DHD 420 Stories

Seed Time
Home, 2018 India Mumbai, “the letters are in” mom said. It was a hot and humid night, you
could her cars and people pass by from the street, a Lot in my head, Anxious, worried, wanting
to cry and a little scared is how i felt. Mom finally brings in a white rectangular envelope in, on it
is printed in red University of Illinois, Chicago. Dad takes the letter to open and read. “Ziippp” its
Open, Even before Dad read the letter, suddenly time slowed, boom boom, by heart, i could feel
each stretch of a heart muscle, each contraction, each ouch of blood that passed through
because clear. I could bear the pain. Fear of rejection; I thought. I seem my parent slowly but
quickly rush towards me with so much joy, like two giant fluffy dogs wanting to play. Finally, I
heard the news, I was accepted in the UIC. I Still had not fully processed it. This means the next
few years of my life will change. I will no longer live in India and leave my family and friends, and
life will be different. Even though I should have felt great joy and excitement, I was still a little
anxious and worried about going to a foreign land with no one and no family. I don’t know how
that sat with me. Nonetheless, this was an excellent opportunity to further my education, so I
took it.

The Journey
Flight number 31489, now boarding to Abu Dhabi, was my first time traveling. Still, it was my
first time traveling internationally. The airport was bustling and very hot, and everybody was
dressed quite casually, jeans, a pair of sneakers, t-shirts, and a lot of luggage. A few people
were in suits and looked a little more professional, doing businessman, maybe. We arrived at
the airport about 2 hours before my flight, my parents wanted to spend as much time with me
before I left for it was going to be a long journey, I still remember vividly how my parents
looked, it looked of contentments, Joy, maybe sadness, and overall they try to look strong. I
remember Mom’s soft small hands brushing over my face, tapping on my cheek; seeing how
much is going to miss myself and how proud she is of me. God gave me the strongest and
warmest hug and a peck on my forehead. And that’s the moment I felt love. “We will be landing
in about 8 minutes,” the pilot said in his American accent. It was afternoon. I looked out the
window to observe the strange land finally coming; I wondered what would happen and what I
would do. I had no friends or relatives here, so I had to breathe it out. “Please step up, sir,” set
the immigration officer, it took about 45 minutes to an hour to go through immigration. That’s
arrivals I ordered a taxi that took me straight to my new home, UIC’s East campus. my stomach
dropped. I’m alone.

The Growing
Very quickly, I felt the disconnect; UIC’s Compass housing was great at helping me settle into my
dorm and to navigate the important parts of Campus. After that, I was all alone. Being
introverted did not help at all. The social and cultural life was different. The food was different,
values were different; I spent the next couple of days constantly communicating with my
parents because I felt homesick. The closest Temple I could go to pray was really far away, which
made it a little harder for my faith. I had excellent neighbors who lived next to my dorm, but it
was not the same, it was not like home, it wasn’t always warm, with all the street food, I had
to use the GPS everywhere I went, I had to be careful that times I went out in times I came in,
this life here was so constricted I said to myself. The education system was different, There was
such a thing as an American teaching system, versus the British teaching system which I had
growing up, the workload was ridiculously huge, and being a student from a different country,
you didn’t have the flexibility to pick the classes you wanted they were picked for you. The
thought in the back of my mind was what kept me pushing, this was an opportunity to further
my education, this also an opportunity to get a job in the future that would help myself and my
family, but also my parents invested a lot of money and time into this, to be honest, it was a bit
frustrating, but I found some good friends who made things a little easy and lively for myself. I
found a sense of Peace whenever my parents would call, and we will talk and pray over the
phone. After that, I was back into a reality that I was not so fond of.

• Lemon Amongst Limes- Slide Presentation

I am half grown. I was a half Asian growing up in a fully Asian community. They told
me I was half as smart and only half as the cultural identity I was born to be. The
stigma and the judgment from those you thought you could relate to, the ones that
make you feel as half of a person can really take a toll. I was left with no friends and
no one who saw me as who I really am. I am fully depressed. There’s no way of
being half depressed, you experience it in full. The ways to cope became self
destructive, getting in a toxic relationship or forcing myself to strive for pure
perfection. I realized I had a problem and that only made me feel like I had to be the
perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend. On paper and to those
around me they saw the perfect person, they saw the mask that I created and
everything I did to show that I was a person that others wanted to be and that I
wasn’t half a person I was full. Through all that striving to be perfect I realized I still
wasn’t happy I was still fully depressed. I continued to self destruct into a path that
felt like there wasn’t an end. I wanted to fill that void and I looked for that source of
happiness from those I would bring into my life and it became an endless cycle. I
tried to talk to others about my depression but over and over again I was shut down
and made to feel like I couldn’t speak about what I was going through. My voice
started to feel meaningless, no one was listening to me and again I felt like only half
of the person others made me feel like I was. Having no voice to speak out loud
made me only hold everything in and eventually instead voices started appearing in
my head. Those voices told me to bring harm to myself and I knew if I didn’t do
something about it, it would take away the last half of the person that I am the half
that I had left. I convinced my mom to take me to the hospital, I lied regarding what it
was about so she didn’t have to see what had become of me. It was in that visit I
was finally diagnosed, I had anxiety and depression. Even with a diagnosis, telling
others only brought more challenges. My relationship grew toxic, my partner equated
everything I said or did to my illness. When I finally got the help that I longed for I
ended that relationship. This is when I finally began to grow. I was in a new
relationship where my voice was heard, I was surrounded by more Asian peers who
respected me, and I trusted my support around me. I wish younger me would have
trusted my support, my parents. I realized that my parents and my family were the
ones who were the most supportive of me. With the support, help, and community
I’ve found my success and my perseverance. Depression and anxiety is still fully
there but I’ve continued to grow. Through all this I never strayed from my culture and
the heritage that made me who I am because I may be half but it is still apart of what
makes me who I am. I was half grown but now I am finally fully me.

• Half Grown- Slides Presentation

An Asian American Adoptee: Ita’s Story

Story collector: Gus Budiarta

Ita grew up in a predominantly white community in a rural area of California. Her parents’ efforts to introduce her to Asian culture and community were insufficient, she said, to give her a sense of belonging to the Asian American community. When she was younger, she had few Asian friends who were also adoptees. She tried to get involved in the Asian American student communities in college, but she couldn’t relate to their experiences. As an adoptee, she has a unique background and experience. She recalled feeling more proud to be an Asian American when she finally had the opportunity to learn from various people about the justice movement in college, and realized that she, like many other oppressed groups in the US, needed to continue fighting for social justice.

Ita, a South Korean adoptee, shares the experience of many Asian American adoptees who are unable to integrate into mainstream Asian American culture. Ita’s Asian identity concerns ranged from what Asian dishes to prepare for the Lunar New Year to whether she is Asian enough to be classified as an Asian American. Ita’s background and experiences as an Asian American adoptee are unique, which may or may not be accommodated by joining the typical Asian American culture. Ita may have faced various forms of oppression, but she saw the social justice movement as a universal approach to finding a sense of belonging in America. Ita’s struggle to find her identity as an Asian American adoptee does not prevent her from participating in social justice movements.

Ita has taken part in conversations about Asian American adoptees via social media. She has actively sought information from various organizations that assist Asian American adoptees about the issues. She mentioned that these groups play vital roles in helping the community of adoptees advocate for issues like the deportation of adoptees whose adoption paperwork is incomplete. Ita’s story has highlighted the struggles the Asian-American community faces, including issues with identity that can make it difficult to feel a sense of belonging and deportation. What, after all, is culture? Isn’t it a man-made characteristic that binds us as a group who have shared similar experiences? Ita’s struggle to fit in with mainstream Asian American culture has given rise to the notion that culture can be a barrier that prevents certain groups from discovering their identities.

Ita’s parents admitted to her during a conversation that they raised Ita as white, despite the fact that Ita has never experienced privilege as a white woman in the United States. As an adult, Ita realized that her Asian identity has a significant impact on how she lives her life in the United States, including her political views, reactions to race-based violence, and even the types of oppressions she has faced. Ita’s experience of navigating life in a world where she doesn’t identify with any group is similar to that of many Asian adoptees in the United States. Sometimes the issues aren’t just about identity; they’re also about legal issues that lead to legal actions like deportation. Ita believes that her unique experience has shaped her identity in a variety of ways, and she considers her involvement and engagement in social justice movements for Asian adoptees in the United States to be a personal accomplishment. Ita’s story about discovering her identity is an example of another type of oppression that members of the Asian American community face. The exploration and discussion of various types of oppression within the community should be an ongoing process in order to strengthen social justice movements and ensure that no one is left out of the conversation about justice and oppression.

• Ita’s Story- Slides Presentation

All the things she wanted to say, must first pass through the ears of a child.

It was me who was starting school, but I was teaching her.

So much to know about American culture.

Never word for word.

Intrinsic

All the things he wanted to say, only for the ears of those who have lived it.

Dad, it’s so important to tell others about this history.

He doesn’t want to relive it. Treated like a “Jap”,

But still so loyal.

Isolated

All the things she wants to say, she does. All her ignorance directed at me.

She wouldn’t even let a Japanese car park in her driveway.

Do I know what “we” did to her uncle in the war?

What does she even know of me?

It’s all been left out

Of our history.

All the things they want to say, about what it means to be Japanese.

I never wanted to be immersed in Japanese culture.

When I was there, I felt like an American.

And when I was here:

American

All the things I want to say, my hands have learned to share with others.

To spread His message to all who can’t hear the sermon.

To become included in the community.

A sense of peace

connection

• All the Things We Want to Say- Slides Presentation

Story 5 – Story Forthcoming Post-Production!

• Story 5 - Story Forthcoming Post-Production!

As she walks down East Erie, all her problems are picked up and washed away by the wind.

Looking up at the sky, the lake, the city. Fading in the background, the noises of the city, the cars and the people.

People keep themselves busy to avoid thinking about things, she tells me.

I nod, I agree. That’s very familiar to me.

Me too. Sometimes I think that’s what happens with me. I keep myself busy so I don’t think about my problems.

The stares, the looks. Buildings closing, people losing jobs. Finding, holding, keeping a job. Lies about what actually happened when the buildings fell down. Lies about what happens within the walls of occupied land. When those like her are not allowed into this country, when those like her are hurt outside of this country. The safety of herself and her family, in a concrete mess so dense, vast and tall. When shots are fired and mobility is deprived, what happens then?

But one day I will face God, she tells me. And God did not create this earth to just to sit and do nothing.

There’s responsibility.

We help ourselves and help others. We come in action, for those that are and are not part of our family.

When she stops talking the room is filled with sounds from the TV. A kids show, laughing, singing, dancing. Time to think. Time for space. Also time to get the bread out of the oven, as she prepares the rest of our breakfast.

I have to go to Access Living later. She tells me. Sounds of the pans and pots and cabinets sometimes interrupt our conversation. On Tuesdays we’re doing body casts. You can cast different parts of the body and paint it. I like to be part of the community. I go with them. We organize different actions. Contact our legislators.

It feels like I’m part of something. To make a difference. Different disabilities, but we have something in common. We have our limitations, we strive for the same thing. Being productive human beings. Being able to live in the community, like other people do.

It’s life. You have to go on. I could be stronger. I wish I could be stronger. But I talk it over with other people. Talk it over and do our best.

But when sometimes when it gets too much she stays silent.

Before it gets really bad, before it takes a hold of me, I force myself to get out of it.

She walks to the lake when the weather is nice. Calming. Soothing.

• Story of Aisha- Slides Presentation

Dear Dad,
I hope you remember the moments I took care of you as a teenager. The moment I became a
caregiver at fourteen and dropped my life to give you the best treatment possible as the responsibility
of a daughter. I hope you remember that I was a child during that time. The moment I found you in
your bed and saw you lifeless has completely scarred me, traumatized me. I thought that was the last
I’d seen of you. I was lucky, I was lucky to know that you were given a second chance.
However, eight years later and still I am coping with those unforgettable, scarring memories that
were unfair for a fourteen year old to see, to feel.
I feel a lot, I wish I could tell you how I feel, how I have felt. How I have dealt with these
experiences in such an unhealthy manner, don’t you see? Your youngest daughter is hurting.
I am not happy and honestly I cannot explain to you why, they say it is something called depression.
Why can’t you allow me to tell you how I am feeling? Dad, I am depressed. I need you to tell
me that you believe me, that you care about me, that you love me. Hold me in your arms and tell me I
will be okay, hug me tightly just how you did when I was a little girl. I need you Dad, I need you to
understand how I feel.

• Letter to Vy's Dad- Slides Presentation

It was just terrifying. His personality changed so dramatically for four months; I really didn’t know if he would go back to being the same

Hamza, a 28-year-old Pakistani American, lived in a small apartment in Queens, New York, with his mother, and younger brother, Sameer. Since moving to the United States at the age of 15, Hamza had been caught up between two worlds: his traditional Pakistani upbringing and the fast-paced American life he had gotten used to.

From a young age, Hamza was expected to be the responsible elder son, the one who would take care of the family even when times were rough. It was a role he accepted without question, but at times it took a toll on him. One day, Hamza’s life took a drastic turn when his cousin, Faizan, moved in with them after his parents suddenly passed away due to a tragic accident. Faizan was a non-verbal autistic teenager and required additional care and support. Hamza’s mom turned to him to help with Faizan’s needs, putting even more pressure on him.

Between working long hours at a tech company and assisting with Faizan’s care, Hamza’s mental health began to decline pretty quickly. He felt trapped by his responsibilities and struggled with insomnia, stress, and anxiety. He really wanted a way to balance his obligations with his life, but he didn’t know where to start.

One day, while browsing the internet, Hamza stumbled upon a local support group for caregivers of individuals with autism. Intrigued, he decided to attend their next meeting. There, he met others who shared similar struggles and discovered the value of communication, and self-care.

Inspired by the group, Hamza gained the courage to talk to his family about his struggles. They sat down together and discussed the changes they could make to ensure everyone’s well-being. Faizan began receiving additional support from a special needs teacher, and Hamza’s mother and brother took on more of the household responsibilities. Together, they worked on building a supportive and nurturing environment for everyone.

With more time on his hands, Hamza started incorporating self care into his daily routine. He picked up meditation and joined a local gym, focusing on creating a healthy mind and body connection. As he practiced setting boundaries and communicating openly with his family, he felt the weight of his stress and anxiety gradually lift.

Hamza’s journey was not easy, and there were moments when he really struggled. But through it all, he discovered the strength that came from seeking help, opening up, and embracing both
sides of his identity. He learned that it was possible to navigate the challenges of being a Pakistani Asian American, while still maintaining a healthy balance in his life.

In the end, Hamza’s story serves as a beacon of hope for others caught between two worlds, showing that with communication, and self-care, it is possible to find a healthy life balance.

• Between two worlds - Slides Production

To my sister.

I feel so strange writing a letter to you. Strange–it’s such a vague word encompassing so many different emotions, yet people, in consensus, recognize moments that are strange. Ambivalent, bittersweet, sentimental… These are all words I would use to describe our relationship.

It’s strange–when asked who I wanted to share my identity and mental health journey with, you were the first person who came into my mind. We were never particularly close. Growing up with unconventional family dynamics, our relationship was strange from the start. Even when you pushed me away and responded coldly with harsh rejections, I wanted to be friends with you. I remember asking if I could tag along whenever you would go out with your friends. In my younger mind, you were always this incredible, smart, talented person I looked up to. As the first-born, Mom and Dad were always more strict with you. I know you thought that I was spoiled because Mom and Dad were more lenient with me, and that was why you probably hated me. Over time, I gradually accepted that you just didn’t want a relationship with me, so I stopped having any expectations whatsoever in our relationship.

Now that we’re both adults, I think we’ve both gained an understanding that our parents are imperfect humans who’ve had complex lives and struggles. This doesn’t justify their actions nor do I feel that my anger is gone, but it’s helped dull the pain. Noticing these small similarities makes me wonder if you’ve also had the same experiences as me: the familial and societal pressures in growing up as a Chinese-American without access nor even knowledge of proper resources in mental health, or discovering sexual orientation coming from a culture that denies anything other than heterosexual, cisgendered people… Were you also shocked when learning that your white-American classmates regularly receive affection and validation–something we’ve never had in our family–from their parents? Did you also have to come to terms with the fact that no matter what we accomplish, we will first and foremost be characterized as “Asian?” Were you also hurt from the way “Asians” are represented (or rather, not represented) in media and the way it perpetuates stereotypes, capitalizes on the “exoticism” of Asian cultures, and fetishizes Asian women? I wonder what your story is.

I began to notice how you were changing when you started buying me birthday presents. When I moved in with you during my first year of college, I remember feeling nervous but weirdly at peace. I think there’s a specific line of comfort that only comes with family, even with our (basically) nonexistent relationship. Then you started telling me that I could come to you if I was having a hard time. Honestly, I felt weird when you first said that. I was mostly surprised, because I was not expecting that at all, but that was followed by a mix of emotions. It makes me happy to see that you care about us, but part of me is very wary of this change. Sometimes, when you get really upset and blow
up, it reminds me of Dad, and I get scared. I revert almost like a reflex into my coping mechanism of not interacting, dropping expectations, and shutting off any remainder of the relationship. I think I’m particularly cautious around our relationship because it’s unexplored territory. You are the only person who understands me better than Mom and Dad in a way that my close friends cannot, and the desire to be close with you since childhood is still there. I don’t really expect or hope for anything specific from our relationship. Honestly, I’m pretty content with how things are now; my trust in our relationship may not be on the same level as some of my closest friends, but the trust is definitely there.

I wonder if you feel just as strange reading this letter as I do writing it. A part of me is scared to confide and be vulnerable with you, but a part of me–for whatever reason–trusts that you understand and maybe even share where I’m coming from.

From,
Amy

• To My Sister - Slides Presentation

SHK’s story, told in the form of postcards he might have written to his late father throughout life.

Postcard 1:
Address: Rasoolpur Dhaulri, India
Date: 1950
Pyaray* Abbu,
I found a letter dada* had. It’s from you! It’s the last letter you wrote. My grandfather said he received it several days after you and my sister were killed back in Delhi. Were people just killing each other for no reason? I heard that the trains that ran between India and Pakistan would arrive at their station filled with dead bodies!
My grandmother says it’s a miracle my mother and I survived. But we will be immigrating to Pakistan soon. Will we be as lucky this time too?
Your Son

*Pyaray: Term of endearment, ie. Dear
*dada: Paternal Grandfather

Postcard 2:
Address: Sukkur, Pakistan
Date: 1971
Pyaray Abbu,
East Pakistan just separated from West Pakistan. They call their country ‘Bangladesh’ now. We’ve been learning about this in university and apparently, they claim that West Pakistan was stealing from their part of the country’s money. There have been a lot of immigrants coming into West Pakistan, and labor has become really cheap. But so many people were killed during the separation! I heard that this is what it was like when India and Pakistan separated. Is that true? Is this what you and ammi had to experience? I’m so scared as an adult, I can’t even imagine how scared my sister must have been when they attacked and killed her, she was only 5. How can I ever thank you and repay you for your sacrifices?
Your Son

Postcard 3:
Address: Karachi, Pakistan
Date: 1979
Pyaray Abbu,
Today I bought my first book! The ‘Nahjul Balagha’. I saw it in a bookstore and decided to just go for it! It felt really good. I want to get more but it’ll take some time. After paying the bills and
other expenses, there’s very little money left for books, which just keep getting expensive day by day. This reminded me of my student life when I would save up money every month to pay for
my monthly magazine and newspaper subscriptions. I have decided that I will save up and keep collecting books. And one day create a library at home that my children can enjoy. Wish me
luck!
Your Son

Postcard 4:
Address: Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Date: 1982
Pyaray Abbu,
I’ve been living in Saudi Arabia for about a year now. Work is going well, we recently acquired a few new projects which I’m really proud of but it’s hard being away from the kids. Their studies are going well so this is all worth it. Sometimes I feel like taking a break but then I remind myself that this is our job, to do everything we can for our children! Like you did to protect me and ammi*. You sacrificed so much more for us, this is nothing. I can take a break later, after all the kids have settled.
Your Son

*Ammi: Mother

Postcard 5:
Address: Chicago, US
Date: 2014
Pyaray Abbu,
My daughter just arrived in the US with her family. Now all my children are in the States or Canada. We have also decided to permanently move here. It will be difficult adjusting to a new country this late in life, I already miss my friends from the neighborhood, mosque, and the relatives that are still in Pakistan but one must compromise. There are a lot more opportunities here for my children and grandchildren and I want to be with my family more than anything. So to be with them I will have to adjust and compromise. It’s not all bad, there’s a lot to do here. I am able to spend more time on the Dhaulrian’s Family Tree I have been working on, I just planted some rose bushes in my daughter’s backyard and I go on walks with my grandchildren every evening. Life is good. As hard as my past was, I think it was worth it!
Your son

• Memories - Slides Presentation

E is my father, a 56-year-old man from Batroun, Lebanon. He has been so kind as to share aspects of his life and his own story with me; I hope to relay his story properly and adequately in this monologue-style narrative.

As a young man in Lebanon, I felt happy throughout my childhood and adolescence. My family was loving and supportive. We generally had everything we needed, and I was able to enjoy outdoor hobbies and socialize with my friends often. Despite my own personal comfort and happiness, the rest of Lebanon was entrenched in conflict. I was seven years old when the country broke out into a civil war. While the fighting was thankfully some miles away from us, it was close enough to home that we were aware of the violence that our people were experiencing. News programs described and explained the progress and state of conflict to us who were not directly in the crossfire. I found myself on the side of the Maronite Christians, being of the faith myself. The conflict was occurring between the Maronite Christian population and the Muslim population, eventually leading to war and crisis due to clashing views. I did my best to not let war affect me, although at times it was difficult, as the conflict undeniably carried on around me.

I had spent much of my childhood and adolescent life in wartime. I came to realize that no one would ever uproot us Christians from the Middle East; there was an elemental drive to keep fighting for our place here. The conflict cemented and reinforced my identity as a Lebanese Maronite Catholic, and it never wavered. I was a young man—17 or 18 years old— when the war finally came to an end. The country finally, gradually began to shift out of conflict. I find that my identity and sense of self as a Christian has become more woven in the fabric of my being. My faith has helped carry me, my family, and my country through times of deep uncertainty. My values and way of life can be heavily attributed to my faith.

The war certainly did not leave everyone unscathed, both physically and mentally. Many people needed professional psychiatric treatment in the wake of the conflict. Growing up in Lebanon in the early ‘70s, there were definitely people who were admitted into psychiatric facilities. The word around the neighborhood would be that that person was “crazy”; I can now recognize that this was not the case. They were just people that needed some help. I’m very proud of Lebanon for progressing. Many other countries are not as gracious with their understanding and rhetoric surrounding mental health. A great deal of the stigmas and stereotypes that I witnessed as a young boy have dissipated, and people have a more accepting view of mental health and treatment. Needing psychiatric help, for the most part, is no longer grounds for ostracism. Some people within my own family are even openly medicated for their mental illnesses. I am surprised that the viewpoints have shifted so dramatically, considering so many other parts of the world have not caught up with this nuanced understanding of mental health and wellness.

As Lebanon transitioned out of war, I began the process of preparing to immigrate. I would be moving to the United States with my Uncle F, who lived in Chicago. I left so I could go to college. Since there was relatively little opportunity in Lebanon, I knew that I had to go. I desperately wanted to stay in Lebanon with my brothers, my sister, and my parents. All the same, I knew that I had to leave if I was going to make something of my life. Once I moved, I was less than extremely happy living with my uncle. Things were not always easy. Our perspectives were quite different. I was only there to attend school, which I knew it would be over eventually. I enrolled at Truman College in Chicago and eventually went on to the University of Illinois at Chicago. I graduated with my bachelor’s in marketing and a second bachelor’s in business. I began my career in information technology in the early ‘90s. As I entered the workforce and met more people, I found myself realizing that Americans were miserable. Everyone always seemed so unhappy and I couldn’t quite understand why. People were always alone. Things weren’t like this at home. There was always an opportunity for socializing. You would always be bumping into people that you knew, and there was always someone around you to turn to for support. Here, people seemed to keep to themselves and paid the price of loneliness. I hoped that I wouldn’t end up feeling the same way as the people here did. It feels as though everything is over magnified and blown out of proportion here; people have way too much time to focus on themselves and their mental illnesses, depressions, and anxieties. I don’t understand it. I did manage to find a community of friends among fellow Lebanese people, including a multitude of extended cousins that had immigrated after me. This alleviated my feelings of loneliness and isolation.

I met my wife at a bar in the mid-90s and we got married in 1997. We had our first child in 2001, just before September 11th. It was extremely hard raising one child in the early 2000s. I had just lost my first job, and my wife was the only one working. Things were not easy for us. In 2003, we had a son unexpectedly and things only became more difficult financially. We persevered through it, and our children enrolled in public school once they became of age. It was really hard enrolling them, not knowing how the public school system would affect them and that it would be so vastly different from what I experienced in my own schooling. My daughter struggled greatly in school interacting with other children. Thankfully, my son had a less difficult time interacting with other children. Seeing the difference in how my kids socialized with each other here made me quite upset for my daughter. I had really hoped that the other children would be kind like they were to me back home. Things are different here. Once my children entered high school, I became very worried for them. From my understanding, the U.S. public high school system only served to help enable kids to find bad friends and develop bad habits. My fears actualized when my daughter began hanging out with the wrong people and abusing substances in high school. It took a great deal of work to understand how to help her. I had to educate myself on mental health and tried to understand the mind of a teenage girl in order to help.

In terms of my own mental health, I feel as though I’m relatively good considering the circumstances of my life. I’m divorced. I don’t have a lot of my Lebanese friends or community left here anymore, but I still find ways to cope. I love going for walks in the woods. I find nature to be incredibly healing and I will do my best to go every single day to get some exercise. That is how I know how to cope. I’ve been practicing forest bathing for years; it is vital to my personal wellbeing. Nature has always been incredibly healing, and I find that to be an important aspect of mental health. If people have mental illness and are looking to help themselves, I would always recommend nature. Going for walks has always been therapeutic and helpful for me. I feel like it’s an important part of my life, and I can attribute much of my solid mental state to my routine of walking in nature every day. When considering mental health, I would say that caring for  oneself is the most important aspect. It’s just as important as taking care of one’s physical body, which is an important facet of achieving good mental health or well-being.

I want to thank E for sharing his story with me. I know that it was not easy to divulge details of his life, especially his thoughts and feelings regarding mental health. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to hear his perspective and understand his viewpoint on the matter. I found that it was quite difficult to have a real conversation about mental health, and I felt that I sort of had to maneuver the conversation in a way that didn’t seem as though I was inquiring about his own mental health. In that instance, the conversation would abruptly shift to the denial of any issues. Despite his progressive viewpoints, he is relatively avoidant when it comes to himself, beyond a surface level explanation of mental wellbeing. In previous conversations with my father regarding his past, I feel as though he would recount things in a more negative light, but with the understanding that this was for a research assignment, I feel that he tailored some of his responses in a manner different from what I remember him telling me initially. In class, we had discussed how people often will deny the presence of trauma or illness in themselves, so I can’t quite expect those negative stories to come out when interviewing him for an audience. This indicates to me that we need to have more of these conversations in order to make it a more comfortable and normal subject, so we may check in on one another. This is a process that takes time, and through the story collecting process, I have realized the importance of taking the time to allow someone to open up and entrust you with their story.

My father told me that he had a fairly seamless experience assimilating and being received by Americans. This surprised me, especially given the xenophobia towards Middle Easterners that exists in this country. This was the most surprising aspect of his story to me, as it differs from the experiences of many Middle Eastern immigrants, refugees, or asylees. In Mental Health Risks in Arab Americans Across the Lifespan, Wrobel & Paterson note that Christian Arabs have a less difficult time assimilating with American culture, as their religious views mirror each other for the most part. Additionally, many Christian Arabs in the U.S. are fleeing religious persecution in their home countries; once they arrive, they are able to practice freely. The connection between involvement in religious communities and traditions is an important factor in maintaining the mental health and wellness of Arab immigrants. I believe this could be an explanation as to why assimilation in E’s case was not as arduous of a process as I had expected to hear from him. Despite wanting to return to Lebanon, E remained here to raise myself and my brother. He found a Lebanese community and did his best to preserve his culture, passing it down to us through maintaining connections through the community. This is his way of caring for his mental health and wellness.

• E's Story - Slides Presentation

As an international student from Pakistan, he has gone through a lot of different struggles when he moved to the United States.

Most of the times he felt left out from the society as he wasn’t sure about how he would be treated and being away from his family had caused him depression and anxiety.

It started when he started his life in the US and began his studies at a college. However, it was a completely different lifestyle here than what he was used to back in Pakistan.

The routine of going to school and back home made him feel like he was going crazy and made him have weird thoughts everyday.

As days went on, he began to feel alone and depressed when he tried to express his concerns to his family it wasn’t a big deal, but he knew himself he wasn’t feeling well.

The concept of seeking out help from outside is looked like a taboo in the Asian society more especially in the Asian countries.

He wanted to get help, so he began to talk to his friends and make new friends which seemed to help him with depression and anxiety.

According to him seeking help should be a must for everyone even if it seemed wrong to the society or if someone tells you something wrong. For him, his friends were his help, therapy, gym and professional help.

Dear Dad,

You might be wondering why I’m writing you a letter for the first time. I just can’t seem to talk to you face to face. Do you remember the meeting with the counselor with mom about my mental health survey? The look on both of your faces terrified me, disappointed me and saddened me. It was as if you were looking at a different person. This meeting distanced the relationship between us and created a barrier. But most importantly, I felt betrayed. Betrayed by the fact that my counselor would call you both. I was still in the process of thinking about my feelings and why I was feeling that way and I was not ready to discuss. Of course I needed intervention, but it should have been on my own terms. After a few months, we never talked about what happened – like it was shameful to talk about my mental health. But when you asked me if “faith would help” I remember feeling upset. I wanted to tell you “no” and that “I need help,” but I was so scared of opposing your ideas and just said, “fine.”

This was one of my many regrets because I did not expect you to take my younger sisters along. I felt guilty for dragging my sisters who had no idea what was happening at the time. Signing me up for church school didn’t help me at all, if anything it was an interesting short distraction from my mental health but I could not deal with my struggles through God.

I don’t know if you remember the time when I came out, but I distinctly remember your face. It was a mix of confusion and rejection. While mom was more open-minded and accepting, I was frustrated that my gender identity and my feelings were disregarded. Living under the same roof was suffocating because I was trying to live up to your expectations and be a role model towards my younger sisters. There was also academic pressure, making my life feel like it depended on the number of my test scores or my GPA. I was in shambles when I didn’t get into an Ivy League (or a school equivalent to that) because I placed my self-worth on that and recognized that it was not what I wanted. But more importantly, I was also hiding a part of myself when I was living at home and I was unhappy most of the time. I hope that you won’t be disappointed that I will not be living at home after graduation. I hope you will accept, understand, and support me for who I am.

Love,

Mayumi

Luxmy,

You’re doing just fine. Forget making up for what’s passed, your future is full of possibility. The power of ‘immigrant’ and all that word entails gives you something special, despite what you may have been told. It will keep you creative.

I want you to know that I hear you. & I can understand your efforts to bridge a familial connection that wasn’t the easiest to establish. A connection that is muddled with generational traumas, intersecting identities both cultural and personal. It’s a connection that you might expect to be naturally present, one that some even take for granted, but to you it is work. You are giving them a space to be seen and to be heard as well as for yourself. I see your desire to foster this bond with them and I appreciate you having the capacity to let it grow at its own pace. Stay open to the humor and the small acts of affection that build this up. I’d like to think and it’s in those little moments of joy you share together that make up for all the moments of anxiety, frustration, and resentment. Even if only a short while.

I respect your flexibility. Your willingness to adjust and to keep giving, to understand even when it feels like the effort isn’t reciprocated. Just know those gestures and acts of affection aren’t wasted, it grows you as well.

I can tell you get discouraged. I hear you speak about expectations that you haven’t met and circumstances that fell short of your ideals. But sometimes things go left so that other things can go right.

Ultimately, I hope that you recognize the resilience in yourself and continue to use this to cut through the dissonance of the past and to level out the noise for your mental well-being.

Now, I know you are smart, & I think you know this already but sometimes it’s just nice to be reminded.

It’s true, your path isn’t linear and all the moments that fell short take its toll.

But what’s normal anyway? Maybe your mother was right about timing, that there’s a right time for everything. So keep chugging along and keep making plans, because Life will happen anyways. And friendly reminder that it’s okay to grow at your own pace.

• Luxmy - Slides Presentation

Story 16 – Story Forthcoming Post-Production!

• Story 16 - Story Forthcoming Post-Production!

**Jess’s mom walks into her kitchen. Her family members (consisting of her mom, dad, sister, and two cousins) are sitting at her kitchen table. It’s 5 in the afternoon on a saturday. Jess’s mom just served everyone tea and sat at the head of the table. Jess is in her room playing with her cousins and her sisters are downstairs.**

Jess’s mom: Have you guys heard the latest news with Jess’s father?

Sister: No, you know we don’t have contact with their side of the family. What’s been happening?

Jess’s mom: He’s blowing up again, demanding respect as their father. He’s been especially demanding on Jess. He’s just trying to make up for lost time, but doing it in all the wrong ways. He just got out of prison and expects these girls to bow down to him, but they’d hardly recognize their father on the streets. He needs to understand that he’s only now being introduced into their lives.

Sister: That doesn’t sound that far-fetched of a reaction. You’ve always known he holds his middle eastern values strongly. Men holding power in our culture isn’t anything new to you.

Jess’s mom: **With a hint of agitation ** He has to understand that our little girls have their own free will though. He’s already trying to get Jess into an arranged marriage and guilt her into wearing a hijab. He has no authority to tell our daughters what to do and how to be now… after 14 years of jail time.

Jess’s Grandpa: **Shaking his head while looking down** The men nowadays have it so wrong. If only he actually read a single scripture of the Quran he would see the pedestal women are on. Men like him only seek authority and power. That is no proper representation of an Islamic man.

Jess’s mom: ** Smiling up at her dad ** So many men would benefit from hearing those wise words. Jess has become so stressed she mentioned wanting to go to therapy to me

Jess’s mom: Therapy? Can’t she go talk to someone at the mosque instead?

Sister: Seriously though. Take her to the mosque first. She might be stressed, I get it…. But therapy is a western way to waste your money, and those receipts are all you’ll get out of it. She’ll toughen up over time, just wait it out. She’s a highschooler for crying out loud. Hormones are flying high.

Jess’s mom: She’s my daughter. You’re starting to sound like the stereotypical men we were just talking about. I want what’s best for her, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone and trying something new. Maybe what’s outside of our cultural norm is worth a shot. We don’t know unless we try.

**Jess’s mom says goodbye to her family and plops down on the couch. She opens her computer and starts searching.**

**Jess’s mom checks her watch**
Jess’s mom: I can’t believe it’s already been two hours. I didn’t think It would take me so long to find a Palestinian child therapist within our area. Talk about the lack of representation. Let me give her a call and see if she’s available next week.

**Closes laptop and makes a call**

At times I feel like I can’t properly weigh in on what it’s like to be Asian American,
but the world sees my face, my features, and assumes that they know what environment I was raised in.

People always ask what it’s like to be Muslim.
“Don’t you have to wear that scarf thingy??”
“How many times a day do you pray?? Like 4-5 right, something crazy.”
“And, as a woman do you really have any freedom?”

I don’t mean to be rude,
But all that’s running through my head is…… are you serious dude?
Stereotypes seep rapidly through these peoples teeth.
And I’m so tempted to snap, shout and start beef,
But I have to remind myself to educate, correct and just breathe.

There is two sides to every coin,
But for the sake of time those two I’ll conjoin.
For starters, the topic of mental health is taboo,
And for MY family… the importance of therapy or counsel just won’t get through.

You can fall in love… just not with an outsider.
When you do, the gap between you and your family will just get wider.
The leader of your house should always be your father.
And it gets a little tricky when the opposite of his image is his wife or his daughter.

Its great, so so great that we have the support of collectivism
But that can bite you in the butt when you attempt individual activism.
It can be quite difficult for me to talk about my struggles,
But let me press pause now and take a double.

My background may be chaotic,
But it’s unique and beautiful.
I’m sure to other Asian Americans my examples are reusable,
But I hope that after today you understand how and why my story is not reducible.
As we soon part ways and you resume your day as usual,
I hope the message I’ve shared is communicable.

• ‘Asian American’ has no borders - Slides Presentation