In the novel The Namesake jhumpa lahiri describes this feeling on isolation and loneliness in Ashima. She feels this beacause she is in America and the rest of her family is in India. This feeling is worsened by the fact that they are the only Bengali family in their neighborhood. This feeling of isolation of being in a new place is very familiar to me because that’s how I felt when I came to America. My family and I were the first members of our family to come to America and so we were alone. There were no other Tibetan families and it was very tough leaving behind family and friends unsure of whether you would see them in a couple months or years. Similarly just as Bengali’s have their own custom of having two different names in my culture every family member has a different last name. A holy monk chooses our names so this caused a lot of confusion when I first registered for school similar to the confusion faced by Gogol and Ashoke. I remember this one time when my sister and I were registering for school and they were confused as to why we had different names but were still siblings. We had to explain to them about our customs but in the end it was too confusing for them and they did not understand it. Luckily I did not face the same problem as Gogol and did not have to change my name even though it is quite difficult to pronounce.

Every dish is unique to a particular culture, so it is safe to say that food is a big factor in defining a culture. Elements of these dishes help distinguish cultures, from the ingredients of the dish to the presentation of it on the table. In Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake, we often come across the mention of food. The curried lamb with potatoes, biryani and samosas Ashima Ganguli prepare come hand in hand with the Indian culture and define the childhood of her American-born son, Gogol. As Gogol grows up though, he starts to dislike many aspects of his culture, such as the food.

As a child, all I ate was Chinese food, with a couple of McDonald’s Happy Meals here and there. My Chinese parents only prepared food using a big wok situated on top of the stove, using the kitchen oven to store pots and pans instead of cooking dishes such as lasagna. I remember for one month, I refused to eat rice because I was sick of having it everyday. My friends with American-born parents had spaghetti for dinner one night, and some sort of meat with mashed potatoes another night. I always had rice with multiple dishes placed in front of me. A dish of steamed fish. Another of stir-fried broccoli. Another of who knows what. I remember wanting a dinner that was American, a dinner that was normal sounding. I grew sick of Chinese food just like Gogol with Indian food.

I feel silly thinking back on the younger me. Refusing to eat rice was sort of like refusing my Chinese culture. Sure, I am American-born but many of my ancestors before me were Chinese and not following their ways would be disrespectful. Now that I’m older and can go out on my own, I’m able to experience other cultures and their foods and still enjoy Chinese food at home. Because hey, who doesn’t like Chinese food?

Being a New Yorker, public transportation is a large part of my life, especially since I cannot drive nor do I own a vehicle of any sort. Dependency on public transportation can prove to be a problem at times, not only because trains and buses are usually never on time, but also because of my wild imagination; I would occasionally fear riding the public bus or taking the train because of atrocious events that occur in reality, such as the Upper East side groping incidents, and because of scenes in movies, such as the Final Destination series. After the 9/11 attacks, that anxiety did grow to a certain extent, but not to the extent that I would stop using public transportation. My apprehension was slightly similar to that of Oskar’s in Jonathan Safran Foer’s novel, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, who never takes a bus or train on his journey to find the owner of the key hidden in a vase. In the beginning of his adventure, Oskar travels to Queens for the first time; however, his extreme fear of buses and trains forces him to journey there by foot from Manhattan. He walks towards the bridge that leads to Queens, walks over it, and continues to his destination.
Similar to Oskar’s journey, there is a memory of mine that I thought was quite an experience. I remember a sweltering, sunny Saturday, and the feeling of the sun’s rays shining down on me as I squinted against the brightness of the sun. It was the last race of the day and I was ready to head home. With my pen and clipboard at hand, I prepared myself for the sound of the gun. In a flash the race was over and I had successfully jotted down everyone’s times.
It was finally time to go home. I remember standing at the bus stop with the team, shielding myself from the sun’s rays with a piece of paper, as we all chatted amongst ourselves. After a long period of time, the team had decided we would walk to the train station. And thus began our journey, walking to Manhattan from Randall’s Island.
I never thought I would ever walk over a bridge in my life. In the moment, all I remember thinking about was how blazing hot it was and how exhausted I was. I remember walking alongside speeding cars. I remember the shadows of the bridge covering the pathway and shielding the sun from our eyes. I remember observing the architecture of the bridge with all its bolts and hinges. And finally, I remember the cheers of the team for making the right decision of walking as we made it across the bridge before the bus.

Thinking back to this memory, it was exciting and memorable. The bonding and laughter shared with the team that day, and the fact that it was the first time walking over a bridge, and most likely my last time walking over a bridge, made a deep impression in my life.

In Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close the main character, Oskar Schell, continually remembers the day of September 11th 2001, and the phone messages that his dad left. This really made me remember that day in my life. I was in 3rd grade and had the day was going as normal. Then suddenly the mood of every single teacher in the building changed and kids were being pulled out of to go home about every five minutes. Eventually our teacher told us that the twin towers had been hit by a plane and had collapsed. I didn’t know that much about the city but did remember my dad once telling me that he worked close to the twin towers. I immediately got extremely nervous and asked my teacher what happened to buildings near the twin towers. She told me that she didn’t know. About 5 minutes later I was called to go down to the office. I remember everything about the image of me collecting my bags and walking down to the office. I kept thinking my mom would be standing there crying and telling me that something happened to dad. I didn’t know what to do, I thought about just running away. The walk to the office from my classroom was about a minute to me on that day it felt like a lifetime.   Thankfully my father was ok and when I saw him later that night i hugged him for 5 minutes.