... and lowlights, lessons learned and resolutions for the sparkling brand new year.
The year has been good to your father and I. It's been very very good to us.
We moved.
A big move it was, Hyderabad India to California, USA. Bidding farewell and making our peace with all people and things we left behind. Looking at our home, the one with all the memories your father and I made, the kitchen disasters, the hand painted walls, the home. We nearly bought that home, baby, we nearly bought that home for the memories.
We nearly did not move.
Mom.
Your grandmother died this June. Nothing prepares you for a loss. It taught me that life is fleeting, that people are precious, that I must seize the day and live my life. It taught me to say I love you more often, to worry less, to live more.
It made me more responsible. It disciplined the vagabond in me to call your grandfather and your aunt more often, it reminded me that you always stick by your family, that we are not isolated islands in ourselves. It taught me never to put off anything for the future, never to live miserably in the present in order to save up for a better future.
It reminded me that I should always be my mothers' daughter: To be hospitable, to be positive, to give more of myself to people.
TB.
Never say never. It was ironic that your mother who swore she'd never ever take medicines was diagnosed with tuberculosis and had to eat ~9 medicines everyday for six months. Six whole months.
It taught me that everyone is vulnerable, that your father is the most amazing patient man in the world who saw me through the endless doctor visits, the unnerving CT scan and a bronchoscopy, it taught me that doctors can make even terrible things feel a little better by talking, by laughing with you, by informing.
It reminded me that a working body is a miracle. When your fingers are too swollen and weak to shake hands or grip objects, when your knees feel like they're giving way, when you're constantly cold, numb and fragile, you realize.
You realize every day you live and breathe and function is a miracle.
A miracle, baby darling.
And work.
Your grandmother taught me to love what I do for a living. She knew no other way. She loved what she did and it took her through all the other crazy stuff that she went through.
And it is true. Love your work for it is the legacy you leave behind.
It may hurt if it's taken away from you but it's really the only real way.
Love what you do.
Money.
Ah, money. Let's just say your mother is slowly learning not to worry too much about money.
Be sensible but learn to reward yourself guilt free.
Being vegan.
You should know this by now even if you're not too perceptive, you should know that your father is always always always right. (He also has the answers to everything, but that's a different story.) So it's quite silly that I argue with him and discover he was right all along. Your mother never ever learns.
That's why it was also silly when your father wanted to be a vegan all along and your mother never agreed! She refused, she cajoled him into eating dairy products, she just didn't get it.
Now I get it. It took a PETA video and some facts to drive home the point.
Don't be too taken in with your inconsequentiality that you forget you can make a difference. You can make a change.
You can take a stand.
Raise your voice.
Travel.
Your father and I did a hundred dizillion memorable trips this year. A two week motorcycle trip around the Himalayas as a farewell to India, our Dandeli island stay, our drives to Lake Tahoe, breathtakingly starry night in Death Valley and adult-disneyland-Vegas, our numerous hikes through forests and deserts, into craters, through canyons.
The travel is as much about the journey as it is about the destination.
The travel reminds you that we are all one.
Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam.
That we must live.
And let live.
Play fair.
Not too long ago, something happened to your mother. Remind her to tell you the story when you're older. But that something taught her that everyone needs to learn self defense. Basic self defense at least.
Among other things, my previous martial arts master taught me that practice doth perfection make, never to underestimate an opponent and yet, to always play fair.
Always play fair, baby boo.
Being good.
Your father is a constant reminder to be a good individual even when no one's watching. My chest bursts with pride every single time he does the right thing. Even when it does not benefit him, even when no one's watching, even if he does not come out looking like the hero.
He's a good good good man, your father.
And read more.
I vow to read more.
And read more.
I vow to read more.
