Skip to main content

IMMIGRANT NOSTALGIA-WHY IT IS DIFFERENT

Sometimes I will chit chat with my friends about what it was like growing up. During our discussions it becomes clear we had very different pasts. They dealt with snow and squirrels and I dealt with a cruel heat and monkeys. They got in trouble over stealing makeup, I got in trouble for stealing mangoes.

We would look back sadly on those days, they are now long gone and the world will never be the same. But I noticed that I would always be much sadder about this nostalgia and I never quite understood why. After all, we all travel time and space in the same way, so why would thinking about my past make me so sad.

A few days ago I took the liberty to Google earth my old neighborhood, so much had changed. I felt so sad, and that's when I realized why immigrants have a different outlook on their past than do people who were born and raised in the same place. When a native looks at their past, they see a time that no longer is, and when they look at their present, they see one that is imbued with their actions and contributions. They are part of their present and their past.

However, when an immigrant looks at their present, they can see that history happened in the country they are from without any of their contribution and that they are in a present in their new country that was created by others. The world changed without them and for them. So while someone born and raised in the same country can feel sad about a past that no longer is. Immigrants look at their past with sadness, but also a reminder of how insignificant we human beings are. We know that a place will continue to grow and exist regardless of whether we are there or not and vice versa. We connect on a very deep level with the impermanence of our own humanity and that's why it hurts to look at our past-because we know there is a present without us.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THOUGHTS ON MOTHERS, FASHION AND BODY IMAGE

It wasn't until I was 13 years old that I learned I was fat. That was the year I moved to the United States and began to have a difficult time finding clothes that fit appropriately. I never really thought about that change until much later when I would look back on childhood photos and was surprised by how well my clothes fit, and how well-dressed I mostly was. As someone who is very fashionably challenged, I was surprised that at some point in time, I knew how to dress well...and I seemed to have lost the skill once I had many clothing options. When did I lose that skill? I began to explore that phenomena and quickly came to an odd realization. In the U.S. I clearly always had more clothing options that I ever did in Venezuela. Ready-made clothes in the U.S. were affordable so everyone could buy them. That was the key, in Venezuela, ready-made clothes were very expensive, so not too many people purchased them. In fact, I don't remember my mom buying anything ready-mad...

I CAN'T PASS JUDGMENT ANYMORE

I know all of my friends are loving the ease and convenience of carrying books around on a Kindle, or whatever the gadget of the day is, but this move to electronic reading is really affecting my ability to judge others, yes, you heard me right-judging others is now difficult. It used to be that I could sit on the train and just by watching book covers, and their respective readers, I would get an idea of what books I might like. Now, everyone has a kindle and I can't really derive reading recommendations without appearing to be a stalker. But worse than that, new friendships are severely affected. I used to be able to walk into someone's house and look at their bookcase and know whether I should run the other way-now, the non-visibility of books makes identifying incompatibility so much more difficult. For example, if someone were to walk into my house, this is what they might see:   You would be correct in making quite a few assumptions about me based on this ...

MOTHERHOOD: A SITE OF VICIOUS NEGOTIATION

I woke up this morning to a baby puking on me while smiling unapologetically. For the first time her lack of inhibition worried me. This Mother's Day, I thought I'd be reflecting on being a mother for the first time and jot down some mushy words, instead, I think back to the day I walked in on my mom having greater aspirations for my daughter than she did for me.   My dad raised me to thrive in the world I deserved, my mom raised me to survive in the world I was born into. Needles to say, my dad's parenting was liberating and empowering, my mom's was stifling and suffocating, so of the two parents I always rebelled against HER. She would often say that I was created fighting her given how difficult her pregnancy was with me. She was right, my earliest memories with my mom are of our arguments. We fought like the swords of two warriors: I was driven by a desire to be free and capable, her by fear that I might suffer consequences the patriarchy metes out to misbehaving wo...