Tag Archives: memories

Time Stamped in a Different Time Zone

January 29, 2014 Shilpa Rao Leave a comment

This February will mark my two-year anniversary of booking a one-way ticket to Bangalore, India, ultimately leaving New York and my friends behind to chase a newfound interest in helping women’s rights abroad.

A lot has changed since the nights I spent in New York drunkenly crying on my bedroom floor, chain-smoking Camels to temper the taste of feeling pathetic, frustrated, and directionless in my mouth. Full disclosure: I listened to the entire Drake album on repeat for months, too.

And, yet, this March marks my return back to the U.S. to pursue graduate school. Though my intention behind the move was to donate my skills, the reality is that I took more lessons from India than I dished out.

India has gone above and beyond in delivering the unique experience that I desperately craved, but Frommer’s did not tell me how to handle spending the night in a lodge run by an oiled down 12-year-old boy, sleeping on a blood-stained bed sheet. Women’s interest blogs did not guide me on how to hitchhike on a 16-year-old’s motorcycle to get away from a group of leering men that started following me out of the gym. Expat groups did not tell me that before I even started my first day at work, my colleague would be kind enough to invite me to his daughter’s first birthday with the rest of the team.

But I don’t want to focus on the lessons of humility, patience and sanitation that I’ve learned from moving abroad. It would be trite to remind you to eat only cooked food or observe the local attire. I don’t have photos albums of sepia-filtered temples or me doing the downward dog on the beach. #princessjasmine

All those things could be learned and recreated from a Lonely Planet forum or even a short-term visit to a foreign country. What I have experienced from being away from the U.S. is something that no amount of literature or conversation could have prepared me for: transience.

The life of an expat can be inherently sad and lonely. Unless you moved abroad with your family or plan on settling long-term in a new place, you immediately realize the implications of having a time-stamped relationship with your host country.

Almost everything in my current life has a clear expiration date, except for ironically, the milk (seriously, why doesn’t it ever go bad here?). I meet a fellow expat and, by the time I learn his last name, I also know his departure date and what airline he is flying. The takeaway? Always fly Emirates.

I find investing in these friendships exhausting because I wonder if I made any stable or consistent connections in the last two years. Are we all rushing into fake intimacy because it is better to be slamming shots under the guise of friendship than it is to be the lonely girl at the bar ordering white wine…. again?

Or can six months of friendship be a solid enough foundation to keep the momentum going for years to come? After all, those six months were littered with experiences like holding my French friend’s hand in the ambulance as we rushed to the emergency room to avoid a potential splenectomy. Or sitting behind my Australian friend on a scooter as we navigate a new beach town. And then I remember that our home countries are scattered all over the world. Our unifying thread is the time we spent in India. I don’t look for lifetime friendships in everyone I meet, but when I met you on Saturday and I know you leave in three weeks, I can’t help but ask, ‘Why bother?

Those restless nights in New York made me desire something else, but only professionally. I never questioned whether my personal life would turn into a revolving door of faces and names, nor did I imagine that I’d spend consecutive months with someone to never see them again. In essence, I took everyone for granted.

But this transience, she plays dirty. She’ll make you feel crazy and stupid until you are desperately refreshing Kayak for a good deal home. And just when your third bout of diarrhea hits from eating at the alleged five-star restaurant in the Sheraton and you’re stuck at home missing your friend’s goodbye party because a cab strike prevents you from physically attending, she comes over, sits on your lap, and gives you the ride of her life: Oh, a group of you guys are going to Goa this weekend? Sure, let me pack really quickly. Dinner at the Taj? Good thing I’m driving by RIGHT THIS SECOND.

Maybe she isn’t soo bad.

After all, transience has also shown me the beauty in expat life. The constant merry-go-round of people in my life has forced me to enjoy each outing, each dinner, and even each bathroom trip for what it actually is. There is no false promise of the next hangout or a future trip. As corny as it may sound: moving away has forced me to actually live in the present.

And as you enjoy the third round of sangria at Sunday brunch with a group of people who you met three days ago at a some guy’s house party who is moving back to Canada next week, you also realize that life’s truest moments are those you spend with your fellow transient strangers. There are no guards up when talking to each other or feelings of shyness to cut through because you literally don’t have the time for the initial, get-to-know-you-slowly, game. The second you realize that all you have are mere seconds to get to know someone, you stop sizing each other up and down and approach with more confidence and acceptance: commes des F down, we’re just doing dinner.

Now, I’m contemplating what profound insight to leave you with because my boyfriend just came home. I’m watching him change from a suit into a t-shirt—not because I’m completely creepy (well, okay, that too), but to take in this moment, because we may not be together after March, when I return home and he stays in India. He is an expat, too, from New York. I guess I really couldn’t leave New York behind.

This is when I want to slap transience for her loud mouth taunting, for filling me with doubts and “Why bothers?” We may be tragically time stamped. That ticking clock may force me to really—no, really—spend time with him here. But that’s all any of us ever have: today and an uncertain future. So I’m here now, today, with my own departure date. And all it took to appreciate this moment was to leave everything in my past.

Photo by Henri Legentil

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How one person experienced loss and death

November 15, 2013 Kelly Danver Leave a comment

Photo by Rob Adams

I can’t recall the first time I realized that everyone was going to die. In a way, I still don’t believe it. It’s not something I dwell on—but on the loneliest days or the slowest weeks, I come to the realization that there is a clock ticking somewhere just for us. But just as quickly, I push it out, burying it somewhere in the recesses of my mind. And yet, despite this, I do think there was one moment in my life that defined death, and for me that happened when I was 17, when my grandmother died.

This was the first time that someone very close to me had passed away. Death had been around me before; I grew up with a 24-hour news cycle, after all. People die all the time: it’s a natural and inevitable part of life. But, until that day in January, I had not personally experienced the finality of it. My grandmother was in my life at one moment and then in the next, she was gone. It is such a weird and relative concept that it’s hard to put into words. My mom, dad and I were all in church, when we found out. I was rehearsing with the choir, when suddenly my dad appeared behind me. He told me she was gone and I just kind of stared at him. Then I remembered my mom and what she must be going through and I leaped into action—I had to keep moving so I wasn’t overwhelmed with shock.

My experience with my grandmother’s death was, I think, pretty average. Not to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, but my grandmother, at 88, was living in a nursing home and was getting ready to move to hospice care when she died. My family was “prepared” for it and we had been making arrangements for a while. But there was still a big part of me that couldn’t imagine a day when my grandmother wouldn’t be around. She had been a constant presence in my life since I was born. Her life was so interesting, and she was so interesting, and seeing that taken away from the world was heartbreaking. She lived through some of the more tumultuous decades of the past century and, growing up, she would alway s tell me stories about traveling through, and living in, Europe. We’d play cribbage and she would teach me how to throw classy dinner parties. She was my grandmother.

For me, the hardest part was seeing how difficult my grandmother’s death was for my mom. She was so sad. Even though I was still in shock, I focused on keeping myself together so I could make her mother’s death easier to bear. That day was a blur of documents and plans for the funeral, which was the easiest part of the whole experience, in my opinion. But then we went home, where there was nothing to distract us anymore. Nothing I had ever experienced could prepare me for the sheer emptiness I felt during that downtime. To cope with this, I did what I usually do whenever I feel sad: I retreated. The next day, I made a CD of depressing music, got in my car, and drove around for a while—stopping when I wanted to, but mostly just thinking. There were a lot of things that I wished I had asked my grandmother, wished I had told her. I wanted to know what she thought about growing old? Did time eventually slow down? What was her favorite memory? And I wanted to tell her I loved her. But mostly, I just wished I had spent so much more time with her.

Her death made me think about how I treat the people in my life and I’ve since realized that I approach my relationships selfishly. I seek out people who make me feel good, who make me want to be better, who inspire me to do good things. But I forget most of the time the effect I have on them and how our relationship is bigger than both of us. If you only pay attention to your friends when they are physically right beside you, you run the risk of missing important connections with them. By thinking and observing people outside of your relationship, you could potentially discover more about them and yourself as well. Taking time to listen and to cultivate my relationships has helped me connect on multiple levels. There are some people I would have never thought I could be friends with until I gave them the time to give them a chance and realize that everyone has something to give if you listen long enough. I truly believe we will have fewer regrets in life if we listen, interact, and forgive those we spend time with.

When someone you love has died, you miss everything—and I mean everything—about him or her. Playing, laughing, disagreeing, even fighting with them. It’s an ache that sits right on your heart. I do not say this to make it harder for those who are missing someone, but I do want you know that missing someone doesn’t go away. Missing that person who died will always hurt some part of you. But it doesn’t have to make you miserable, or make you retreat, or make life harder for you. By missing them, you can remember that the person you love, even in death, is making you a better person, simply by reminding you that life is short, and that we all want to leave this Earth, and our friends, a little better than how we found them.

Relationships

Appreciating a Life

March 13, 2013 Christina M. Tedesco 1 Comment

The summer of 2011, my brother and sister-in-law announced that I would be blessed with another nephew or niece. When you hear joyful news like this, excitement and happiness run through your entirE body, leaving no room for any negativity. After all, this is joyous news—why would hesitation and doubt even enter your mind?

A few months prior to his birth, my brother and sister-in-law visited the hospital to find out if their little bundle of joy was a boy or a girl. The doctor brought two pieces of news: they were having a boy, but there were complications. This tiny little boy, only a few months along, had something called spina bifida and was going to need prenatal surgery 20 weeks into the pregnancy. The rare surgery could only be performed in three hospitals in the entire country, so they picked up their things and temporarily moved from Buffalo, NY, to Cincinnati, OH.

The day of the surgery came along, and with many people praying and rooting for baby Sebastian, he got through the surgery like a champ! His delivery date was moved a couple weeks earlier to the end of January.

We celebrated, but in the snap of a finger, things changed, and the doctors realized they would have to deliver him immediately. Sebastian Rocky Galen Tedesco joined us on November 4^th, 2011 (named after the great Rocky Balboa since they were both fighters and both champs).

With the happiness and joy came fear and concern. As much as we wanted Sebastian with us, we knew that this early appearance would only bring more complications.

But each day, Sebastian seemed to be getting better and better. He even started breathing on his own! There was still a long road ahead, but he was ready for the ride. Then, December 3^rd complications arose and we were told he had a 50/50 chance. As the day went on, that chance decreased until the doctor took Sebastian off life support and allowed him to leave this world in his mother’s warm embrace.

Within the 29 days that Sebastian was alive, however, he lived a full life. He has impacted hundreds of people, young and old: family, friends, and even strangers would approach us, sharing how Sebastian had changed their lives. Through him, a foundation called the Sebastian Galen Westgate Foundation was created to raise money for children and families who need support. Though Sebastian is no longer physically here, he is still working in this world – through me, through his family, through his foundation, through the people he never met. Since the Sebastian Galen Westgate (SGW) Foundation was created, we have raised money for numerous causes.

For example, we recently supported a little girl with cancer and her family. Though we cannot understand what her family is going through, we can relate to the struggles that come along with sick family members and understand that with these hardships come financial difficulties.

Last year, we participated in an event called March for Babies, which raises money for premature babies every year. We formed teams in Sebastian’s name in California and New York. We raised thousands and thousands of dollars for children born prematurely. People we never even met donated to the cause and even signed up to take part in the 3 mile walk.

When the tragic school shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School took place, the SGW Foundation raised funds from all over the country and sent a gift card to the elementary school for new school supplies for the children.

In just over a year since Sebastian has been gone, already so much good has come from his time here. We know the future holds many more opportunities to spread Sebastian’s story and to reach out and help others where help is needed.

This small boy, weighing less than two pounds, taught me so much. He taught me that there’s no use in dwelling on things out of our control because they will happen anyway. He taught me to appreciate even the smallest things in life. And perhaps the greatest thing he taught me is to never take anything for granted, because things big and small can enter and leave your life in a flash.

These may sound like clichés, but because of Sebastian think I finally understand what it all means. Sebastian accomplished so much in his short time here and, when it is my time to go, I want to be able to say the same about myself: that I lived my life like Sebastian did his, fighting till the end.

Emerson said, “It is not the length of life, but the depth of life.” Nothing could be truer: someone who is here for under a month can do more good in this world than many people can do in decades.

When someone close to us leaves this world, it’s okay to be negative. It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to be angry, to think it’s unfair. It’s okay to not understand. It’s okay to not get over it right away. It’s okay to dwell on it. It’s okay to question it. Not only is it okay – it’s normal. Many have experienced losing someone, but no one has had the same experience as you, no one can tell you how you are supposed to feel. But one thing that can help is to not let these feelings take over, and instead look at what you learned from the person you lost and keep it with you always. Losing Sebastian was the hardest thing I have ever experienced, but I get through by looking at his life and how much his has affected mine. It helps to not only think about the good memories, but think of what he meant to me and to others who knew him.

The hardest part is not to see what they have done in your life, but learn to appreciate it. To live life the way we know we should, to be able to release the negativity and to grasp what living truly means. Often we realize opportunities when we’ve already missed the opportunity, but it’s never too late to start appreciating life and living it to its fullest. To break through from those things that are holding us down, and to open our eyes and realize we only have one chance, so we should try to do it right. Do the things you know your loved one would look at you and smile for doing. And remember even though they are not here with us, they are still here within us. If we keep them alive, they can never truly die.

Photo by Remi Coin