I microwaved the upma while the kettle boiled for chai, then took both back to the sofa. The first bite burned my tongue, and the fiery red chili woke me up completely. The scalding hot chai did nothing to calm my mouth. Instead, I closed my eyes while my taste buds throbbed.
Had I really quit my internship? Had I really accused Marisa of not listening to the diverse voices on her staff? Where had that fiery Hana come from?
My eyes paused on Kawkab Khala’s elegant black cashmere shawl embroidered with orange flowers, draped over the armchair in front of me. This was definitely all her fault. She was an agent of chaos, encouraging me to want more, to expect more, from everyone in my life.
My podcast had shifted also in the past few weeks.Ana’s Brown Girl Rambleshad started as a place for me to record my random thoughts. It had evolved into an audio diary, and judging from my rising listener count, there was active interest in the stories I was telling. The thought warmed me, and I opened the editing software on my laptop.
After I finished working on my latest podcast episode, I pressed Play on what I had so far ofSecret Family History. Weeks ago Big J had asked what was stopping me from working on the story in my heart.Now, thanks to my impulsive actions, I had all the time I needed to finish it.
My aunt’s voice over the microphone was throaty. “What do you want to know, Hana?” she had asked, impatient.She had been fun to interview, if only because she so clearly thought the enterprise a complete waste of her time.
“That story you told me, Kawkab Khala. Do you remember? When we were outside in the backyard? I thought I had heard all the stories from back home, but that one was new to me.”
My aunt snorted. “You North Americans. You hear a few stories from your parents and you think you know everything about people you have never met. When was the last time you visited India, Hanajaan?”
I smiled now, remembering how awkward I had felt. “Um... when I was twelve? We went for Hamid Mamu’s wedding.”
“Your Hamid Mamu is a fool. I told him not to marry that girl. Why are men such idiots, Hana? He is dancing attendance on her now. I could have told him he would repent in leisure. The girl had sharp eyes.”
“About that story...”
Kawkab Khala sighed. “Have you ever interviewed anyone before?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Just not family.”
“Family is who you should have thought to interview first,” my aunt answered.
“That’s what I’m doing, Kawkab Khala, but you keep changing the subject.”
“I don’t understand how talking into this microphone is considered radio. Where is your antenna?”
On the sofa I laughed out loud and pressed Pause. It was still rough; it needed editing, but there was something there. I could feel it.
By now I was certain that news of my unceremonious firing had trickled throughout the station’s small office. I wondered what Big J would think of me when he heard. I wondered if he would still want to help, or would he ignore me now?
There was one way to find out. Muttering a brief prayer, I sent the first five minutes of the recording to Big J with a quick note. Maybe he would like what I had done. He had expressed interest before in the stories I wanted to tell. Perhaps he could help me find another position too. I had nothing left to lose, really.
* * *
I’ve been thinking lately about the lies we tell ourselves and the secrets that define us. I mentioned in the last episode that I recently came face to face with hate. I had been hoping things would improve, but instead they’ve gotten worse, in almost every way possible. Both personally and professionally, I have been targeted and attacked. Worse, the most important people in my life have been targeted as well, which has been painful to watch. We’re trying to pick up the pieces now, trying to figure out what to do next and how to move forward.
Strangely, something good has come out of all this pain. I’ve realized that I have to be more honest about what I truly want. I also need to be brave enough to confront the things that have held me back—in some cases, myself.
What does this have to do with the lies we tell ourselves and the secrets we harbour? During the course of the past few weeks, I’ve realized that I am guilty of believing soothing lies, the lies that haveallowed me to function in my world. I have turned away from things that niggled at my conscience, that went against my principles, and rationalized my behaviour as the price one pays to get ahead. When I finally confronted just a few of those lies, I ended up losing my job.
I don’t have much of a safety net, so the consequences of confronting such hard truths are real, and terrifying. Still, I feel lighter for it, better about myself and stronger. I know now what I will and will not tolerate. I know where my line is, and what I am willing to lose to defend my heart.
While I am scared of what the future will bring, the uncertainty has been refreshing in a strange way. I know who I am in a way I never have before, and what I’m willing to sacrifice to stay true to myself. I guess that’s not a bad lesson to learn at any age.
Chapter Thirty-Six
My phone was flashing with dozens of messages when my alarm, muffled under the sofa cushions, went off the next day. I swiped, and my eyes landed on a text from Yusuf.
Nalla died last night. Janazah today after zuhr prayer at 1:30 pm. Spread the word.
Rapid footsteps on the stairs. “Hana!” Mom called, urgent. “Wake up, wake up!”
My fingers were numb. I put my phone face down on the seat cushion beside me.
