Telling Our Stories, Sharing Our Lives
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
TELLING OUR STORIES, SHARING OUR LIVES A Collection of student memoir writing Brooklyn College Fall 2008 Acknowledgments We are grateful for the support of: William Tramontano, Provost Donna Wilson, Dean of Undergraduate Studies Milga Morales, Dean of Student Life Ellen Tremper, Chair, English Department Janet Moser, Director of Freshman Composition Fall 2008 English 1 Instructors (Including Jess Barbagallo, Moustafa Bayoumi, Donald Brown, Michelle Brulé, Clare Callahan, Erin Courtney, Steve D’Amato, Elida DeKlein, Ryan Dobran, Christine Hauser, Jill Jarvis, Jennifer Kikoler, Tracy Lander, Marlene Lee, Jake Lemkowitz, Scott Lindenbaum, David Miller, Patrick Nugent, William Offenbaker, Tahneer Oksman, Tanya Pollard, Molly Pulda, Matthew Reeck, Helen Rubinstein, Melissa Sande, Risa Shoup, Jane Stafford, Elizabeth Stevens, Albena Vassileva, Sarah White, Sybil White) Christopher Schmidt, Writing Fellow Sarah Brown, College Assistant Helen Phillips, College Assistant Patrick Kavanagh, Assistant to the Dean of Undergraduate Studies Faculty and Staff Discussion Leaders Richard Grossberg, BCBC Frank Angel, Director, Brooklyn Center Cinema The Staff at BC Printworks Cover art (“Bench”) and interior drawings by Adam Thompson and of course, Jhumpa Lahiri Contents ROLE MODELS 1 CHILDHOOD DREAMS: DR. CROSSING GUARD Elizabeth Persaud 3 THE SEPARATION Reynaldo Piniella 5 ME ENAMORÉ CON MI PAPA: I FELL IN LOVE WITH MY FATHER Iemi Hernandez-Kim 7 FORGET ME NOT Esther Varon 13 PAYING THE FISHER-PRICE Christian DeJesus 15 THE TEARS THAT LIFTED OFF Deondra Harriott 18 MR. PALMER’S MIRACLE CLASS Daniel Slepitsky 20 MY MRS. CROFT Marina Pavlica 23 MOVABLE FEASTS 27 SWEET BUN DUMPLINGS Emily Cama 29 FOLLOWING THE CANDYMAN Angelica Berry 32 SECOND PLACE Anne Boatner 33 CHANGE Jiali Huang 35 THE MEAL THAT CEASES ALL ARGUMENT Jack Levenson 37 A DELICATESSEN STORY Peter DeLury 38 DISHES OF A TRINI GIRL Sasha De Silva 40 iii INTERPRETING INTERPRETER OF MALADIES 43 DARK TOWN Diego Cruz 45 INTERPRETER OF MALADIES BY JHUMPA LAHIRI Joshua Ammons 47 A WIRELESS CONNECTION Oliver Lamb 49 IN THE MOMENT 51 TO KICK OUT OF THE BOX Yaelle Guttman 52 WINTER WONDERLAND Hussein Alywahby 54 A SUMMER DAY WITH MURAKAMI Miao Chen 56 TANGERINE FAIRY Farzana Islam 58 SENIORITIS Rachel Leibowitz 59 MOMENT: THE LAST SHOW Theresee Tull 61 HIT ME Zvi Eljasz 62 CALL OF DESTINY Maria Boltysheva 64 LOOKING BACK, LOOKING FORWARD 67 DRY CRY Al Peter Barnett 69 NO WAY BACK Alicia Walker 72 MY SIP OF WELL WATER Gabrielle Storm Gale 75 CHANGE IS UNCOMFORTABLE Jessie-Ann Wellington 77 iv AMBIGUOUS MUSE Joan Araujo 79 THE VEIL AND ME Nusrat Azmi 81 AN IMMIGRANT IN THE USA Aram Tahmasebi 83 TRUE SIGHT Lumena Louis 84 THE LOSS OF A FRIEND Roy Benaim 87 STRUGGLE Haseeb Sana 89 CROSSED WIRES 93 MY HEADPHONES Michelle Watson 95 EASY LAUGHTER Sara Dayan 98 OF NOTHING Faina Dendze 103 TONGUE-TIED Jonathan Martinez 104 TÚ SABES Janice Soto 107 SECRETS TO TELL, SECRETS TO KEEP Troy Peterson 109 HIS STORY, MY STORY, OUR STORY Lillian Oquendo 111 CROSSING THE LANGUAGE BARRIER Amena Bhutta 113 UNWANTED VISITORS Nicholas Grant 115 PRISON Kwabena Despinosse 118 WITH GUILT, I REPLY, “YES.” Afrah Ahmed 120 v INTRODUCTION Brooklyn College students of the class of 2012 began their college experience through the pre-freshman reading of Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Interpreter of Maladies during the summer before the start of the Fall 2008 semester. On Orientation Day, they discussed the book in small groups, led by members of the Brooklyn College faculty and staff. Once classes began, they discussed Lahiri’s fiction and then attended a lecture and reading by Lahiri when she visited Brooklyn College in September 2008. Conversations about The Interpreter of Maladies continued in class during the first weeks of the semester, culminating in students’ writing their own stories. We call this collection of student memoirs Telling Our Stories, Sharing Our Lives. vii PART 1 ROLE MODELS Elizabeth Persaud • Reynaldo Piniella • Iemi Hernandez-Kim Esther Varon • Christian DeJesus • Deondra Harriot Daniel Slepitsky • Marina Pavlica Childhood Dreams: Dr. Crossing Guard ELIZABETH PERSAUD n today’s society, children are expected to know exactly what they want to be from day one. One of the Ifirst questions I remember being asked was, “What do you want to be when you grow up, little girl?” Even as a kindergartener, I hated being put on the spot. I felt as if I was on a stage, under white hot, bright lights, with the whole school watching me, everyone hanging on my next word. I watched as all the other kids leapt high out of their seats with their aspirations. I was terrified. My palms were so sweaty that my schoolbag almost slipped out of my hands. While all the other kids wanted to be astronauts, power rangers, or dinosaurs, all I wanted to do was make it through the day and go home. I felt tiny as I walked home that day. I was like an amoeba on a slide, afraid to make a move because I knew someone was watching me ever so carefully through a microscope. If I had only wiggled the wrong way, I would be thrown into a great dark, smelly abyss—otherwise known as the trash can. As I was walking home, my face seemingly buried into the ground, something, someone, caught my attention. I heard a loud, sharp sound that changed the course of the world around me. As the bustling cars all screeched to a stop, I looked up. There he stood, immensely tall. My small, shiny eyes almost could not behold all of him at once. He was dressed in deep navy blue, almost black, pants and a wispy powder blue shirt. Around his neck dangled a large, shiny whistle—the object that had produced the powerful noise that seemed to control the environment. But the man who possessed it was more magnificent. Except for his silvery-gray hair that glistened brilliantly in the burning sun, he appeared to be an overgrown school child, all dressed up in his uniform. His face was very striking. His eyes were profound pools of blue, soft and kind. His lips were rather small. When he smiled, they vanished and a million wrinkles danced on his face. For such small lips, the smile was enormous, as if trying to hug all of humanity. I soon learned that he was there to protect us from the roaring cars, raging like bulls, trying to run us over; and he did this faithfully, every single day. My young naïve mind had never witnessed such kindness. It was then, as I traveled to school a young kindergartener, that I set out with my first life goal. I would become one of the few, the brave, the noble—a crossing guard. As I saw that man every morning and afternoon, I felt a warmth inside, content in my heart that I had found a worthy occupation. One day, I was the only child crossing the street. This was my very first day walking home by myself. I felt ten feet tall. However, as I approached the corner, my confidence seemed to flow away from me like a paddle lost in rushing rapids. And there he was. He saw me from across the street and he worked his magic. He smiled at me and said “Hi!” Then, he held my hand and walked me through the clear stream with cars banking up on either side. He waved goodbye after returning me to safety. I was ecstatic. The friendly, magical man had said hello to me, a small frightened child. I ran home, excited to tell my sister of my aspirations. When I saw her, I teemed with glee. “I want to be a crossing guard” I exclaimed, jumping up and down. However, she did not share my joy, not in the way I did. At first, her face was unreadable. Her brows furrowed together in confusion. She was assessing what I told her. I became impatient, my small hips swinging from side to side, waiting for her to respond in joy. Then, her face changed once more. Her eyes shone with a sense of condescension. Seemingly out of nowhere, she burst into laughter. It hit me like the rupture of a balloon popped with a sharp pin. I did not understand, and my own brows began to furrow. She 3 explained to me, through gasps for breath, that becoming a crossing guard was not a job; it was something the elderly did to fill up their time. The sound of her continuous laughter echoed the shattering glass of my dreams; the shards cutting into my confidence, bleeding the pain of failure. I could not be like the reliable, friendly, helpful man who filled my travels with joy. I could not make little children feel as important as royalty, adorned with precious jewels. It felt as if all the voyages I had traveled since finding my answer to that one important question had been erased. All that was left was a white, blank paper. I stood once more under the white hot lights, a miniscule bacterium with no aspirations. Only, now I felt like someone had realized this and had thrown me away. So there I sat in my room, decaying with last week’s mystery meat. Of course from that day on, I searched for a worthy goal, something that would not cause others to respond in the way my sister had. Through other experiences, I decided to become a doctor, a new goal which I am currently working towards. However, looking back, I realize my goals have not been completely changed. They have just been twisted, contorted and shaped and molded so much that they have created a new title for themselves.