A Stare Down with My Boba

My Asian friends first introduced me to bubble tea, which they affectionately and probably more accurately call boba. With incredulous glances and much shaking of the head, they finally managed to push Alisha and I into a room of little furniture and much color, particularly loud flashes of orange and bright streaks or iridescent green. All of a sudden, time froze. Or at least so it seemed for every head in the little room was tilted so as to gain a better view of us outsiders. Women were seated primly, with crossed ankles and tall cups of liquid resting precariously on their knees. Men were sprawled on nearby sofas, treating themselves to either comics or a riveting game of cards, complete with outrageous bursts of what I perceive to be foul language and sudden gasps of delight, accompanied by tall cups of interesting colored liquid, of course. Pushed to the front of the counter, I stammered considerably, ready to put on my "Where am I? Who are you?" look, the one used during extremely difficult chemistry tests where I suddenly start thinking about atoms, and elements, and matter, and the meaning of life, and where dinosaurs came from, and what relativity is, and....and....where am I? Well, I didn't know what to order. Heck, I didn't even know what this place served other than tall cups of interesting colored liquid. So I muttered the only thing I was sure of, "Can I have something to drink?"

The petite Asian woman, with her indefatigable smile, paused long enough to consider this query then pointed to their vast menu that took up the entire expanse of wall behind us. "You pick drink? Show me." I was about to settle for a low profile, always safe chocolate chai when I decided to spring for the more exotic, the unknown. "Apple Rose Tea, please." "You want that with pearl?"
Pearl. I wasn't quite sure I would like to have pearls in my drink. White, milky orbs of calcium carbonate? Why would I want that? Coming to my aid, my friend hurriedly replied,"Yes. She will have pearls." I will?

Eagerly awaiting my apple-rose tea with...pearls, I stretched out, not failing to observe that Alisha and I were the only people of...a more brown hue. In fact, it seemed like most of the people who were here to enjoy their pearls and what not were mostly Asian, and I mean Asian in the not Indian or Pakistani way. It was interesting to see how the reacted to our presence...actually it was more weird than interesting. I was in their natural habitat, so it seemed. A watering hole of sorts. Where they came to socialize and relax, much like in a spa or coffee house, but this was so much more different. The vibe was young, fresh, energetic, and oh so cute! How had I never seen this place before?

When I got my drink, I sipped cautiously, for I finally realized that pearls were little black orbs that settled to the bottom of your drink and were imbibed through huge multi-colored straws. They looked like clear, little black eyes peering up at me from their home of shiny, beige liquid. From the intense neon packaging to the intimidating straw, this drink did not look appetizing in the least, but I manned up and gulped nonetheless. It was sweet, cold, smooth, with little marbles of delectable gumminess. It was delicious. I was thirsty for more...

Unfortunately, this one encounter began a tapioca craze in my household, starting with my sister and ending with my now reluctant dad. With shrieks of "TAP-OCA" every time we pass one of these fine establishments and constant arguments regarding the best flavor, our once chai dominated household has slowly expanded into the domain of fun, varying beverage options such as Jasmine Green Tea and Honey-Rose Milk Tea. After this first taste of the delights of this Taiwanese favorite, I can't help but marvel at the continuing intermingling of cultures and traditions that is occurring constantly nowadays. That's the moral of this post, of course. Just another lesson about acknowledging the benefits of sampling new cultures and praising the diversity that has taken the world by storm...But I can't help but mention again how much I crave the sweetness of another bubble tea. What do they put in the stuff? It's addictive!

Baljeet, an example for all Indian Children

Stereotypes. They're a big problem in present society, where impressions are always tinged with the slightest shades of personal misconstrued notions. This is a society where you might not know the first thing about derivatives, but you happen to be Chinese, so you can't possibly be horrible at math. This is a society where if you're foreign and your English isn't as coherent, you are considered stupid and ignorant. This is a society that doesn't consider you as the individual, but rather as a part of a mass of faceless, nameless people with similar if not identical characteristics. It's madness...and the madness has even pervaded the innocent programming of Disney Channel.

I was watching Phineas and Ferb, a show about two industrious brothers who imagine the wildest activities, with my little cousin. She adores it, and I didn't mind assuring her repeatedly that I was absolutely loving every minute of it. On this episode the boys, Phineas and Ferb decide to create their very own superhero show, starring themselves and their friends: Isabella, a generic bully whose name I totally forgot, and Baljeet, your quintessential Indian child (so it seems). While Phineas and Ferb decide on their superhero powers, Isabella chooses the power of girlish goodness to defeat the world, Unnamed Bully chooses to become Belch Man, and Baljeet is unsure of what to become...cue the entrance of every stereotype about Indians known to man, well excluding a few, of course.

Phineas: Well, Baljeet...what are you good at? Oh, I know, you're really good at school! You're great at studying, I mean, your parents make you do it all the time! Why don't you be Study Man?

Baljeet: Oh, I know! I will be Hanuman Man, a blue monkey with the power to change his size and carry mountains!

(Gain quizzical stares from the surrounding creeped out children)

Excellent, Disney. Way to portray Indian children growing up in the US as mini clones of their parents with abnormal study habits, no interests (save for school), a queer ability to mention interesting tidbits of their culture at periodic intervals, and a totally ambiguous accent with roots in every country in the world except India. That's definitely educational and appropriate for children within the ages of 6 and 11. What will they think of Indian kids after seeing that? And how is that supposed to make Indian children feel? We're confused enough as it is, what with the clashing individualism of the US and the tradition of India, and now here's one more curveball...

Maybe I should start working on that accent while I study for the next 6 hours, or so.

I Write...

Because it's late in the evening,
And there's a hush that pervades,
A hush both rare and unsullied.
And in this hush, I find a calm,
That seeps into my fingers and bones,
stimulating every nerve and pulse,
injecting in them a quiet, immense force,
Only to be relieved by the tapping and churning
Of whirring thoughts and emotions,
That ask, that beg,
to be thrust upon the clear purity of an empty slate,
Where meanings and symbols collide,
Where even the thickest of spaces is diffused
With the pink blush of words so soft,
With the jagged teeth of words so harsh,
With the slimy melancholy of words so somber,
Words, whose only wish is to be understood,
The wish of so many others before them.

Dirt

They told me I didn't have it.
That Spark. That Resilience.
That Strength that comes from moving mountains.
Jumping hurdles. Overcoming boundaries.
They said I couldn't do it.
Wasn't capable, aware, determined.
Didn't have the iron tinted blood that ran through the veins of warriors.
Or the Grit of the oppressed, the weary, the brave.
Mediocrity was what I was.
The dirt that they merely laid their feet upon.
They.
The great.
The wise.
The invincible.
But even dirt serves a purpose.
For dirt is the foundation upon which empires are born.
Dirt is that which all originate from.
Dirt is that which nourishes life.
Dirt is that which I aspire to be.
Dirt.