Sundaze: no right way to write

an awful lot

I’ve been struggling to write for a while now. Sometimes, in the middle of the week, I’ll get a burst of inspiration and jot down prompts. But by the time Sunday rolls around, I’ve lost the motivation to write.

If you’ve ever drawn a blank while putting pen to paper, this one is for you. This past year has been a rollercoaster of emotions and this past month has only taken a nose-dive. I can feel my stomach drop, drop, drop and it isn’t even over yet.

I used to say writing is my outlet. It was how I processed emotions. But have you ever felt too overwhelmed to write?

Scared of writing the wrong thing, scared I won’t do it justice. And just too tired to write.

At the beginning of the month, I started hosting my family. It was a gentle reminder to set aside time for myself even when it feels like there wasn’t any. While I love having my loved ones close, trying to squeeze four people in a 1 BDR has helped us see the importance of space. Both physical and mental boundaries. And without this space, it proves difficult to reflect and process anything one may be going through. No matter how many people love and care for you, your journey is your own.

But then you step out to find - what in tarnation is going on in the world! Biden is running, then he isn’t. A win is a win I guess. There is a literal assassination attempt on a former president, regardless of your politics - that is insane. Trump picks JD Vance to be his running mate. At first - it seems like a success, the right is rejoicing and then come the couch memes and Vance’s childless cat lady comments. Biden endorses Kamala Harris for the Democratic nominee, and people who wouldn’t vouch for her in the primaries are all of a sudden calling it a brat summer. What a time to work in US politics. Or be Charli XCX’s manager.

I will end by drawing attention to something that’s weighing heavy on my mind today - my birthplace, my first home. There’s 138 of you on here, thank you for giving me the honor of sharing this life’s thoughts with you. I grew up hearing stories of the Bangladeshi liberation, and how we were the only country to have fought to establish our own language, subsequently seeking independence from Pakistan. And it’s only been a little over 50 years since. Some of my early memories of school trips include war museums and circuit houses that were home to various freedom fighters. My mom’s college diaries are filled with political chants and poems. In fact, my first poem that was ever published was about the Bangladeshi flag. I honestly can’t tell what was going on in my 7 year old brain but I can tell you Bangladeshis are a deeply political people.

Peaceful student protests for policy reform and fair employment practice have been met with excessive force by the government, resulting in at least 202 deaths per official count while unverified sources claim the numbers are much higher, accompanied by thousands of injuries and arrests of activists. With unrest and violence spiraling out of control, the government shut down internet and mobile networks, deployed the military and imposed a curfew. The quota issue is the tip of the iceberg of economic and political discontent that lies underneath the surface.

Description: A female high school student on a bike in Bangladesh, carrying a makeshift weapon in her backpack to defend herself.

I think the rise of global movements toward justice and equity in the past few years have stirred something within all of us. I am thinking about what kind of person I want to be in this world. I am thinking what kind of government I want to vote in. I carry the term “third culture kid” with a lot of pride and recently, some sadness. I have no prompt for you right now, I am still trying to process what I feel.

In community,

Aaisha