A grief no one talks about
Season two's fifth newsletter cuts too deep in all the ways that you wish you didn't have to confront before bringing you home
Greetings dear dreamers
Welcome to the second season of The Abandoned Dreams Collective.
There are themes and bits in today’s piece that hit too close to home and therefore I do not consider myself ready to write about them. Instead, to start off today’s piece I’m going to talk about taking up space.
Maybe I’m just talking about me and my experiences while growing up, but I believe that young women, especially young South Asian women are not encouraged to take up space of our own volition.
We’re trained to look at the environment, at what’s available and then shrink ourselves and our needs into that. This is so we cause other people, the space, the universe the least amount of inconvenience possible - all at our own expense.
I’ve felt myself become this person when I’m the tag-along with a new group of people answering “I’m okay with anything”, when I’m out with a boy hiding my grimace as I agree with him “yeah lets just see how it goes”, when I’m in my job offer discussion fighting back tears as I’m told “that’s all we can pay right now - that’s our salary bracket, its just policy”. I’m writing here today to say its all bullshit.
We deserve to be told that we deserve it all, that we can exercise our needs even if they might be irrational to an uneducated eye, that we need to stand up for ourselves more because no one else is going to, that mildly inconveniencing someone else is okay - they will look after themselves, we just need to look after ourselves.
I swim regularly and my current apartment building has a small pool so I swim around the edges of the pool in ovals. Old me would seethe silently when more people would come into the pool in her way, drawing up a scenario in which the interlopers drown to death or lose their jobs so they have to move out of this building- all still while shrinking myself to shortened laps to not come in their way, to protect myself. Current me continues swimming in my oval, charging ahead in my breast stroke even if the other pool occupant is barely a foot away, even if there’s a risk of collision. They probably hate me, wish I would drown or lose my job but for the first time in…ever, I don’t really care. Yes, this is an extreme example and something 90% people would probably find obnoxious, but I’m okay with that. This is the best way I’ve found for me to get my workout in and until there’s no outright conflict, I will continue doing it and continue feeling free from expectations and bindings while doing so.
Maybe this is the first step I need to translate into the other parts of life as well. Lets see, lets hope.
In this week’s impassioned piece, writer Vrinda describes how she charts the arduous, gut wrenching path towards reclaiming herself against expectations.
A grief no one talks about
The COVID years changed things for all of us and the disease has left its impact in more ways than one. We have all lost more than we can imagine. We lost people, relationships, opportunities, life stages. So did I....and, it knocks me off my feet every day. It wasn’t the kind of loss you read about most during the time but it did take place because of all the damage Covid wrought.
When I was younger and read mostly fiction, my definition of grief was something that is commonly accepted; Loss of a loved one through death. This "through death" is the important part to remember. We meet so many people in our life; some we stay in touch with forever, some we lose contact with and some we actually mourn the loss of.... not necessarily through death. After I started to read non-fiction, I learnt of a different kind of grief which has its own name. It's called disenfranchised grief and yes it’s grief. A kind that society does not always recognize and is not commonly accepted.
How do we mourn the loss of a relationship that no one prepared us for losing, that we have no handbook for? Especially when it's a relationship with your parent. Who even thinks that that is something in the realm of possibility? Someone who raised you, someone who was a big part of your journey from the time you entered this world. Someone who you respected and looked up to all your life.
The truth is, my father is healthy and alive and probably wants nothing to do with me. It's been two and half years that we’ve shared an estranged relationship. One would wonder and I know I did- what could have happened that was so bad that the two of us won’t speak to each other. In hindsight, I find it satirical and dumb but we disagreed over a stupid thing and then time escalated things. I tried explaining my point of view, but it turned into something which deemed that I didn't respect him because we thought differently.
I tried... tried to keep him as a part of my life. Messaged him with pictures of my recent travel or my big promotion or that I got the covid vaccine- anything random in my life, but never heard back. The world stopped when the pandemic hit, and I never heard back. Big things happened in our family, and I was kept out of the loop. Left, abandoned halfway across the world. It's not the first time that something like this has happened. But as a daughter, I've always gone back. I felt it was my duty to apologize and make up, no matter who's at fault. That's what you do. That's what I did. Always. But at some point I realized that this relationship can't be one sided. Respect has to be present both ways. I was in my late twenties and not any wiser, but I deserved to be at least heard and most importantly, wanted.
This new world where we're walking on this tightrope of boundaries, of feeling the need to be respected, of taking care of our mental health, I often wonder if there is an invisible line that we're not supposed to cross? Can we define boundaries with parents? Are we the little ones who are supposed to take that first step each and every time no matter how many times we may have been abandoned? But is there a limit to the benefit of doubt that we keep giving away? Even if it's with our parent..
.
I know I’m not perfect, and neither is anyone else especially, our parents. I believe that they have done the best they could while raising us with the knowledge they had then. For a nineties kid, the freedom of choice doesn’t really exist. Every part of your life is largely dictated by your parents; the friends you make (no boys allowed), curfews, the career decisions you take going from school to college, everything. It’s understandable - we need to focus on our career, make something out of ourself, stand on our own two feet. That is just their way of making sure that we have the best opportunities. There may be many ways to get there but their way is imposed, it is the only way you’re allowed to consider. Even after you become this gorgeous, self reliant adult and stand on your own feet; the road you’re expected to take is marked by them, even if that road is not something you can commit to. We can't put them on a pedestal- we need to accept their mistakes and screw ups and forgive each other but all of this can't be one-sided. It cannot be. Family is what you choose to be in and keep in your life. The love and respect you share, has to go both ways. As we grow older, we form our own lens to see the world and from time to time we'll disagree with our parents, but are we not allowed to do that? Disagreement doesn’t equal to disrespect.
There is not a day that goes by when he doesn't cross my mind and I don't feel this HUGE cavity in my chest, when my eyes don't swell up at every thought, I have of him. That feeling has never left. But I do hope that someday I'll be able to breathe.
A day that I won't fall apart -
when I hear my last name.
when in all adventures that I do, I'm reminded that I can't share them with him.
when I'm climbing the corporate ladder, and I can't share what my thought process is for my next big move.
when I can't have inside jokes with him anymore or just listen and sing along with him the classic old hindi music that we both vibed to.
when I see friends having kids, and I can't help but wonder what a wonderful grandfather he would be.
when I hear stories of everyone describing their conversations with their fathers and I can't even remember the sound of his voice.
when I can't seem to go home.
when I realize this is it... I had a quota of memories with him, and I've utilized it all. This is where it ends. I don't think there'll be more memories. I've checked out.
I hope a day will come and I'll be okay accepting all the above. Because the hope of it all getting fixed eludes me. So, for today I need to choose the alternative. Choose to be okay. Choose to heal. And choose to walk ahead believing he raised me with grace and dignity to go out in the world.
And maybe just maybe, a day will come when he will be proud of me.
-Vrinda
Abandoned on the interwebs
Abandoned on the interwebs is a new section on this newsletter where I recommend some riveting, spine tingling, evocative articles, books, essays that I’ve stumbled across when I’m left to my own devices on the internet.
The Lives of Others - The reason our writer of this week has used a pen name is the same reason I took a tangential approach to writing about this week’s theme is the same thread of thought running through this essay by Richard Russo on the burden writers carry in every piece of writing they pen down about other people.
Permanent Record - Mary HK Choi is the writer that I feel is my own secret find while being someone I wish everyone could read. She deserves the widespread name recognition and film deals that Sally Rooney has (in addition to not instead of, I love them both). She gets aloneness, she gets trying to go make it out on your own and this particular book gets feeling unsupported and adrift.
Before I leave you to dream
With the aim to continue growing this newsletter, I’ve set up a page where you can contribute monetarily: Ko-fi.com/theabandoneddreamscollective
This will support the newsletter grow through increasing reach, growing its pipeline of contributors, optimize submission management and eventually pay contributors.
I hope you consider contributing to this mission.
That’s all for this week
I look forward to seeing you again next week with a new story.
Much love and many dreams
Nirmitee
The Abandoned Dreams Collective