Kris Patel Escapes from Guantanamo Bay

My dreams lie at the end of a tunnel. In a narrow circle in the distance, I can see all the colors of the rainbow blended into a soft puddle of fabric. Oh yes, Bollywood bling meets Marc Jacobs. It will be fabulous. Twin white masks, one mirthful, the other tragic, wait for me to join them. Brown on Broadway in a titillating burst of light and theatrical fog. If Kumar could make it out of Guantanamo Bay, why can’t I? The time has come to throw off the black and white shroud of recession and inflation, with all the normal force of a passion that burns in my ventral striatum at a scorching 567K. I must now thrust aside the thrust equation and propel myself into the world for which I was destined. NYC, here I come!

My dreams lie at the end of a tunnel and I know my journey will be long and arduous. Threats of disownment will hurl themselves at me from all directions. Even as the walls of academic pressure close in on me, I must fight off the demons of maternal Indian passive aggresiva. And I know that as I make my perilous way, I may slip on a few stray coconut oiled coaxes. I may trip over strategically planted copies of Gray’s Anatomy. But parental intervention notwithstanding (“What do you mean you are dropping out of MIT to study theater at NYU? How will you feed yourself? Do you want to live on the streets?”), with stoic determination I will soldier on.

I will not be held back by the cultural and academic constraints of my heritage. I choose to cast them aside and embrace all that is good about being Indian. I will always wear my ethnicity with pride but I will also live a lifestyle of my choosing and pursue dreams that the American society affords me. I am an actor. I am a designer. I am gay. I am bisexual. I am flamboyant, intelligent, artistic, different. I am Kris Patel and I am getting the hell out of here.