Los Angeles
Cultural Fusion: A Template for Identity
by Sarojni Mehta-Lissak
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Growing up in Southern California, I have always been surrounded by people of many cultures, and voices of many languages. In my own bicultural home, India and America blended as one, creating a template that guided me on my ventures into the world. From this perspective, I have continually viewed life through a wide lens, and in the process, gained immeasurable riches.
For me, identity elicits a feeling of cultural diversity. Prisms of color. Rainbows merging. Turn a mesmerizing instrument, like a kaleidoscope, to the right or left, and hues co-mingle with infinite combinations that boggle the mind. Here in Southern California, we live in a microcosm, where heritages interweave as first and second-generation citizens mainstream over time.
As a young girl in elementary school, I always gravitated to the “new kids,” or the ones with unusual backgrounds. One year we had a newcomer named Lourdes from Cuba, whom I immediately befriended. She had moss-colored eyes and golden skin. Tales to tell of her exodus, and customs to share during our time together. Another year, a petite girl, named Maria, joined my class as a recently arrived immigrant from Argentina. Her English was limited, but we quickly became acquaintances and I enjoyed visits to her home where family conversations enlivened the air with the rhythms of Spanish.
From high school through adulthood, my friendships have continued to take on a multi-cultural flavor, as has my marriage of 18 years. My husband and his family, who are Jewish, have continued to share their time-honored traditions, further widening my lens. And when my husband and I wanted to create our own family, we chose to adopt our daughter from India. It is from these unions that my life truly reverberates with the colors of an ever-broadening identity: the norm for those who live in pulsating communities like mine, filled with people of many races, cultures, religions and backgrounds.
In Long Beach, we have Hispanics, Southeast Asians, Filipinos, Samoans, African Americans, and many others that make our “International City” a true representation of what America is: a fusion dish with ingredients added from around the world. Some people come with fire-burning passions to succeed in the U.S., others have come by circumstances beyond their control–such as the Cambodian refugees–who arrived with devastating losses after leaving their war-torn countries behind. But even they have found a way to survive, and even thrive, as time has helped them to acculturate and palliate the shock of donning a new identity.
For 17 years I taught English as a Second Language at Long Beach City College. During this time, faces from around the globe streamed through my classroom, bringing stories of heartache and triumph. I had scientists from Ukraine who had been poisoned by Chernobyl; I had refugees with scars from the Khmer Rouge. I learned much about the strengths of the human spirit, and watched, ever so slowly, how identities evolved based on need and survival as these immigrants made their way in this unfamiliar land. These students enlightened me more than they could ever know–and left me forever changed.
I sometimes think of moving away, not to escape, nor to erase who I am, but simply for a new adventure, one that will continue to expand my “identity-paradigm”–an almost addicting experience. But I've done that before. I've lived away while attending college. I've taught English in Japan, and spent time in India. Yet I've always come back to my “home” in Long Beach. When I awaken from these daydreams, I realize that I'd be hard pressed to find the things I need on a daily basis that make my life so rich: my ethnic cooking ingredients, my local foreign food restaurants, and a place where I truly fit in.
A move to the mountains might bring me closer to nature's wonders, but I wouldn't have my family and friends nearby, nor that Thai market where I could buy lemongrass or curry paste for my next culinary endeavor.
Here in Long Beach, I can satisfy my need for an ethnic excursion by setting off in any direction. Within minutes I'm bound to end up in a cultural enclave. A few miles to the east, Middle Eastern restaurants line a busy street in Anaheim. 10 minutes from my house I can be in Little India, Southern California's largest Asian Indian community, and get my cumin and coriander, or enjoy a snack of samosas with my husband and daughter on a Sunday afternoon. If I have a yearning for Cambodian food, I need only to venture down Anaheim Street in Long Beach and sample any number of restaurants. Vietnamese? No problem. I hop on the 405 and go south–and soon I'm in Little Saigon ready to tuck into a piping hot bowl of pho. Festivals and music events, there are plenty of those, too.
Would I dare leave these cultural gems behind? Could I give this all up for a life in the woods? I often wonder. Yes, I'd love to build an eco-friendly home in a verdant space where I could see birds punctuating the sky and clouds passing overhead. But it's simply not the same as living in a vibrant whirlpool rich with the scents of foreign cuisines and the nuances of the immigrant template, which permeate my city–and our country at large. These are the gifts I have come to treasure living in a diverse setting, and the influences that have shaped my identity.
With this daily reminder, I doubt that I'll leave my kaleidoscope behind, because it is here that I feel most alive amongst the swirling colors that–for me–make Southern California the “place to be.”
Sarojni Mehta-Lissak is a Long Beach-based freelance writer whose work has appeared in numerous print and online publications including Midwifery Today, Enlightened Practice, BackHome, EnergyTimes, Organic Family and others. Visit her website at www.sarojnimehta-lissak.com.