QUESTION? ANSWER:

Consider this: Genesis 2:18-23, “And Adam said: ‘This is the bone of my bones; and the flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman; because she was taken out of Man.’” The difference between woman and man, since my childhood and the childhood’s before mine, has been resolute and unshakeable—master and servant, creator and creation, whole and part. As a woman, I was raised upon the belief that I was a slice out of the greater pie that made up MANkind, defined by an idea from an era in which my possible conception had yet to cross my ancestor’s minds. Truth be told, by taking the form of my father’s daughter, I’ve found myself on the precipice of solitude and domestic feelings. But things, of course, could always be worse than my elementary-grade, sheltered, western-complaining.

Consider this: Memory is punishment, so there’s something so blissful about the absence of childhood memories. These days, it’s easier to recall a time I was half-present for than a personal slight against me. A dozen years after the 22nd of November in 2005, I found myself peering past columns of dark-hard-maple; polished to the gods—if you could ignore the wear and tear on the neighboring walls—for everyone’s viewing pleasure. It was sillier than a child like me could ever have known: what purpose was there in shining a banister? 

Question: How does the past shape our present, and can we ever truly escape its shadow? Is there worth in the preservation of ashes? 

Answer: Testament to the late autumn season, where habit intertwined with the smell of feasts and festivities, my mother and my pair of half-western aunts danced with the heats brewing a culinary masterpiece. Amongst this feat of gastronomic perfection, I can remember myself yearning for a clean-swift conclusion for this celebration; I knew a mountain of dishes awaited me as soon as all my relatives finished eating—a reality that bloomed into a grimace on my face as I sat along the polished stairway. In my infinitely unwise childlike resentment, a sharp-hot glare of mine fell upon the men of my house, my father and my uncle, reclined on leather seats without a hint of worry on their faces. Their only duty was to exist as they were.

Consider this: As the savory aroma of turkey roasting wafted through the air, the scent itself seemed to hold its breath with prehistoric anticipation. Like a rumble, emerging from a man sat upon his Bob’s Furniture throne, is a request to be served by the fruits of my mother’s labor. 

Question: Can the traditions of the past coexist with the realities of the present? “Bring me a plate and something to clean my hands with,” my uncle’s voice bellowed out, attention affixed to his homework-focused daughter. Is there any room for defiance from the norm?

Answer: “No.” It was a stark moment of clarity, for my cousin, V, a choice between conformity and asserting her own worth amidst the silencing of her desires. In a world of shifting paradigms, V’s voice, in my mind, lived on as an unforgettable defiance—a way to stick it to the “MAN” of mankind with bursting bravado. She refused to be bound by the chains of an age-old narrative, and questioned why she should serve while her brothers, the Duo V’s (W’s), reclined in idleness at the dining table.

Question: What is the price of breaking tradition, and where does it lead? Is there worth in the spoilage of ashes? 

Answer: The clash between tradition and modernity does not exist without its casualties. As V stood her ground, the house grew heavy with tension in a way in which it was hard for the young to bear. But, this kind of struggle to break free from the confines of tradition is not unique to my culture or family. Like in “The Loudest Voice” by Grace Paley, V’s refusal to adhere to the tradition and explore a greater unknown mirrors Shirely’s struggle weighing the costs of assimilation. In this rejection of the convention, one is able to explore the nuances of assimilation and the cost of preserving or relinquishing cultural and religious traditions.

Question: Can the traditions of the past coexist with the realities of the present, or must one be sacrificed for the other?

Answer: Even in a space of noncompliance, it is easy to undermine the ripples it caused. In the end, my mother took up the “mantle” and served the food to my uncle without a word.