Everything I am is because the little girl in me survived.
In 2019, I abruptly moved to India from California amidst my parents’ divorce. I had no time to process the loss of my friends, lifestyle and ultimately, the loss of my childhood. That year in India, at 10-years-old, I watched the family I loved and cherished fall apart in front of my eyes. But the turmoil didn’t stop there. After a year, I was given the opportunity to go back to California for two weeks for my father’s citizenship ceremony. My father, brother and I left for America for our two week vacation, leaving my mom to stay in India. At the end of our two weeks in California my father told us there was a virus spreading which would grant us two more weeks for our vacation. He asked if we would like to stay two more weeks in California or go see our cousins in Maryland. We unanimously agreed on Maryland and off we went.
We arrived at my cousins’ house in Bethesda and just as promptly the borders to India closed and Covid swept our lives. I wasn’t aware the four weeks before was the last time that I would ever live with my mother.
It is hard to explain the loss of someone who is still alive. It’s hard to convey the fear I felt as a young girl navigating womanhood without my mother to guide me. It’s hard to explain the feeling of longing my young self felt as she searched for the warmth of motherly love in everyone she met in an attempt to heal the grief. But sometimes, grief cannot be solved.
The grief still exists, but I learned to understand even though we are not physically together, she lives inside me. In my gifted hands, in my sarcasm, in my creativity, in my obtuse stubbornness. In the very skin wrapped around my flesh.
My mother is my teacher, and I am fortunate to have someone just as multi-talented as her to be my forever mentor. As an artist herself (director, play writer, photographer), she has played a large part in my multifaceted identity. There is a mosaic of my life; one that has just begun, that stretches across countries, houses and time. This mosaic contains pieces of my time at WJ. Leading South Asian Student Union and STEP Team for years, committing to truthful journalism on The Pitch, and leaving a mark on the value of inclusivity at Walter Johnson. From filming award winning short films to performing in all 12 pep rallies to coordinating the Asian Assemblies; every club I ran in Walter Johnson, every dance I choreographed and event I planned was a piece of the large mosaic which makes up Meher.
Because of the constant instability and displacement I have faced in my childhood, I lost sense of what a home meant. I always thought a home must be what I once had: a magical place where my mother, father, brother and I sit at the dining table every night and eat together. That reality no longer exists. So I had to adapt and find my own way.
I find my home everywhere, I am not bound to the walls of a material place anymore. I find home in my best friend’s laughter. I find home in the warmth of the sunlight and the sound of the trees and the birds. I find home in my hands and feet, which look exactly as my mothers. I find home in my mother’s arms. I find home in my heritage, knowing I am a reflection of every woman who persevered before me.
In August my life will entirely change once again. But I am more equipped for change now. I am beginning this new chapter holding my younger self close, because we ultimately find home in the fact that we survived.
