life is beautiful

for the past few days in class, our students have been watching the amazingly moving and touching film, life is beautiful. it is an incredibly eloquent cinematic masterpiece that speaks to the sadness of the holocaust, and yet so beautifully highlights and illustrates the love and devotion of a man for his family. in the end, somehow, his love wins. despite all odds, he never stops loving or laughing or painting this image of a beautiful life for his child.

in previous years, i have always focused on guido, the main character. he is charming and humorous and silly and so positive in the face of such cruelty. i have, at times, focused on dora, the wife, who is dedicated and silently strong, open and willing to fall in love and to follow love wherever it may take her. a woman who embraces a spontaneous and powerful love.

but since the girls have been born, and especially this year, i focus on joshua - the beautiful wide-eyed child who is shielded from some of the darkest acts in modern history. i have always noticed him and adored him and have loved him and cried for him... but this year, i focused on him. i watched his character's fear and excitement; i was attentive to the little inflections in his sweet voice. i heard the curiosity in his questions and the pure joy in his delightful laugh. i watched each expression and mannerism... so simple, so innocent, so beautiful.

it was all so familiar.

i realize that i have connected joshua to viy and cai. i see so much of them in his bright, round eyes and his young demeanor. his wittiness and his creativity - so much of what the girls have. and yes, i know that joshua is not a "real" child... he is a character, written for the film and portrayed perfectly by an actor. but isn't joshua a real child? isn't he a compilation of what we adore about all children? innocent. whimsical. trusting.
it is what i adore about my children.

though we may not face the extreme inhumanity of the holocaust in our daily lives, and though we are not living the experience of those witnesses and victims and survivors, we too are challenged to let our love for others and our gratefulness for life triumph.

in the midst of a fallen world, where injustice is common, prejudice is rampant, and violence has become a sick coping mechanism, we must somehow find the beauty in this existence.

i know that for my children, for my family, i will strive to make it clear that life is beautiful.

because it really is.

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The Most Beautiful Mama

My mama has always been beautiful. It is a beauty that is natural and effortless and is the type of beauty that filled my heart with longing when I was a child. I can recall staring at how flawless the even color of her skin was, how adorable the few freckles were on her cheeks, how symmetrical her nose was. I remember thinking how absolutely perfect she looked in a sari, her pleats folded so pristinely, and the tuck of material into her waist seamless and smooth. I would often feel the softness of my mother’s hands. Hands that had delicate fingers that moved with precision and purpose. Hands that kneaded chapati dough and even held tight to a lawn mower. No matter what she did, her hands were always soft, always welcoming, always beautiful. But she never liked to focus on her own physical beauty. My mother’s true beauty comes from within. I understood certain aspects of this inner beauty when I was a child. The beauty that comes from her servant’s heart and her work ethic -

conversations.

i find myself thinking a lot about the condition of this world, of this nation, and of the hearts of man. i just open my eyes and really look around or open my ears to truly listen, and i cannot help but face the reality of evil. the reality of corruption. the reality of prejudice. the reality of inequality. the reality of bigotry. the reality of entitlement. the reality of self-righteousness. the reality of immorality. the reality of sin. i have struggled with the presence of these realities for a significant part of my life, and maybe to some degree for all of my life. but now i struggle with them beyond my identity as a woman, or a child of immigrants, or an educator, or an indian-american, or a Christ follower. i struggle with these harsh realities as a mother. you see, we are trying our hardest to raise three people who will one day change their world. i believe that they can, and i pray that they will. these three little girls have hope in their souls and eternity i

i am left...

it was a grocery store in buffalo. and it was a church in laguna woods. and it was an elementary school in uvalde, texas. it is all the times in between and all the times before. and God please help us, it is all the times after. i am left with my mind in a jumbled mass of arguments and anger, my heart a knot of ache and pain. i am left with my soul stretching its voice to plea. i am left as i attempt to send my children off to school and myself to walk into my own classroom with my will torn to shreds... barely a thread hanging onto any purpose at all. i am left weeping before bed, sobbing on the way to work, shuddering at the thought of this happening and america continuing on like usual. i am left scrolling through pictures of beautiful humans that will never breathe again, left reading posts of those who miss the laughs of their cherished, left staring at photos of special occasions, a frozen moment that was supposed to be one in a series of many more. left searching for the

butterfly. babies. love.

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