A (Half) Day in Como

Reading Time: 6 minutes

After almost a month in Milan, I was itching to explore. Quarantine-ing for two weeks made me feel restless, and starting work soon after made me feel a bit overwhelmed, but I went into this experience telling myself these things –

A) Don’t feel pressure to go out “exploring” every single weekend if you don’t feel like it. Italy and surrounding countries will still be there, and you’ll get to them eventually.

B) Weekends are yours and yours only. Work is always going to have its demands, but keep it at work. Do your best and give it your all during the week, but the weekend is there to relax, recharge, and rest. Those PhD weekends working on quantifying images from microscopy even with Netflix in the background were not exactly “fun”, admit it 😂!

Despite starting my new job at a time when people were planning their grand vacations for Ferragosto, I didn’t feel comfortable asking for time off within a week of starting. Looking back, it would have been nice to plan a more leisurely, longer stay in a city outside of the Lombardy region, but I felt most comfortable staying local and going out on weekends when I could.

When my labmates inquured what I would be doing in my next “free weekend from quarantine”, I turned the question on them and asked where they would recommend I travel. One of them immediately spit out “Como!”, and I thought why not?

It sounded beautiful, wasn’t too far by train, and was near one of the supposedly most beautiful lakes in the country. The word for lake in Italian, lago, even sounds more regal than just plain ol’ “lake‘.

When I think of ‘lake’, I think of this stagnant body of water (Folsom Lake, CA, 2005)

I started my half-day “adventure” with a lazy wake-up call (8am for me, lol) and proceeded to take the green line to the closest transfer point for inter-regional trains.

I ended up getting off at Sesto San Giovanni station and made sure to get myself a take-away cappuccino before boarding my train.

I also had my mask!

From there, it was about a 1 hour train ride to Como Lago station, one of the most beautiful train stops I’d ever seen—perhaps it was the summer flora that did the trick:

Como Lago Station

From there, I followed the crowd of passengers from my train towards the city center…since I made the mistake of not downloading Google Maps for the area (I didn’t have data yet because I still had my US number…had to wait at least one more week before getting my Italian one 😂).

As I walked on through, I realized this was the beauty people talked about when they referred to Italy.

The narrow roads, the faded, but beautiful-in-its-own-right architecture. It made sense to take pictures here.

Once I got to the center, I wasn’t sure what to do first—eat? Wasn’t too hungry yet. Shop? Didn’t feel like it. Walk some more?

I opted for walking, and felt the need to inch away from the crowds. Even during pre-COVID times, I tried to keep a distance from crowds 😂.

I ended up walking up an incline into what seemed to be a private neighborhood. It was a long, winding road, and I could definitely see it being used by the locals for their daily cardio.

I love seeing funky buildings like these and wondering what it would be like to live on the top floor.

Bikers passed by me, as well as cars and their annoying honks, as I made my way up. I didn’t want to walk too far without knowing where I was headed, so I made the wise choice to walk back down and orient myself towards the lake instead.

Before turning back however, I had to document the fact that yes, I had stumbled upon something beautiful.

As I made my way back down, it looked as if the crowds had doubled. Orienting myself so the lake was in front and the city center was to the back of me, I decided to walk north starting from the right side of the lake.

I realized about 20 min in that the “better” side of the lake was the left one—after seeing what all was there from my current viewpoint.

As I got further away from the center (and the crowds, again) I was starting to feel hungry and agitated. There were scattered groups of teenagers chatting animatedly and elderly folk walking hand-in-hand, but I soon found an isolated place to rest for a bit.

My walk back to the center was slower in pace, but at least I was ready to eat something. I ventured back to where the shops were, and found a cute bakery:

Ripamonti Bakery

I wanted to use the opportunity to practice my Italian, but two things happened: 1) I happened to be in line right after a pushy Englishman who put no effort whatsoever to speak un po’ italiano. He demanded still water and extra forks. I was embarrassed for him, but mostly irritated by his behavior since the ladies behind the counter assumed I was a tourist who only chose to speak English as well, and 2) I pronounced olive wrong (I should have said “oh-lee-vuh”).

At least I had my (unpictured) foccacia olive alongside some gorgeous views.

After my lunch, I headed towards the left of the lake and the most exciting:

I didn’t care to hop onto a boat or go on a fancy lake tour—-taking my time by foot and soaking in the views on my own was enough for me.

Since it was a day in mid-July, the weather was starting to get unbearable. I had to take another break, but at least it was at an adorable stopping point.

For me, 4 hours was enough, especially going solo. Before leaving back to the station, I got myself a cup of mint gelato. I admired the front of the station before hopping back on the next train to Milan.

Little did I know that I’d be back very soon.

Since that first day in Como, things have taken wild turns on all accounts. Things that I never would have expected, but made me rethink what my priorities were for the time being in regards to travel.

View from the dock

I knew for sure that I wanted to try new activities, have novel experiences, and meet amazing people, so in that sense, I may have sacrificed the chance to explore more of Italy earlier in my journey. I’ve stayed “close to home” for the past (almost) six months in Italy out of choice due to work demands, my personal energy levels, and as already stated my new priorities, but I don’t regret this at all.

My (half) day in Como has led me to where I am right now.

The Path of a (Second Gen) Desi

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Conceptualized February 14, 2020

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I have a cousin on my mother’s side named Radhika (name changed for privacy). I remember playing with Radhika at extended relatives’ weddings in the early 2000s. I was only 7-years-old, but I picked up on several things:

✏️ Radhika was a “lucky” Indian-born millennial. She was born in ’86, meaning she was at the right age to enjoy the perks of India in the late-90s/early-00s: Hrithik Roshan movies, coding homework on a bulky PC monitor, and constant access to Cadbury’s chocolate (this was definitely a perk for her as seen through my 7-year-old eyes).

✏️ Though she never mentioned it, I had a feeling that she was mentally planning for a future abroad, even though she was always cognizant of the traditions at family functions I saw her attend.

✏️ I felt “special” to think that this teenager, six years older than me, wanted to play with me. Entertain me. She could have easily nestled into a group of older women and chatted with them in “adult fashion” versus running around with young children, but she chose me. And that made me feel damn good about myself.

At an age when my sis and I enjoyed life without questions…

It was almost as if I knew the change that was approaching. As I grew older, our trips to India remained consistent, but interactions with Radhika grew shorter to the point that they disappeared altogether. The last time I saw her in India was when I was 10, and when we came back when I was in middle school, she had already left for college.

Rifts between family members caused us to lose contact with her for sometime. Eventually, more than a decade later, she reappeared in my life.

She was married. She was settled in Dallas, in a large house. And she had a baby boy. Most would say she was living the dream many first-gens crave for…

She was only six years older than me, but she seemed to have checked off everything she needed to accomplish as a high-caste, desi woman by 30:

✔️ Go to college (undergrad), and specialize in IT, biology, or medicine, but preferably IT.

✔️ Find a job abroad. Any “first-world”, white-majority country should cut it. UK, Canada, Australia, sure, but you know “you’ve made it” if you settle in the US 🙄

✔️ Get married. Better to do it in your late-20s or you’re pushing it!

✔️ Have kids! Gotta propagate more STEM babies!

I word this “checklist” with dry humor, but also with a note of frustration. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy for Radhika. Though I feel angered that family rifts distanced us for some time, I’m glad that she reconnected with us, and that we at least have an idea of how she’s doing.

I’m more frustrated by the times I’ve felt this checklist imposed on me, despite being a second gen. Whether it be from distant relatives or my own father, it has been a struggle to demonstrate that my background, my trials and tribulations, and life goals for myself are not in line with the list desi parents normally have for their children…

✖️ I did go to undergrad, and majored in Cell Biology. My social experiences (or lack thereof) were abysmal, given that I was battling depression and an eating disorder. It was a miracle I was able to sit in for exams, let alone make it to class on some days…

✖️ Growing up in California was not bad, but I think I probably could have been happy anywhere as a kid, as long as my environment was nurturing and safe. Knowing that I lived in a state many people dreamed of living in made me feel guilty sometimes when I thought about how much I wish my parents had stayed in India before starting a family. In my formative years, I was dying to feel like I belonged in a culture of a country that held people wishing to be in my position. My Dad would never let me forget I was American…but if so, why did certain things that we never discussed in detail before have to follow…tradition?

✖️ Like, marriage. Or an “alliance” as my folks like to call it. As much as my father is a progressive and forward-thinking man, our recent, later-in-life talks about relationships and family have convinced me that he’d prefer that I marry a desi man—shared culture and all that (?).

And that’s honestly something I struggle with in my head…so much to the point that I’d rather not risk joining the dating game in case I fall for someone who’s not of my ethnicity…there’s no risk in not trying, right?

There’s also the fear and possible reality that I may not find someone who checks off on shared values, interests, and goals in life. He can be desi, but what’s the point if we have nothing in common at all?

And on top of that, what if…

✖️ I don’t ever feel the urge to have kids? I don’t feel like my biological clock is ticking (it’s more like I’m tapping the mic🎤 going, “Is this thing on?“). Perhaps not having a period for almost 6 years when I was in my late teens/early 20s due to an eating disorder created turbulence in my lady hormone profile (who knows?), but when I see a human baby, I’ll admit they’re cute, but my heart does infinite cartwheels and backflips when I see a doggo or a cat.

Only animals 🐕 have the power to make me smile my brightest 😄☀️

My heart yearns for an animal companion, or twenty, haha! I’d rather have a sanctuary of dogs, cats, pigs, cows, racoons, possums, capybaras, etc. than plan for a pregnancy and a baby 😮, if I’m being honest…

Maybe this will change as I get older, as I nestle into my 30s, but my personal experiences and life journey have made me develop a different mindset at this point. The thing is, I don’t know if that will change, and why should it have to 🤷?

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As much as I’ve tried to conform to what I thought was the ‘ideal’ path of becoming a desi woman, I realized that I would never be able to achieve this. As a young girl, I used to think that purposefully being quiet, saying that math was my favorite subject when it wasn’t, and not daring to even look at a boy was my way of signaling to the world that I was a good desi girl.

But fortunately, I woke up. In my mid-twenties, my tumultuous experiences in grad school, eating disorder recovery, and new, burgeoning crushes on men (emotionally immature) boys pushed me to change my perspective on things that I used to be stalwart about.

I’m a woman who’s not afraid to look up and dream big ❤️

It hit me when I was spending long days and nights in the lab, and my emotions were raw and I felt the loneliest I ever remember feeling. Why should I try to be something I’m not, especially for people who aren’t even supporting me at my lowest point in life? 

Slowly, I began to learn about self-acceptance, and owning my true self. My path has been different and will continue to be different, and I’ve realized that, even if it seems hard and could be difficult at times to convince those closest to me that my decisions are sound and right for me, I need to do what is best for me no matter what

And so this is where I currently stand: I am not getting married any time soon. And if I do, it’ll be based on shared interests, morals, and goals in life, not necessarily anything else…

I want a home full of animals to care for and love. I yearn for that more than having kids on my own. This might not be the “normal” goal for many, but it’s mine and one that I truly want to achieve. 

I’ve worked so hard for a PhD, so you bet I’d want to continue growing in my career. If that means traveling around the world and not settling in one place permanently, then maybe that’s what I’ll do. Mr. Right, if he exists, won’t mind the nomadic journey either 😉. 

If you’re a SGD struggling with your path, the best thing you can do for yourself is give your heart full rein.

What are your truest passions and dreams? If no one was around you to judge or say “no”, what would you do in a heart beat? 

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