"Who am I? I asked myself. But it was like trying to identify one particular cell that coursed through the torpid veins of my body." - Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man (I think).
The last few weeks have felt like such a hurdle – an omnipresent force hurling me into a dusky oblivion. My ego is taxed and I’m questioning myself in ways I haven’t done in a very long time.
I always knew I would change my name after marrying – it was never a question I’d be a Mrs. [husband’s name]. Never. But this whole marriage, name-change process – this cultivating a new life and family has left me feeling I’ve abandoned the old – leaving ‘Saritha Prasad Tirunagaru’ high and dry. I’ve left it all - my identity - without a proper burial. No eulogy or apology. How could I let it all go with nothing more than signing a DMV application?
I’m sure this sounds ridiculous. After all, I am me. But, dammit, I put a lot of work into creating the goodwill that comes with my name. Everything about me – this person with all her successes, failures, humility, quirks, neuroses – was developed under that old name. And I just cast it away indefinitely.
Although, lets face it, the true root of this seemingly inane emotional turbulence isn’t the name change. I love being a Mrs., and a Mrs. Nord no less.
Perhaps I wasn’t ready to “leave” my family so quickly. In traditional Indian culture, the girl generally lives with her parents until she marries, then moves to her husband’s home. Moreover, during engagement ceremonies, to symbolize her leaving her parents home, the bride sits with a plate of rice grains in front of her, takes handfuls of grains and tosses it over her shoulder – a very emotional ritual. While I wasn’t raised under strict Indian tradition, and while I haven’t lived at home in 10 years, getting married nonetheless made me feel like I tossed my old life and identity like those grains. I thought “this is it…. I’m leaving my home – my parents, my siblings.” And even more sobering: “I am not a part of that home anymore.”
Surely I am, but I now have a new immediate family, John. It’s exciting – but strangely disarming. I think of my parents, more specifically, my Mom: a 16 year old immigrant, newly married to a stranger, traveling 10,000 miles to America, not knowing any English, having to create, maintain, support a family while being thrust into a new culture with no web of support, equipped merely with the hope she could raise in an unfamiliar place healthy and happy children in the image of her past (Indian culture) and future (American ideals). And she did it. So well.
Am I that strong? Am I capable of raising and supporting a family under a spectrum of adversity? I can only hope I have even a speck of the courage my Mom had when it comes down to it.
Then of course, that damn bar exam rears its ugliness yet again. I thought preparing for it was the tough part. Rather, being done with it has rendered the ego quite weary. No routine, no job, no prospect of a job – feeling so useless, feeling I’ll never be a valuable societal cog; feeling I will never accomplish anything. “Is this what I really want to do?” “Why didn’t I just become an art therapist/psychiatrist like I always wanted.” “IT’S TOO LATE – stop asking those damn questions!! You’re not doing yourself any good.” “Stay positive…. just stay positive… its gotta work out right? Right? RIGHT?” “I couldn’t possibly have worked this hard for nothing." "Could I have?”
There are simply too many forces working against my confidence – whittling away at any sensibility necessary to stay focused. And so I nap….. a lot. I try and convince myself to relax because I won’t ever have this kind of free time ever again. If only I could enjoy it.
Its just change, I tell myself. Inevitable change. Perhaps too much at once for this frail spirit.
