We can’t make any life in New York without composing a private map of it in our minds. An actual map of New York recalls our inner map of the city.
Simultaneously [New York is] a map to be learned and a place to aspire to. A city of things and a city of signs, the place I actually am and the place I would like to be even when I am here.
Even when we are established here, New York somehow still seems a place we aspire to. We go on being inspired even when we’re most exasperated.
If the energy of New York is the energy of aspiration, the spirit of New York is really the spirit of accommodation. And yet both shape the city’s maps, for what aspirations and accommodations share is the quality of becoming, of not being fixed in place of being in every way unfinished.
In New York, the space between what you want and what you’ve got creates a civic itchiness. I don’t know a single content New Yorker.
To make a home in New York, we first have to find a place on the map of the city to make it in. The map alone teaches us lessons about the kind of home you can make.
Each summer, she visited New York. “What’s your diary like?” preceded overlapping calendars to find where we might place the visit. And each summer, I drew a map for my guest. Shopping places, seeing places, eating places, finding places, sitting places, secret places. The neighborhood diagrams charted my moves through the city — East Village, Cobble Hill, Carroll Gardens — and were as unknowable as they were temporary. Each summer, places dissipated into places they used to be. Drawn maps, a history of a moment. The ritual of the map became the truth that persisted.
Medical doctors in America are not trained to think like scientists—they are trained to present themselves as all-knowing experts whose facade of incredible intelligence and skill is supposed to comfort the patient and thus somehow miraculously lead to a good outcome. The time for this to change is long past.
In science we are constantly reminded of how stupid we are compared to the incredible complexity of the universe. In engineering, we are taught how dangerous it is to assume anything as certain when designing complex systems. In contrast, medical doctors are trained to act like investment bankers who are so smart and confident that nothing can possibly go wrong on their watch.
Until medical doctors are trained to think scientifically, that is (1) to admit that they do not know everything and indeed know very little about how the human body actually works, (2) to use evidence/experiment based logic to DEDUCE, rather than assume, a particular diagnosis, and (3) to test their hypotheses of diagnosis through critical thinking exercises, we will continue to have these types of catastrophic and needlessly tragic outcomes.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
My desi father's encouragement after I broke up with my boyfriend:
(it was the first, proper break-up to have occurred in my life, I was probably 18 or so, it was a cold, bitter winter and I was lying in bed, crying my eyes out and hugging my pillow for the past week and a half without eating a morsel of food)
Dad:May I enter your room, Holy Princess?
Dad:Ha ha, stop crying. Foolish girl.
Dad:Astaghfirullah. What is that smell? Did you burn something?
Dad:It is the smoke rising from your head to see me this positive, yes?
Dad:Okay. Okay. No more to joke.
Dad:I am a Muslim, Pakistani father. I never liked the idea of you being with him but I said, "Let it be, yaar. She is young. She is free. I still love her. She is my baby princess." Wipe your snot. So I was okay with him being with you. But it hurts me a lot more to see you like this.
Dad:You are not chubby anymore. What kind of diet is this, hmm? Ha ha, I made funny joke.
Dad:(pushes my hair behind my ear) Allah created hearts to break and heal every now and then. That is why we are humans. If we did not hurt, we wouldn't be who we are today. But having a broken heart means you have two options: To heal it and become invincible. Or to mope away and become a pathetic shadow of the person you once were. What would my little girl do?
Dad:She would eat lotta chips. Ha ha ha.
Dad:Okay, sorry. She would fight back and win her strength to become who she was and will be forever. You are going to meet someone amazing. Boys are idiots. I thank Allah for not giving me sons. They are foolish donkeys. Daughters are warriors. You are my warrior. When you were born, I had tears. I was so scared. I did not want anyone to hurt my baby. Today he hurt you. Allah will take revenge. But you take your time to heal and know that I am always here for you even if my English is not too good.
Dad:That boy was a bastard, foolish dog from hell. Bastard.