My Hero: the Force to be Reckoned With

Welcome to Eve’s new interview series called My Hero. What’s it all about? Just in case the title doesn’t say it all, here’s a little background.

During my 3 1/2 year-trek through college, I relied heavily on my own skills and talents. I knew who I was and who I wanted to be. When senior year rolled around, I was even more driven to pursue a career in book publishing, knowing that I would be the first in my family to do so. I believed that I could do it. I was determined. I was accomplished. I had a stacked resume!

Reality hit when the book publishing business was barely hiring. Even when a publisher was, they didn’t want me. I wasn’t knowledgeable enough. That was the “ah-ha” moment that caused me to look beyond my own accomplishments and focus on others. How did they get their successes? After a long heart-to-heart…with myself, I stood up straight and realized that we don’t all start out as tycoons of our industry. There’s a history to it. It’s the person we become along the way that separates us from the others.

My Hero is about the strong women that succeed because of who they became along their own journeys. As you will quickly see, every journey is different. The women featured are iron-winged angels. Strong yet compassionate. Determined, yet encouraging. Courageous, yet accessible. They are daughters, mothers, wives, professionals, and sometimes all of this and more. They are us. They are strong for us and they make us strong. They are my heroes, and I hope they will be yours.

In my first installment, I talk with Amreeta Regmi. Her name may not be well known – not in our circles anyway. But around the international, United Nation’s table she’s a force to be reckoned with. Amreeta Regmi is a powerful woman both professionally and mentally. Regmi’s civic life is defined by her background with the World Bank, the United Nations, and the numerous nonprofit organizations she has worked with or started. Simply stated, Amreeta is an inspiration to any woman. With family as her driving force, Regmi conquers it all.

Gracie: How did you decide to get into politics?
Amreeta: I think politics was subtly ingrained in my personality, though there had never been an opportunity for its manifestation in my public life. My professional and civic lives all have shaped my interest in politics. When I was in my late teens, I saw a young girl, addressing a huge crowd standing on a pedestal in the sidewalks of crowded streets of Kathmandu, my city of birth where I spent my young adult life. The girl was the daughter of a prominent attorney and political activist. This image of the girl on a pedestal has ever since stuck in my mind – and raised political thoughts in me that perhaps someday, I could do the same. In my professional life, organizations that I worked for also shaped my interest in politics where I considered myself being nonpolitical. I have worked for non-governmental organizations including, United Nations agencies, the United States Agency for International Development, and the World Bank. These organizations are inherently political, whether we like it or not. I have learned to adapt from working for these entities, where I learned the meaning of politics in a practical sense.
In terms of civic work, I was involved in voluntary community work from my high school days at Saint Mary’s in Kathmandu, Nepal. I never ceased to continue my voluntary work. It taught me not only to find satisfaction through community service but also to value networks and connections. For example, when I was working in Indonesia, I collected the ballots of overseas Americans and coordinated with the U.S. Embassy to bring the ballots home. This is when my formal entry to political life began. In September 2012, I represented the 7th Congressional District from the State of Georgia as a Delegate to the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte.
Gracie: How old were you when you knew you could succeed?
Amreeta: I do not recall a specific age, but between school and home: demands of the Catholic nuns that taught me at school and my home atmosphere where I was surrounded by strong and determined women – my mother, my grandmother, and others, expectations were always high. We had to excel but we were also taught from early on that success does not come overnight. My father taught me my first alphabets when I was three and emphasized the value of learning as a lifelong process. Success requires hard work, perseverance and never giving up. I was told again and again, the story of an ant trying to climb a gigantic wall and how the tiny ant would fall off the wall again and again in its attempts to climb but the ant never gave up. We have to remember the story of this ant whenever we talk about success.
Gracie: What is your overall attitude day-to-day?
Amreeta: Take life in a stride, one step at a time, do your best and God will do the rest. What this translates into is when one is ready to put the best foot forward, all your networks, support structures, friends and family will go out of their ways to assist you. I also like to maintain a Buddhist philosophy in life: calmness conquers complex situations and anger only consumes oneself. This philosophy is useful when dealing with stress.
Gracie: What’s the key to success in your experience?
Amreeta: The key to success is having 100% confidence and being confident of your worth. With confidence comes other necessary trajectories required in being successful – desire to learn, share, give back, and innovate.
Gracie: Who do you look up to and why?

View the full interview on EVE

Counting Minutes

I keep staring at that bluish white screen with the same light looking back at me that makes the black lines under my eyes look so haggard in the department stores. I haven’t slept in days.

I keep hoping that I’ll finally get the call. You have a job waiting for you. Do you accept?

I keep hoping my next mission will send me somewhere else. I’m in hell.

“Masterson!” Captain yells from the kitchen. My eyes don’t leave the barely open window. Much like my barely open eyes. It’s like looking through double lids to my world.
“Clean up these dishes. Make it quick, I want my bath in an hour.”
Gods, this is the worst mission ever.

The Savior

I remember heels clacking on the hardwoods.

A pace unlike any other mother.

The clicking was getting closer.

My head lifted from my crayons and coloring outside the lines.

It was a sound of joy. Of smiles.

I was watching the door like a bloodhound with a scent. Every other school-mate paled.

The rhinoceros (my keeper) opened the door slowly.

Inch by inch.

The small window that was so far above me became smaller. The opening became bigger.

She stood in the doorway.

Her perfume overwhelmed the opening.

My eyes brightened,

The crayons dropped.

I ran.

 I sprawled into her arms as she kneeled.

My eyes closed as my legs monkeyed around her waist.

She held me tight.

It was just another day,

When mom picked me up from daycare.

Crisp.

The cool air rustles

Like a cacophony pronouncing

Fall.

My family: assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins

Humming chatter in the background.

Glasses full of condensating ice

Clang and rustle adding to the symphony.

Soft and warm colored leaves weave and fall

To the still green grass

Escaping the chill of the windy day.

My father puffs on his cigar

Sending billowed plumes of smooth

Cedar-like

Smoke into the air.

A sudden craving of hot chocolate

Washes over my palette

My mouth begins to water.

The chipping paint

Of the deck is course under my palms,

As I clutch the rail

Hoping to hold onto the moment

For a little while longer.

10 Minute Writing Prompt: Create a Character that Never Goes Outside

His name is Titus. He was born down the river from Old Man Crockett’s place. Now, I’ve never seen him come outside but I don’t think it really would have made a difference. His screams were glass shattering. The only thing that makes him stop is if someone pounds on the door. No one answers the rapping, of course. It’s a rhetorical pounding – everyone knows that. What most people don’t understand though is that Titus was a Cherokee, those men and women that were made for the land. He was one of the people that is made for the trees and the grass, the animals and the rivers. Titus was made to be outside, he was made for nature.

When Titus was fourteen, nature turned on him. We were friends, you see. Titus and Philip: the Questers Extraordinaire! That’s what we called ourselves. He would teach me about how I could whistle with a blade of grass and make a rock jump across a river with the flick of the wrist. I taught him how to read the books I would bring home from school. Maybe I should have taught him that screaming makes people think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe he has. I would have.

I was there with him when he ran out of the cave we were exploring. I’ll never forget the moment when his life changed. His mouth seemed to pour down the sides of his face as a ragged, yawning howl escaped the opening that could be considered his mouth. Whatever happened in that cave permanently petrified his face to the shape of terror.

Tear-Wrenching Brilliance in Les Mis

At the Movies ~ Les Misérables, 2012

At the Movies ~ Les Misérables, 2012 (Photo credit: erjkprunczýk)

First a foremost, the film is all singing. This is a key piece to the entire movie. Whole conversations are had through a melodic up and down motion of the voice that really isn’t necessary. However, it’s redeemed by the fact that it’s mostly good singing. Hugh Jackman sounds like a squealing cat but his acting is impeccable. Apparently, it’s one or the other with him. Similarly, Russell Crowe was a phenomenal actor and though his singing was surprisingly good, he tended to hit some sour notes.

The film, however, was stolen by the female leads. Anne Hathaway, Samantha Barks, and Amanda Seyfried were the glue that held the film to its most moving. Every time Ms. Hathaway began her heart-wrenching melodies, the theater sobbed collectively. Then, her daughter, played by Seyfried, followed in Hathaway’s footsteps with an equally moving performance. Though most audiences know her for her role in the 2008 film Mama Mia, her singing was quite different and unequivocally incredible with an amazing aria of high notes that could make the dogs bay from the back room. Samantha Barks, a newcomer to the film world, surprised audiences with her emotion and her voice. Though she could be mistaken for the voice of The Little Mermaid, Barks left me clutching my IMDP app looking for her other movies. No doubt, we’ll be looking forward to Ms. Barks in more films.

Adding to the credibility of Les Mis is the fact that the songs are undubbed. Each song was sung on set with missed notes and sobs. The famous song “I Dreamed a Dream” by Hathaway was done with a close-up and was uncut, leaving every sob and tear in the audience’s face. Though this makes it all the more realistic and moving of a performance. Clearly, the talent is abounding in the film.

Even the comical performances of Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen were matched well for the film. Their witty banter and hilarious characters provided a necessary levity to the otherwise very serious film. Their flawless performance completed the picture of brilliance in the film. However, prepare yourself for a long movie of high emotion and consistent tears! Nevertheless, every aspect of the three hour long film is necessary, fulfilling, and moving.

This film will, no doubt, have the same effect on audiences that The Phantom of the Opera had. It will clutch the hearts of audiences around the world, leaving them with a lasting impression of the characters and the music. It will no doubt sell out actual on-stage theater productions because they promise the same greatness as the film. But nothing can compare to the tear-wrenching performance of Hathaway or Barks or even the startling voice of Crowe.

The reign of Les Miserables has begun.

 

For my full review, see it on EVE in two weeks! (see the link at the bottom of the page)

Paneless.

It was the kind of unremarkable day that never goes down in history. The clouds hung low like they were trying to wrap around me, maybe protect me from what was to come.

My mother was away on work, as usual, and my father had picked me up late from school, as usual.

He turned to me with a smile. “Ready to go?”

My ponytail bounced violently against the back of my shoulders keeping time with my enthusiastic nodding.

“Get your shoes on!” He smiled and waved his hand in the air, motioning upstairs.

I raced upstairs to lace up my brand new Pocahontas boots, the ones Mom reassured me I could really run fast and jump high in. They had the Colors of the Wind on them and everything. The brown leather was untarnished from days of play, mud, and rain puddles. The soft fabric rubbed against my white socks leaving dye behind. I was dirty already.

On trips out of the house, I could only bring one toy. That was the mantra I lived by during my childhood. When we went to look at houses later that grey day, I was to stick to the rule. My latest favorite Barbie was my victim. Blonde hair, blue eyes, just like me. Her hair wasn’t brushed and she wasn’t wearing clothes. Clearly, it was a manifestation of my inner instincts as a savage child unformed by society and rules and regulations.

The house was sitting back from the road. It was only brown timbers, a shell of a house sitting alone in an otherwise vacant lot. No trees, yet. No flowers, yet. The red clay swallowed the house from below. There was no society to mold the house into what it was expected to be. It had no clothing yet just like my Barbie. Barbie in hand, I galloped up to the framework timbers alongside my Dad (who was not galloping, only sauntering with thundering steps), wondering what new story of the imagination I could come up with upon entry.

There was no door, only the cool smell of day old rain, and the sharp scent of freshly cut wood. We stepped inside. I ran upstairs to find “my room” and Dad wandered into the kitchen with a measuring tape.

Something drew my attention to the window. For the first time, I noticed there was no glass to stop someone from leaning too far out. There was no protection. I hesitantly stepped one foot toward the un-paned window frame. I looked down, I wonder how far that is. If I jumped, what would happen? I leaned slowly further over the edge. Curiosity was telling me to try it. He was telling me to jump. I retreated when I heard Dad walking up the stairs. I turned on my heel and clunked down the stairs with my boots, resolute in the fact that I looked into the void and decided to step back. But with every drywall dusty boot print, I was reminded of my mother’s promise.

I walked into the family room, or what could be assumed to be the family room, and was drawn to the larger window off to the left. The sun reflected off the clouds below creating the illusion of sunlight. But there were no shadows cast by the artificial light. It was a fake light, only a reflection. I stalked towards the opening. The air muted. My boot steps were hushed; I clutched my Barbie like she was supposed to stop me from taking another step. She didn’t.

Like before, I stepped hesitantly toward the un-paned window. The wind hit me like a last warning. I pressed forward. I peered over the edge again. The ground was closer, more manageable. Maybe I could jump out of this one. My boots are supposed to make me run fast and jump high. I leaned over further. NO! Another part of me shouted. I stepped back, turning around knowing that I should preoccupy myself with something saner.

Like a moth to the flame, there was nothing to keep me from that open frame. I peered over my shoulder as freedom called. Stepping towards the frame again, I leaned further out of the window. It was that same red mud below, cracked and boot-printed with overuse. It really doesn’t look that far down. I stepped one Pocahontas boot onto the frame. I stepped back again. I peered over the edge. I stepped back. Suddenly, Barbie was heavy in my hand. I looked down into her eyes. She smiled reassuringly back, staring off into oblivion.

I tossed her out the window.

Whoops, now I’ll really have to go get her. It’s the fastest way. For only a moment, I considered turning around to go out the front door instead. My body shifted to fulfill the consideration. No. I am going to do this. I stepped up to the sill once again, holding on to the frame perhaps not as tightly as I should have. My Barbie lay prostrate in the mud undaunted by the fall. Nothing broke off and her hair was splayed around her like I had laid her down for bed.

I jumped.

I didn’t feel weightless. I didn’t feel free or like I was being carried by angels. I felt the ground below my feet before anything could process. The red mud consumed me and I hit the ground like my Barbie did: stiff. My legs crumpled beneath me and my body tipped and hit the ground. The impact scared me. I wailed in shock. Nothing hurt but my pride. I am not a super human and most important, my boots certainly did not make me “jump high”. They mostly made me fall on my face. Don’t jump out of windows with your Pocahontas boots, they don’t make you jump high or run fast.

My dad careened around the corner of the house, he swept me up in his arms and asked me what happened. He wasn’t panicked, I was.

“I…(sob)…jumped…(sob and sniff)…out the window.” I pointed up toward the window eight feet above me. I sobbed some more and he carried me to the car. He placed me gently in the back seat and buckled me in to my booster seat. I was neck-brace bound, I would later find out.

“Your mom is never going to want to go out of town again.” His last stitched attempt to ease my tears was not lost on me; I chuckled in spite of myself. The shock was receding.