Half-truths by Aimee Suzara
Standing before the temple in Rameshwaram and the sign, “Hindus only”

I am the invader.
To enter your temples, I
tell you I am Hindu (false)
tell you I am half Indian (false)
tell you I am from America (truth)
tell you that my other parent is Filipino (half-truth).
I believe I should have access.
After all, white tourists get into everything.
Travelers known for smoking hash in sacred places
party on the beach in Goa in tie-die parachute pants,
their inhibition thrown to the air.

I know. I’ve been there.

Didn’t wear parachute pants, but donned a tie-die sarong.
The rave took over the whole beach.
Psych-trance imported straight from anywhere else:
lights, sound system pounding, rigid, pseudo-tribal movements
frenzied dancers kicking dirt, and of course:
glow-in-the-dark velvet tapestries depicting Kali and Shiva.

I know.  I’ve been where they came from.

Spent sunrise hours at underground parties 
tripping on ecstasy when I could’ve been studying for Anthro 3.

See, I’m the invader.
I can pass in this land.  And that.
In Delhi,
some days I’m Nepali, when they 
get a glance at my Western clothes.
Maybe a prostitute.  It’s in the headlines.
Or Manipuri, Assamese or Ladakhi. 
We all wear jeans and have eyes that look like
the Buddha’s mask.
In Dharamsala, I’m Tibetan.  
Elder ladies with deep-creased smiles speak to me,
lumbering, rotating prayer wheels the size of a child’s head,
turning, turning, sending out
a million Om Mani Padme Hum’s.
I know this because I majored in Religious Studies,
can tell you about the movement of Buddhism from India to the East
and a lot of random facts about mystics, Celtics, sadhus and saints.
It’s very practical on a daily basis.

I’m the invader.
I outstudied your culture
and can give you just a few facts about my own.
I learned that from the White Man:
take what’s good and discard the bad.
I’m a hodge-podge of icons and belief systems.
There was no reason not to: I was devoid
of anything to call my own.

But see, that’s not TRUE!
When the U.S.A. took us, studied us, made casts
of our heads, decided our types, put us in exhibitions,
named us and bathed us,
they simply
did a good job.
They said: assimilate before you’ve reached the Western Shores.
Assimilate in hordes!  Start in the Philippines.  In Manila.
Start in your village.  Hell, start when you’re in the womb!
Your mother can play you Elvis and Pat Boone!
Then you’ll
become
the invader
too.