WOW, they are paying me double what I’m getting now as a first-year post-doc/recent PhD grad!

Haha, there was a catch.

The full amount of the fellowship covered my employer’s expenses for having me on as an employee, taxes, and then finally my actual salary—which ended up being equivalent to a little bit more than what I was getting as a PhD student 😶😶😶.

I definitely was in shock upon realizing this, and before confirming my decision to take on the role, there was at least two weeks of back-and-forth with HR trying to understand where my fellowship money going. I was told by some Italian acquaintances that my net earnings were very good for Italy, which horrified me.

Good for Italy? Like, people are OK with this? I can’t imagine what someone working a “minimum wage” job takes home…

And perhaps the general population is “vabbe” about this because of communal, multi-generational living arrangements (i.e. NO RENT) and paying things “on the down-low with ca$h money” (i.e. what taxes?), but even so, I can’t see how this can be good economically in the long run…

This is not to say America is handing fistfuls of dollar bills to every person aged 0-99 (although 3 COVID-19 stimulus packages argue against this…), but there is definitely room to negotiate luxurious salaries with the right degree and industry. For example, an entry level medical science liaison, a high-profile position in the pharmaceutical industry that is often sought after by terminal degree holders, can earn on average $80-100k a year. In Italy, it’s around €55,000 a year, on average. Approximately $67,000 a year.

Personally speaking, I would jump on this amount given that my current job pays less, but it surprises me that there is such a striking difference in the starting salary of a highly-qualified position between two countries…

This discrepancy is also quite confusing to my cute neighbor.

2) Fashion freedom

Before moving to Italy (specifically Milan), I did give a good thought to reshuffling my wardrobe so that I fit the “bella figura” stereotype that is often associated with the culture.

But, I am a girl who lived in pajamas and running clothes for 3 months during the pandemic—what can I say? I’m very low maintenance!

I didn’t think twice about walking into a Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s after a long run when I was in the US. I’d be a sweaty mess, but I didn’t let that stop me from getting an ice cold kombucha and a vegan treat to-go. I suppose I didn’t have to be self-conscious about walking around town in workout gear if every other person was doing it too.

But Italy doesn’t seem to offer that “chill” attitude, not even if I’m actually working out! During a particularly hot workout one Sunday afternoon, I remember an elderly couple giving me side-eye because of my short running shorts and tank top. It reminded me of the many judgmental desi aunties I’ve come across over the years, but I was honestly surprised to come across this in a “Western” country like Italy.

Judgy people exist everywhere, but I can’t exactly say I feel comfortable wearing sweaty running clothes to take care of errands in Milan’s city center vs. somewhere in SoCal. I suppose it serves as an excuse to freshen and dress up for an otherwise mundane occasion, but there is something about convenience and a relaxed attitude when it comes to “American fashion” that I do kinda miss…

Actually running 🏃🏾‍♀️ around the Duomo in workout clothes is one thing, but stares are guaranteed if you stay in said clothes after working out and continue on with errands 🤷🏽‍♀️

3) Vegan options and freedom to be a foodie!

Southern California spoiled me when it came to vegan food options—as long as I frequented Whole Foods and Sprouts, as well as bookmarked up-and-coming vegan cafes and restaurants spanning the Los Angeles and Orange County areas, I was all set. I have always been a vegetarian, but picking the vegan option whenever possible has always been my prerogative. And without a doubt, this was so much easier to do in the USA…even when I spent 3 months in Oklahoma!

Milan does have a few vegan outlets, but the quirky idea of “vegan-izing” everyday meals just hasn’t caught on in Italy as it has in the US. I will admit however that when it does come to proper labeling of supermarket items, Italy does a good job of saying “adatto ai vegetariani” or “vegano” on the label. As a strict vegetarian, it can be troublesome when simply “caglio” (rennet) is listed on an ingredient label, but I have found many brands that list “caglio microbio” which makes things less complicated.

And yes, I’m all for the nut-based crema spalmabile (especially pistacchio!!), rich scoops of neighborhood gelati, and Sicilian cannoli, but the incomprehensible food “rules” like “cappuccinos after noon are sin” or “pineapple on pizza deserves jail time” will never, ever make sense to me.

Even though I personally believe everyone has the right to have a cappuccino at any time of day, this is one “rule” I have ended up following due to daily routine. Sometimes the timing works out and a pistacchio latte is able to work it’s way into your day 😊

I just know that if a country is vehemently unaccepting of pineapple on pizza and BBQ sauce, I really do have to applaud America as being the land of the free (for foodies!). 😅

4) Feeling myself

I think the realization that I would always be innately me, wherever in the world I went, has hit me the hardest from all of these items listed.

In the US, I tended to lean towards the introverted side of the spectrum, but around friends and people I trusted, I was a chatty, witty, and incredibly fun person to be around. In professional settings, I felt absolutely comfortable speaking to colleagues, giving presentations, and mentoring my juniors.

And I believe part of this is because of my strong command of English. It is right now the only language I speak fluently, and it is the only way for me to express myself. My forays in writing have only enhanced my exposure to the language, and the fact that the US adamantly proclaims English as the one and only official language of the land makes things easier when it comes to communication and expression.

In Italy however, I feel like this identity is not quite the same. Opportunities to improve my Italian have been minimal, and the interactions I do have with people I come across on a daily basis have been restricted to English. Despite this, I oftentimes feel like I have to hold back when it comes to my true self. American slang and references can leave people lost, and so I’m not left with much to hold an “engaging” conversation. When I do attempt Italian, I am shut down when the person on the other end switches to English without giving me a chance. Just like in America, patience can be a hard thing to find in Italy.

I believe if I am given the opportunity to express myself in the truest sense, it will be possible to find and enjoy the person I am here, but it also depends on if I will ever find my people here. Friends who understand my humor, share similar interests, like the same TV shows (it doesn’t help that I like the American shows that have yet to cross the Atlantic on Netflix…). Social media and women’s’ networking circles can only do so much—at the end of the day, new, trusting relationships* require work which can be utterly exhausting.

Milano Navigli on a very hot June day…

*I should add that there is one relationship in my life that has blossomed since my stay in Italy, and it has allowed me to be myself to the fullest☺

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————

Maybe a lot of this reflection is fueled by homesickness, and the fact that I haven’t seen my family in almost a year. Even though I’ve lived on my own since 2014, this is the first time I’ve been oceans apart from the people I feel most comfortable around.

Maybe a visit home would help give me a much-needed reset to tackle Italy again under new and improved, recovery-from-COVID-19 circumstances. This past year has been a rough ride emotionally, and I’m sure this has also influenced a lot of the opinions detailed in this post.

Still, I won’t deny the fact that living abroad—living in Italy—has given me a new-found appreciation for the country of my birth: something I have struggled with for years, but now I find easy to accept, with open arms.

Australia

Guest Post: Connecting Beyond Conversations – South Asian Community in the Midst of COVID-19

Reading Time: 3 minutes

I’m pleased to present a guest post by Joseph F. Kolapudi, a fellow second gen desi based in Australia! When Joseph reached out to me eager to share his thoughts on how connection in our community is essential—especially during challenging times like a global pandemic—I couldn’t refuse. I’m thrilled to feature Joseph’s piece here on Second Gen Desi—it’s definitely worth a read!

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

Community. It’s what brings us together in the toughest of times. During natural disasters, world wars, political unrest – it can be the anchor we look for when we are overwhelmed in a sea of anarchy. However, what happens when the one thing we take for granted is distanced from us?

During these days of what can be described as some of the most uncertain circumstances, our current situation in which we find ourselves seems to be a reality that is too hard to understand. But challenging times seem to be the only constant of our present age.

Conversations, especially ones that cross borders, cultures, and caveats to enter into the homes and living rooms of our existences, especially for second generation desis, can be some of the most engaging and most honest conduits of truth that we cling to in these tough times.

I recently connected with a fellow second-generation desi who had been struggling due to COVID-19. Despite our differences in time zones, country borders and situations, I understood the importance that our shared connection had in making them feel valued and appreciated. Although our connection was limited by these factors, we still had commonalities that we could express and seek to understand together. Fast forward to the present day, and she managed to move to the same city, and I was able to connect her to a wider community in which she has now found greater solace and similarities.

These are the conversations that we have a hard time engaging in, especially in the midst of a global pandemic. Though cultural conversations have been a hallmark of our times, what happens when those conversations turn inward towards introspection?

Personally speaking, it’s something I’ve been doing a lot of lately. About how second generation desis can learn to code-switch without even thinking twice, but wonder why others can’t do so without thinking about it long and hard. How we can know a person’s ability to connect with those like us, but we somehow find it increasingly difficult to decipher where they feel more at home. How some people can look past a person’s background or status, but fail to see the struggle despite the façade of success.

We need to look at how we can take our conversations from small talk to street talk. From a person-to-person experience to a communal reality. From connections in a corner of the community hall, to one that’s a worldwide phenomenon that every desi can resonate with in their own, unique way.

Our world is hurting right now, but there is a hope that what lies beyond tomorrow is worth fighting for. It begins with honest conversation, but it doesn’t stop there. Through our own, personal connection to others, we can see the light that God has placed inside each of us.

We can be the community that comes together for true connection; and it starts with us.

Joseph is a second-generation desi currently living in Australia. He currently works as a Project Director of a nonprofit by day, and a cultural connoisseur of Indian cuisine by night.
He also loves exploring different cultures and countries whenever he is able, and recently returned to India for his wedding. As a writer by profession, he prefers to explain stories
through the written word, and looks forward to connecting with the wider desi diaspora!

Sydney, Australia

The Meaning of Self-Love

Reading Time: 5 minutes

A special guest post by Mary Liu, founder of Soy & Spice Lingerie

I came to Australia at the age of 8 from China, and as a child trying to fit into a completely new culture and environment, I often found myself trying to disassociate from my cultural identity as a Chinese. Growing up in Adelaide, a small and quiet city where there aren’t nearly as many Asians as there are in Sydney meant I was teased and bullied for the way I looked. Throughout my primary school years and half-way through my high school years, I never felt like I fit in. If you are interested in reading more about this, I wrote an article on Soy & Spice Lingerie’s blog about my bullying experience.

Surrounded by Anglo children who looked completely different from me made me question my appearance and what is considered ‘beautiful’. I’ve always been quite small-busted and throughout my adolescent years, I would always be conscientious about it. During those years, a padded bra would be like a second layer of skin on me, and I would feel extremely uncomfortable to wear anything else underneath my clothes that was not. 

I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that I grew up in an Asian household, but at almost every family and friends gathering, at least one aunty or uncle will make a comment or share their opinion on some aspect of all the kids’ lives. Whether that’s your studies, your work, your love life or the way you look. For me, a constant comment that gets made is my weight. Seeing as I have always been quite petite, the comment “you should eat more” is something I hear far too often. This made me even more conscientious about my overall weight and especially my bust size. I remember having to compare them to all the other kids at every gathering, which then led me down a dark spiral of self-consciousness and made me feel extremely anxious. Whether you also grew up in an Asian household or in a different cultural family setting, if anyone reading this can relate, please reach out as I would love to hear your story.

My whole extended family in China & I in 2018

I remember walking past the non-padded bra section of department stores and feeling so tempted to browse around and grabbing a set to try. However, there was always this voice in my head that made me hesitate. So time and time again, I would find myself ending up at the padded bra section and then walking out of the store holding a bag with a set inside it.

It wasn’t until I reached my final year of high school that I started to appreciate and love the way I looked. I stopped comparing myself with others and began focusing on myself. I realised that my body probably won’t change too much from this point onwards, so I should just embrace it the way it is. When I came to that realisation, my own world changed. I had a new sense of confidence and I wasn’t afraid to show it. I wore garments that accentuated my bust and my body shape, and I loved it! With that, the anxiety from the comments of aunties and uncles faded away—I would instead just nod and agree, but wouldn’t take the comments to heart. 

I understood that the aunties and uncles comments weren’t really aimed at attacking me in any way. They were saying those things because they care, and it’s the way their parents, aunties and uncles also spoke to them. For them it’s normal, but to us, sometimes it can be taken as a judgement, and it hurts. 

This cycle is something I want to break and I wholeheartedly believe that we can. We shouldn’t be bound by what others think of us, we should be able to live our lives the way we want. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and as long as we ourselves accept and embrace the way we look, that should be all that matters. As we will be parents ourselves one day, if not already are parents, we should have the courage in pushing this boundary and breaking away from this cycle to set a new norm. 

After I came to the realisation that each and everyone of our bodies are different and we are beautiful in our own unique ways, I remember walking back into a department store searching for a new bra and going straight to the non-padded section. Browsing around a section of the store that I had always walked past made my heart pounce. I felt nervous but so liberated at the same time. I remember finding this gorgeous, soft white Elle Macpherson demi-cup bra and after trying it on, I immediately fell in love. For a teenager, the price of the bra was way out of my budget so I had no choice but to put it back. This experience however, opened up a whole new world for me, not just in terms of my bra selections but it also showed me that I can push my own boundaries and I shouldn’t be afraid to try new things.

Mary Liu, Founder of Soy & Spice Lingerie

These experiences and my love for lingerie led me to start Soy & Spice Lingerie. I wanted to create a line that symbolises the empowerment of women to have confidence, to love themselves for who they are and to have the courage in pushing their boundaries and trying new things out. Through wearing Soy & Spice Lingerie, I want each woman to truly feel confident in their own skin, to appreciate and embrace the body that they are in, and to have the courage in pushing their own boundaries, challenging themselves in new ways and to inspire those around them to do the same.

Model Carrie in Soy & Spice Lingerie’s Wild Camelia Bralette Set in white,
$55AUD, XS, S, M, L, XL

For our current collection, please see here.

To further promote the importance of self-love, we have created a 5 days self-love challenge with quick and simple daily activities that gets sent directly to your mailbox every morning. The idea behind this challenge is to show you that loving yourself is easy. If you perform at least one of these 5 simple activities daily, it will form a habit that will bring you long term benefits. If you would like to join this challenge, please sign up here. To thank you for taking the time for yourself, if you complete the whole 5 days, you go into the draw to win one of our sets for free!

I hope you enjoyed Mary’s post! Please leave a comment and check out Soy & Spice Lingerie (as well as follow on Instagram—@soyspicelingerie) to stay up-to-date on the brand’s burgeoning projects and collections!

Berkeley, California

Dear Mom,

Reading Time: 3 minutes

I will not apologize for the words I wrote before, and the words I write today.

There’s nothing to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of here.

I never developed a “normal” relationship with my mother, because schizophrenia doesn’t deal such fair cards.

Now, I am 28-years-old, and our relationship is more like what is found between acquaintances. The figurative rocks we threw and threatening words we spewed at one another are a thing of the past.

But, boy what a past it was.

There were so many questions she left unanswered. So much guilt I had to internalize. Chronic days of pain I had to endure…

I am not responsible for the aftermath of my upbringing. I never asked to be born into this world. It was her responsibility to make sure I grew up to be the “good desi girl” society expects…

But instead, we fought battles. We shouted until our lungs collapsed. Played mind games until my head hurt.

I couldn’t keep up when I was drowning in a lake of my own tears…

To this day, she doesn’t know what I do for work. Who my friends in LA were. What caused me pain or joy or fear or hate in the past five years. What medications I’m taking. Why I decided to do a PhD.

And eventually, I learned to be okay with that. I was lucky and fortunate to have an amazing father—who pretty much took on the role of “mom” and “dad”. Honestly, as I got out of the house at 22 and began a new life away from “home”, I didn’t want to fight anymore. If it meant not putting in the energy to fight with her demons, that’s what I needed to do.

To preserve every ounce of sanity that I could.

But every young girl—from her pre-teen years through college especially—would no doubt thrive with mom at her side.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

Unlike those around me—who believe ignoring the issue will make it disappear—I choose to showcase the words that came pouring from my heart 7 years ago. During a life-changing weekend connecting with other South Asians, I built up the courage to share so much about a rocky home life that I kept in for too long.

I felt a strong urge to pen down the words I used to describe to the group about how she made me feel. I wrote a literal letter to my mother, but never gave it to her.

I knew that her paranoia, obsessive-compulsive, and erratic, nocturnal behavior would not disappear on the command of a few words on paper.

But for me, it was a release.

And I do not apologize for verbalizing what was in my heart, because these words were the truth of my experience…

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

July 28, 2013

Los Angeles

An ABCD with an ED

Reading Time: 5 minutes

This was a post I wrote back in February 2018, and it was featured on Brown Girl Magazine’s website. It was a piece I put my heart into, so I wanted to give it a home here on SGD, where it fits perfectly.

For six years of my life, from the formative years of 18-23, my soul had disappeared. I’m not sure what was left in my weak, thin shell, but I carried on, day by day, in tortured isolation not knowing any better.

In the years that I needed a mother the most, I was losing her to schizophrenia. I spent my years in middle and high school playing a live version of Minesweeper, and no matter how many times I adapted to the rules of this challenging game, something always set her off. It would have been easier to follow her bizarre rules and give in to her unrealistic demands like my father did, but I put up a fight and collected wounds as a result.

I’m not sure what was left in my weak, thin shell, but I carried on, day by day, in tortured isolation not knowing any better.

My mother began to stay up late into the night, her eyes glazed over a fluorescing TV screen, constantly rewinding 30 seconds of a Dora the Explorer episode and scribbling into her notebook the messages she was receiving. We would have shouting matches too, almost like siblings, and my younger sister coped by retreating to her bedroom and locking the door. I was losing the strength to keep up, and the schizophrenic side of my mother was winning.

Fighting her was proving to be worthless, but internalizing my emotions seemed to be something I could manage—something I could control. Assigning myself a daily calorie limit and keeping a detailed food journal may have begun as “a fresh start” and a way to “regain control” of my dysfunctional environment, but the numbers soon began to take a hold of me.

There is a way out: July 2015 -> February 2018

The amount of calories I allotted myself each day was barely enough for a toddler to be sustained on, and I was forcing myself to divide that number up into meals throughout the day. It was a challenge turned obsession, and it was the driving force of my isolation. In college, my roommate was out with friends playing soccer on the intramural team and returning at 2am from a frat party, while I swallowed two pills of melatonin and was in bed by 8pm, pressing on my concave stomach in vain thinking it would stop the hunger pangs.

My morning ritual required measuring tape and a mirror. I never worried about my arms or wrists, but when it was time to examine my lower half, I double and triple-checked the circumference of my thighs: upper, middle, and right above the knee. My hands would land on my hips and I would sigh over the weird dips and curves they seemed to make.

An eating disorder may have overshadowed my life, but depression was laced through it. There was one day in particular I collapsed onto the kitchen floor, tears falling down my cheeks, but not feeling one ounce of sadness. Perhaps it was my body’s mechanism of trying to release something that just wasn’t there. My stomach grumbled from the lack of food inside of it, but I lay on the floor motionless. I was under a rain cloud I could not take cover from, and I could not shake it away.

There is a way out: August 2015 -> December 2019

When something causes you to become so inert that your insides are physically, mentally, and emotionally wiped clean, it’s hard to imagine coming back to reality. For six years, my good days included saving enough calories for a meager 300 calorie dinner, or being able to treat myself with a protein bar alongside black Splenda-sweetened coffee for breakfast. In contrast, I experienced too many bad days waking up at 4am and consuming my daily intake in cereal and yogurt because the feeling of hunger was too strong. Too many moments of hunger-fueled anger and regressing into a child, shivering on the couch while my Dad feverishly worked to prepare the only meal I would allow myself to eat for dinner.

I consider myself to be an optimistic person, but I never thought a full recovery from an eating disorder could ever be possible, and so it was hard to believe that my epiphany happened gradually in October of 2015. I came across blogs and Instagram accounts of young women who had chosen recovery, as well as scientific articles describing the necessity of weight restoration, refeeding, and intuitive eating. I was intrigued, and curiously thought what would happen if I embraced recovery…

When I did embark on recovery road, it was as if an alien had entered my brain and everything was on autopilot. I found myself willing to eat double the amount of the daily calorie intake I was used to, but as the months went by, I realized I was going to be hitting road bumps very soon.

There is a way out: May 2015 -> December 2018

2016 was rough, and now being weight-restored, I didn’t feel like I could justify eating “crazy” amounts of food. I felt tight in everything I wore, and I wanted to blame it all on water retention, but most of the pounds were real and necessary weight gain. And while I felt like I was constantly battling myself in regards to food and body image, I made one of the best decisions in my recovery journey and sought out therapy. I was lucky to find a therapist and group therapy that focused on recovering from eating disorders, but it seemed like the battle would never end. Oftentimes it seemed like my body image was the worst it had ever been, and it left me doubting my decision to recover. I had days where I “missed my old body” and looking at pictures—even from months prior—left me feeling so upset with myself.

But eventually, I was able to grow. People, and my relationships with them became more important. Laughs over lunch replaced calculations. Attention was something I used to crave, but not verbally request, and while it feels nice to be thought about, it is no longer something I desire. I can look at myself in mirrors and reflective surfaces and be content with what I see. The moments I harangue myself over the thickness of my thighs or the curves of my hips are few and far between. Take it from someone who never thought she’d be happy with her hips, who doesn’t have a nurturing relationship with her mother, and feels disconnected from her Desi heritage in most aspects: a complete recovery from an eating disorder is absolutely possible. I may have had what many still refer to as a “white girl’s disease”, but it made me a stronger brown woman.

STRONGER BROWN WOMAN.

My fellow SGD ladies (and gents)—if you pictured yourself as you read this, my heart goes out to you so, so much. Reach out to me. There are ways out of this. Just don’t give up 🧡

Icons made by Good Ware from www.flaticon.com