| thinker |
Posted
on 12-Sep-02 09:20 PM
I am very dark-skinned -- darker than coal. My mother looks a bit Indian, but she is seldom mistaken for an Indian, and my father has what you would call Nepali features. My older brother looks Nepali. But not me. I don't resemble either of my parents. I look like a South Indian. My skin color, which I cannot -- and could not -- change even when I wanted to, has had a huge impact on me. I went through a period of depression, and I always felt isolated. In the end, however, I did manage to love myself.
Looking in retrospect, as a child, I was always made fun of by my relatives. Being a child, I really did not have the brain capacity to contemplate as to why I was treated that way. I just felt that it had to be some flaw in my character. I also felt that my parents loved my older brother more than they loved me. This, perhaps, was nothing more than jealousy.
I remember being a healthy, athletic child, always accoladed by my teachers for my abilities. I also was brilliant in my studies. The school I went to was owned by an Indian, so the majority of students were of Indian origin. But this was to change soon , as my parents -- they had typical Nepali mentalities and loathed Indians -- felt that I had started to speak Nepali with an Indian accent. So, fate decided to take me to a school where Nepalis were the majority. I actually was elated because at last I could be with my own brethren, not knowing how biased some Nepalis could be. I was an eighth grader then, about 13 years old. It was in this school that I first felt discrimination due to my Indian features. My class friends used to call me dhoti, madhise and paan-wala. One might wonder why I minded being called a dhoti since I, in fact, am a Nepali. But I DID mind being called one. I can only surmise as to why I felt so. Perhaps I wanted to fit in?
I felt singled out in everything. I started staying to myself. I wouldn't speak in class even when my teachers urged me to. I remember days when I would spend my lunch locked up in the bathroom to avoid all the commotion (for me it was commotion, but for my classmates,they were just having fun) going on outside. For a few more years, this was how my life went on, until fate decided to take another turn. My parents decided to emmigrate to the United States.
I was a 10th grader then. The school I went to was very diverse. About 30% of the students were of hispanic background, about 30% were whites, about 20 % were blacks, and the rest were Asians. I bombed my first semester. It was nothing new to me; I was always a failure. My report card only had D's, C's and F's. So, not being able to withstand a student failing so hopelessly, my principal urged me to see a high school counselor. At first I hesitated to do so, but as the principal kept pushing me, I felt it would be wise to follow his advice. And so I went to the counselor.
I didn't really open up to the counselor when we started. Slowly, however, he gained my respect. We began talking about petty things, like what I did after or before school, or how I spent my free time . But later on, after he felt like he had befriended me, he started to question me about my woes, and why I tended to be a loner. The way he opened up my mind was the work of an artist, for even I didn't know what really was bothering me. Once the error in my ways were found, the rest was easy. I just had to learn to love myself. And this I did by forcefully trying to socialize, and starting a new chapter in my life.
By the end of the 2nd semester, I had fully recovered. At last I was the old bubbly self I used to be when I was a kid. I graduated from high school with a cumulative GPA of 3.1. I am proud of that. I am going to college, and also am engaged to a very nice Nepali girl who also goes to the same college.
I don't hate anybody for what happened to me. It was partly my fault for letting others put me down.
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