Sanjay Sabarwal's Blog

Its been a while I wrote with anger. Its an emotion I mostly work to bury due to my past. I also know that my stroke and brain surgery make me susceptible to my emotions so I have had an extensive morning routine and other habits to rein the rage inside me. But its there, and it surges through me and I realize that just like lava they get to come out once in a while except there will be damage so others around me. So back in I try to force it in. I keep it locked up. I speak to it. I beg for it not to come out, to remain locked inside, sealed so no one around me hurts except me. That I can mostly handle. The habits help. Zyan helps. Friends help. And then there are others, well no so helpful so I get to smile and bare my teeth to show my nonchalance.

I also know that when I let it out, it comes out in heaves and then disappears right away. I am unable to sustain for long whereas some around me can do for days, weeks, months, years and it amazes me that they are able to see the world in just those hues. I sometime envy them. Easier to blame others, to make others the cause of their misery rather than take accountability in any sort of way. I wish I could be that way. Easier to be the victim than to take ownership. Easier to point out what others are not doing rather than look inward. Easier to gaslight than notice what others are feeling and doing.

And so I sit here and seethe, but I also know that this too shall. I know when anger reigns, destruction follows, and the clean up takes much longer than just taking a breath, shaking your head and going back into the situation. Most of the times I am able to do that but there are times when it becomes too much and anger bursts out in rapid fire where it wants to burn it all down. Burn my life and those around me. But now I see that and the old me would have reveled in letting it burn, but this Sanjay, this not so wise but experienced Sanjay lets it out here. He speaks to those who love and respect him, who remind him of who he is really. Because there are times I get lost and believe how another sees me. Someone who doesn’t respect me, challenges me at every time. finds me inadequate, thinks I am an idiot, a doddering old fool who can do nothing right. When I let myself be seen as they see me, I shrink, I hide, keep quiet but inside angers melts a bit of my core.

In this morning quiet, anger has subsided and I am surrounded by my thoughts. The cloudy day reflects my gloom. Echoes of how I am seen still reverberate inside me, but today I get to start over. I rebuild. I shake it off, and focus on what’s in front of me. And then I try again.

One of the many things that sucks about getting older is becoming aware of death in a very real well. Not only in the form of dropping performance, aches and pains but hearing of those whose journey has come to an end. Over the weekend another friend lost their parent, the kind of loss that’s hard to explain to others who haven’t lost the one figure that has featured in the entire background of the lives. The operating system so to speak, whether or not its positive. The fact that we came from that person, and when that line severs, there is a dangling line that no longer connects, no longer can you draw from it, even if its just presence, no longer can you learn from it, share with it, hug it, hate it, love it, hold it, push it away, laugh with it and on and on the list goes because there is no one to look at you from the side.

Just an invisible person who now remains in your thoughts, and images from the past, through shared stories, and memories that seem to get harder to remember, but the pain still sharp as ever,. Each time you hear about another losing a parent, I am right back to my loss as selfish as that sounds. The urge to tug at the line again remerges except there is no one there to respond anymore. A certain quietness enters me as I go pay my respects, and if nothing else there is a knowing that can be shared but you wish you didn’t have to because losing a parent makes you that child again. No matter the age, you become that little boy or girl who just wants his support from that person.

Much of my grief is about me. I know that much. Much of my pain self inflicted which is why quietness suits me best. Its hard to explain to someone that they truly won’t understand you until they experience it but that’s something I would never wish about anyone. Its like death itself, no one will comprehend it until they are at its door and by then its too late. The regret no longer relevant, the could haves should haves meaningless in the front of that endless void. Each death a personal reminder that there is still time to do the right things, to reconnect, to love, to laugh, hug, spend time in meaningful ways not just with those around us but the ones that matter to us.

The ones we think of often and always a ping of desire comes to see them. So instead of thinking it, it is time to make it a reality, to live a life of meaning so that one day you can teach your children emotional depth so they can do better than you did. So age becomes me, and while I dont claim wisdom in the the broad sense, I am wiser, and now I am determined to ensure that my aging isn’t one of pain and regret but of action, and connection. Because I will be damned if I face my end with regret, I plan to do as Papa did with peace and by the love of his life by his side.

Zyan began his Montessori Journey almost a month, and already we are seeing the positive impact going there has had on him. I will be frank, I was a bit taken aback when he asked me to not help him pull up his pants after using the bathroom. The first few days were extremely difficult as this was the first time we left him with strangers although that I am grateful both my wife and I have large families and Zyan already experienced a huge network. I am sure that exposure allowed him to handle this new situation much more rapidly than if we had been just around us two. I now know that feeling of wanting to keep Zyan tear free at the first moment of discomfort, but swallowing that pain allowed him to grow.

Each attendance at the school brings new pleasure. The length of his sentences, the smiles, the interactions, the warmth inside our hearts watching him learn new things. It has not been without stress which was mostly self-inflicted as we both also learn to adapt to this new reality. In developing a new routine for him, we did not anticipate that it would also mean changes for us which in hindsight should have been obvious. However, all of this has led to genuine pleasure in experiencing Zyan.

One of my new habits is to constantly check the school App as they provide image updates on Zyans day. It makes us feel connected as we are able to see his day progress. The smile that comes when we see him participate, play or simply eat. It makes for a pleasant day with each update, and some anxiety for me as I truly wish for him to have stress free days. I know its my own anxiety talking, and each new day he puts me at ease that he is learning, and becoming comfortable around those who are not family or familiar. I look forward to the day he runs out of our hands with no fuss, but I also dread that day a bit because it means he perhaps needs us less.

Those are my own battles and ones Zyan does not need to face.

One of the main joys of my life is introducing Zyan to new experiences that hopefully form a strong foundation of childhood memories for him. That and the fact they feel new to him strongly motivates me to keep find things for us to do. After many months, we were finally able to take him from the Artic Station in Anaheim to San Juan Capistrano. If you haven’t taken a train from the Anaheim station, you are in for a treat. Its a beautiful piece of architecture, and long escalators that Zyan absolutely adored. While we barely made it on time, slight train delay allowed us to take breath and take in the sights of Zyan’s first train station. The pick was strategic as my friends at Crossfit informed me that the train station in San Juan is next to a historic district with a park, restaurants and cafes all within walking distance, meaning there would no need for a car seat.

Watching Zyan’s widened gaze as the train approached made my heart flutter, and the smile on my wifes face even broader. As we climbed aboard, he immediately got on the chair to peer out of the large bay windows. The 40 minute train ride went by fast, and we both agreed that next time we would leave in the morning as one of the main limitations for riding on the weekends are the limited times for departures and arrivals which I admit I spent far too much time stressing over. Because once we arrived, we managed to a great place to eat, but the dessert was Zyan meeting another boy at the nearby park and running around with him. The father then informed us about the next time we take the train to take it all the way to San Clemente as the train rides next to the beach and drops off you next to the pier! And just like that, we had had future train ride planned.

One of my goals is to do all the things that I didnt get to do when I was younger, but through no fault of my parents. Mom and Papa did what they could but providing for 3 kids in a new country meant that they spent a whole of time navigating on ensuring there was a roof over our heads. But to be fair, we also had plenty of things we did with others, and gatherings such as picnics, house dinners, music, laughter, dancing, all the things I wish to impart onto Zyan hopefully with a wider net. The train also meant a chance to see it through my son’s gaze, and it transformed from a form of a transportation to a great way to explore Southern California. I, for one, cannot wait for our next ride!

Already in February and beginning my 55th year, it feel surreal to hear the number. It cant be possible that I am now middle aged, an old man. Where did the boy from Jordan High who got into UCLA them Americorps then SCALE at Southwestern University School of Law go? He is now a father of a 3 year old, an attorney who does mostly employment and family law. He cannot help but wonder what the young Sanjay would say. Where the record label go? the music store? the events? the South Asian artists? The Planet Bhangra series? The first half of my life a blur in a way, and looking back it can be hard to reconcile with the person that I am now. It feels crazy to even say the name Desipalooza or Club Karma or Bruin Bhangra afterparty or the best of them all: Ziba Music.

Just the names get me shaking my head in amazement. At that time, that was my world not Zyan rules my soul in a way I didn’t think possible. First the beautiful wife, then the gorgeous son, and then surrounded by so many well wishers its almost hard to see the naysayers near me, the ones who doubted me or called me out for not getting to the top when all the while the journey was always more important to me rather than the destination. Because even now if I feel like I have reached the end, it truly would mean the end of me. So now there are scenarios for what to do at home, at work, of how to grow in multiple ways not just financial.

Yet there doubts still remain, the feeling of not being enough, of not doing enough, of not husbanding or fathering or lawyering enough. The imposter syndrome radiates out into the world most days but now at least I have tools to rein myself in rather than drowning in a sea of regret and self loathing. This is what 54 looks like. I have an actual skills to ensure that even while skidding I ride into the slide to control it rather than just be determined by it. Yes the 21 year old speaks loud but now he is muted by the actions of this fifty four year old. No longer subject to the whims and anxieties of that scrawny boy, this Sanjay now has a routine, a gym to call his workout home, and accountability and mastermind groups to keep him in check. A son who calls him PAPA, a constant reminder that no matter what the number, there will be someone who sees me as their parent. And that becomes my foundation for the year. This is 54.

Recently, I received a video which took me back to a painful moment in my life. It was a strange feeling as the person who sent the message had no idea. Their intent was to create another action, but instead I time travelled back to a time I no longer wished to remember. It made me into that child who saw things in a way that he wished he could change. Just a few moments into the video, and I turned it off but the past burned through my soul.

I tried sharing with someone what the message triggered, but in my effort to keep it vague, it most likely sailed over the persons head. To be fair, they were dealing with the contents of the video, and were not in a position to hear about my past trauma. A common theme in my life. Quiet for so long that when I do share, it is far often way too late for anyone to support me, or done here on these posts where it feels like I am just speaking to myself.

Yet putting words down to feelings is hard work when so much of my past remains unprocessed. It’s just easier to remain stoic, quiet, silent, letting time pass by, and help bury the past deeper and deeper. That strategy served me in the past but as a father now, I am not so sure that is the way to go. That is not what I want to teach Zyan. Pretending all is okay does no one good because sooner or later, you will be transported back to that helpless boy who experienced something that fractured a bond which took decades to heal.

So this year gets to be different, the way I handle the past gets to be explored, and shared, and even if the people don’t get it, I will form the words so that my son understands on how to deal with pain, past and perseverance. I may be a cliche, but that doesn’t mean the mold cannot be broken.