the missing piece
OPINION: In our post-pandemic world, how do we redefine our sense of belonging and build meaningful connections? How do we show up for ourselves and others in isolation? These are questions many of us are pondering as we emerge from a prolonged period of darkness.
It is Friday night. My mother has invited her kumares over to her apartment for their weekly mahjong session. Upon arrival, they seat themselves to feast on a potluck meal of Filipino favourites before setting up to play a friendly marathon that is expected to last three hours. The tiles make satisfying clacking noises as the players push and shuffle pieces across the table’s green felt. Their constant laughter and conversation mingling, occasionally broken by bouts of silent stratagem. The wagers are insignificant; thus, no feelings are hurt when one finally emerges as the winner. Next week, someone else will take home the kitty. These eccentric, boisterous ladies, these are her people.
The word community has far-reaching definitions. Depending how we choose to integrate these connections into our lives, we consider a plethora of shapes, perhaps tight circles of friends, or vast pentagons of members unrestricted by city lines. We may seek out some version to foster our sense of belonging to a group of individuals with a common purpose. For me, community conjures the imagery of barren plots of land transformed into lush green spaces with ripe red tomatoes and plump string beans, and bustling townhall gatherings founded to preserve the idiosyncrasies of a borough, its bodegas, curious shops, and small business.
There are groups that are implicit in our cultural associations and our desire to carry on the language, food, and traditions of one’s heritage. They can take the form of proud showcases of celebration, takeovers for block parties and crowded night markets. Even as outsiders, we are welcomed to attend the festivities, partake in the music, and sample their elaborate offerings. These undertakings, projects of greater scope which take time in planning and execution cannot be accomplished alone requiring the might of an entire village to succeed and thrive.
In many ways, the pandemic disrupted our natural ability to congregate in social settings that is embedded in our work environments and social spheres. The freedom in which we enjoyed the company of our friend groups in real life dissipated, leaving us to design new ways to connect and relate borne out of necessity and furthered by technology. I seemed to lament that I never had the time until everything shut down and time was all I had. During this prolonged period of isolation, I immersed myself in the consumption of books and began to host virtual book club sessions. I embraced the solitary diversion of reading as a form of inward meditation and its subsequent discussion a means for expansion with a community of like-minded book lovers.
Amidst our lockdown, the media began to report the rise of AAPI hate crimes and violence against minorities. It was very painful to watch the lack of compassion shown towards immigrants especially the elderly, and it spoke to the underlying racial inequities and inherent biases that people have long concealed. Terms such as systemic racism, microaggression, and xenophobia entered my vocabulary which forced me to own my ignorance and thus my complicity. For many years, I did not think of myself as BIPOC because I was born in Canada. In Asian culture, it is a common practice for women to use lightening creams because fair skin is a marker of status. I never quite understood this practice. Every summer, I developed a bronze, healthy glow from hours of swimming. I once asked my aunt why people wanted to bleach their skin. She explained that its rationale stemmed from a long-held belief: when your skin is a darker tone, people assumed you were poor and worked on a farm. While she acknowledged this was not true, it was a pervasive notion in society. My relatives remarked on my wide almond eyes and the folds of my eyelids. Often, my mother crept behind me and pinched the tip of my nose repeating “high nose, high nose,” as though the relentless squeezing would magically influence its shape. I had never understood these subtle comments and gestures as forms of colourism whereby partiality formed in preference of European features.
Though I am no expert, I take ownership of the work required to become a better advocate for inclusion and diversity. I am still processing and learning by reading books and watching films to deepen my comprehension. If I have room to grow, maybe someone else is looking for a similar opportunity. Discerning the void, I purposefully decided to highlight underrepresented voices in my book club selections. In doing so, I recognized the eagerness in which the group desired to broaden their own horizons through engaging in thoughtful dialogue and most importantly listening. In holding safe spaces for individual self-expression, we can build allyship through enriching conversation, allowing us to learn from others’ lived experiences and narratives, especially from those whose voices have yet to be heard.
As our communities grow, it is vital for continuous re-evaluation to mitigate the perils of homogenous thinking patterns. Over time, ballooning membership or lost focus can dilute the original objective, impede its progress or worse, render it irrelevant to its collective. For community does not truly exist without the collaborative efforts of its people. If every person arrives with motivation to contribute in small, yet significant ways in support of each other, eventually we formulate a better solution to bridge the gap. Once we break out of our bubbles, we begin to form new tribes that fulfill our intrinsic need for belonging and organically disrupt the status quo by simply asking, “What do we need of community and what does the community need from us?” The reciprocity we bring as individuals is in essence the missing piece.