Thambusami Roots
Rebekah’s Blog
I have always loved to write. It is the medium where I have felt the most free and the most me. I abandoned it for the better part of my adult life as I started my career, became a mother, and grew a business. My love of words was trapped in the mundanity of work communications, documentation, copywriting, and email.
My creative expression lives in my writing. When used solely as a tool or mere resource, I suffer. Writing is my lifeline. It is where my imagination can soar, where my Spirit speaks. It is an essential part of my existence.
During the pandemic, when the whole world was relegated to their homes, and we watched every manner of racial injustice and social inequity play out before our eyes, the only way I could hold the tension of grief, rage and unceasing hope was to reconnect with my old friend, writing. And from the outpouring of the soul, I present my blog, Thambusami Roots. Thank you for joining me here.
Car Trouble, Parasitic Draw & Sitting with Sadness
Have you ever learned a term that so concisely explains something you are experiencing on multiple levels? I couldn't stop thinking about "parasitic draw" and how applicable that term has been for me metaphorically and personally.
Memories on Father’s Day
I don’t have sticky, sweet daddy-daughter stories to tell, but these memories root me in the story of my people, firmly planted, deeply loved, and held across generations. I often say that I am not a Daddy’s girl, but I am my father’s daughter.
This International Women's Day, Stop Expecting Women of the Global South to Labor For Free
I know, I KNOW! Its origins are in white feminism. So what better occasion to highlight how me and my sisters of the Global South continue to be disrespected and undervalued for our ingenuity and work? I am not talking "girl boss" energy, it's "be fuckin for real Friday" over here at Thambusami, and you're about to get this smoke.
In Loving Memory of faneal Tesfit, son of the Eritrean Diaspora
Faneal is the firstborn son of Azeb Asfaha and Tesfit Woldegaber, born in Dallas, Texas, in 1998. His life held every hope and dream of his family and community. He was a young man exuding so much life with limitless potential, the embodiment of every immigrant community's dream for their children. Faneal is someone who should still be with us.
A Bleeding Heart & the Truth is My Only Salvation this Lenten Season
To be called a "bleeding heart" today is akin to being labeled an idealistic pushover, someone guided by the virtue of naivete, not grounded in reality. But it was Jesus who was the original inspiration for the term. Per the Christian faith in this season of Lent, we remember how his blood was spilled for the salvation of all mankind. Symbolic of God's eternal love and compassion for creation. In that sense, to be referred to as a bleeding heart aligned you with the Spirit of God and salvific love. It wasn't until a political pundit named Westbrook Pegler rebranded the term as a slight against liberals that it took on a more disparaging meaning. What was the topic for which liberals were needlessly compassionate, according to Pegler? Lynching.
Super Bowl LVIII and America's Moral Dissonance
Sally Bell (Sinkyone Tribe) Remembers the Needle Rock Massacre of the 1850s during the California Gold Rush
My Grandfather and all of my family… were aound the house and not hurting anyone. Soon, about ten o’clock in the morning, some white men came. They killed my grandfather and my mother and my father. I saw them do it. I was a big girl at the time. Then they killed my baby sister and cut her heart out and threw it in the brush where I ran and hid. My little sister was a baby, just crawling around. I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared that I guess I just hid there a long time with my little sister’s heart in my hands.”
From the Oakland Museum of California
Reflections from the Tamil diaspora in a Time of genocide
My paternal grandparents in Rangoon City, Burma, present-day Myanmar, when it was part of the Indian Empire under the control of the British East India Company, circa 1930.