On Departure: Wrapping Up Through Retrospection

Oof, this one feels so heavy. As I write this, I’m remembering the past one and a half years: somehow simultaneously the most difficult few months of my life and the years when I’ve seen myself grow in innumerable ways. In some ways, it feels like it was the most difficult months for a lot of people (well . . . it might be because of the global pandemic, failed leadership, and a lack of institutional integrity, but ya know!) Throughout those months, I’ve met some tough decisions and really, really, difficult calls; but the decision to leave the SAYHU Collective definitely lands up there . . . except it doesn’t feel like it. It feels really natural, normal, and so full of care, love, and self-compassion.

In all things I attempt in life, I work methodically. I like bullet points, numerical order, categories, all of it. So, to wrap up my time with the SAYHU Collective as the gift it was, I’m going to write a three-part framework of the lessons I’ve learned and want to share.

1.    Depravation can lead us to jump head-first into the opportunity we’ve been deprived of without a true appreciation of what the opportunity calls for.

I’ll conceptualize this by calling back to when I first came across SAYHU. Or, better yet, I’ll preface this by saying growing up in Houston meant being the weird desi girl in a lot of my social circles. Even more often, this meant being the only desi girl in a lot of my social circles. I’m not sure why as I did grow up with many South Asians, but I never built friendship with them, which is an experience I later came to find out is entirely common (but that’s a whole other future blog post). I literally never got to have a space where I could be both myself and be South Asian. It was always an exclusive either/or. In fact, I was so deprived of representation and belonging (and maybe even community), I even joined a South Asian sorority when I got to undergrad, but that’s an entirely other story…

Jump forward a couple years, I came across SAYHU’s email about our 2018 fall summit and my eyes immediately lit up. I was a miserable first year law student and I was seeking any and every escape from my studies and life in general. So I immediately opened up my agenda and put the dates in and blocked off the entirety of the weekend for the Summit. When I got to the Art League, enchanted by the smells of Govinda’s samosas and chai, I knew then (or at least my stomach did) that I had found the right place. I got to talking with other SAYHU community members from all walks of life like therapists and artists (and both), that the south Asian progressive space I had been needing when I was younger was finally here and I wanted to drink it all in immediately. After a chock-full three days of listening and learning, I emailed Rachel about getting more involved with SAYHU and was thinking immediately of the ways I could contribute. A hop skip and a jump later, I was sitting down to talk about what all a Collective member does and was signing on without really listening in that moment.

Me, at the 2018 SAYHU Southern Regional Summit, eating up all the samosas, chai, and conversation I could manage (Photo credit

This is my first lesson to share: I probably (okay, definitely) should have read up on this not-new-but-new-to-me thing called “feminist collectivity”. The members of the Collective at the time had been so gracious to talk about it, but I hadn’t exactly explored feminisms on my own, especially not transnational feminism and decolonial feminism. I don’t even believe that I gave the SAYHU website the in-depth study that it deserved. What I’ve learned now is when I’m starved for something, a space, an idea, a place, I usually abandon my sense of capacity and want to absorb everything like a sponge. From my Collective members, and months later, I have learned that this is a mechanical response to an emotional trigger. It’s almost romantic in a way, really, that I am at the ready to eat up what I’ve been yearning with a childlike zeal. Still, though, there’s a lesson in the patience, the learning, the understanding of that depravity and how exactly I wanted to quench my thirst of wanting a space to belong in. To be my desi self in -- to be my radical, socialist, Pakistani self in.

One of the ways I did learn more about feminisms, feminist study, Black feminist theory, and the application of transnational feminism within SAYHU’s work was at the National Women’s Studies Association Conference (NWSA) conference that I got to attend in 2019 as part of SAYHU (see our smiling faces below). I remember being in absolute awe of all the knowledge that was there. I also remember being so entirely overwhelmed by all these facets of the humanities that I never got to study or learn about in a formal sense. Though I did look up some gender studies master’s programs when I got home (change is hard y’all…) I learned to sit with myself and try to understand why I wanted a degree to establish that I’ve learned these things and why I can’t just soak up all of it slowly, read at my pace, and learn patiently with myself? I’m still exploring the answer to that, but what I did eventually learn is that it is all a process. And, maybe more importantly, it’s not always now or never! Some things are worth the wait; some things are worth the growth.

2.    Flow with fluidity, reject the rigidity.

We are (somehow) surviving capitalism. Well, actually, it’s more accurate to say that some of us are surviving under capitalism. We are literally placed within a murderous regime that exploits glimmers of hope to subdue any sense of meaningful revolution. Or that’s my opinion, at least. I’ll tone it down a notch—what I mean is that the past year and a half has really, really taught me so much about the hierarchies, the mental trauma, and the physical burdens that capitalism has conditioned me to accept, and even worse, perpetuate. Being a part of the Collective meant an active rejection of the usual forms of leadership, of the usual group-work hierarchies, of the usual but subdued violence that is entrenched in the 501(c)(3) cultural world. Sure, there were moments of tension, what group doesn’t have those though? I am young, a South Asian woman, I prefer social isolation, and in the loving words of my Collective member Eesha Pandit, “can get finnicky about leadership.” Who doesn’t love being absolutely read on a Sunday afternoon? Much love for keeping me on my toes, Eesha! All of this is true, and all of this is something I’ve spent the past months either unlearning, accepting about myself, or forgiving myself for being. Being on the Collective through the ongoing pandemic, facilitating programming for the community, creating conversation and community building has taught me the true value of operating from a place of trust, forgiveness, and compassion for self and for others. Some things just won’t pan out and that is completely okay. There are no grades, no performance assessments, no raises, no traditional capitalistic form of incentive in Collective work. There is, however, accountability, communication, and relationship-building. The concepts of mutual respect, transparency, and open communication are the incentives in Collectivity, at least in my understanding. As someone who had no prior exposure to this particular way of community building, it was hard to recalibrate and integrate these ways of being, and I’m still learning to do so, but I know nowhere but SAYHU would have taught me that.

Me participating in a group activity at our 2018 Summer Institute!

3.    There are times for growth and there are times for deliberate stillness. Switching between the two establishes a normal, natural, and necessary balance. 

These past few months have been heavily littered with rough patches, for sure. To be honest, I think I’m still going through one. I’m months from getting my law degree, dealing with family obligations and expectations, and trying to figure out my place in the world. Phew. There were moments when the tears ran, things felt strapped, deadlines weren’t being met, goals were dropping off the table; and through all of that, through voicing frustration, sharing accountability, and extending compassion, we made it through. I can’t thank Rachel and Eeesha, and previous Collective members, enough for all they’ve taught me; both as more seasoned folks in this movement, in this work, but also on a personal note, as examples of forming healthy relationships. This is something that I think South Asian communities need more of. Through them, I learned a lot about what holding accountability, as both self and in community, looks like. I also learned what it means to be pushed by those who want to hold you to follow through and practice commitment, or put more simply, to do what you said you’d do. I’ll be honest, sometimes it hurt (as it naturally would), but it was a necessary experience. I characterize it as necessary because you don’t normally get the perfect incubator for revolutionary growth, so I consider myself lucky. Along with these lessons, I also got to experience so many firsts; I attended a pumpkin party for the first time, I got to discuss the “-American” of diaspora identity with other Pakistani-Americans for the first time, and I ate warm, greasy sesame red bean balls as big as my head for the first time. I learned that in these moments, this was finding myself and this was finding community and this was finding belonging. In a way, this is exactly what I needed when I was younger and what I hope to provide for some lost brown girl somewhere in the future.

In collectivity and with so much love, 

Noorulanne

Okay, maybe not quite as big as my head, but still HUGE, and so, so delicious!