The Fine Print

From age 0, rules are set out:

Get straight As,

Be good at Math,

Get into a good college.

Do these things and you will be happy.

You will be successful.

12 years of playing by these rules.

12 years of late night study sessions,

of weekend soccer practices,

of dance recitals.

12 years of trying to be different,

of trying to stand out.

Simply to become a better candidate.

But it will be worth it, you said

The real world is different, you said

The first twelve years is the worst of the battle, you said

And like a blind, naïve soldier, I believed you.

I trusted you.

I followed you.

But you have failed.

And that trust has led me to be stranded

Alone in a trench.

Weaponless to a society that despises me.

Despises me for reasons out of my control

Despises me for the way I look.

speak.

act.

I followed your rules.

So why do you hate me?

There must have been fine print in those rules.

Must have been some warning to tell me I was not included.

That those rules do not apply to me.

Because, you see, these rules only apply to half of society

And I am not in that half.

It’s not because of what I did or did not do.

It’s because I am a female.

And no matter how hard I work

No matter how perfect my resume is,

You will not see beyond that fact.

Others see my gender as a helping hand

Life will be easier for you, they say

You will get sympathetic offers, they say

But why can’t they understand?

I do not want any sympathy.

I am not a disease.

Nor am I infectious.

I identify with half of society,

So why am I being treated as an oddity?

12 years of being lied to.

12 years of being told that the battle was over.

Yet, then why am I still stuck in this trench?

Justifying my every move?

Constantly being reminded of my irrelevance?

I followed your rules.

I did everything correctly.

But why didn’t you tell me about the fine print?

Why didn’t you warn me before tossing me into the lion’s den?

A generation gap

It continues to baffle me how much difference a generation can make between two people. The beliefs and morals that my parents hold and attempt to pass down to me are what I call ancient and unfamiliar. Growing up, although I knew what they were preaching was incorrect, I argued a little but ultimately just believed they knew what was best. However, the more I am able to witness the world with my own two eyes, I see the fault in their ways. My parents are what you can call ‘traditional’. They still hold on to the ideology that a woman needs a man to be complete. They also believe strongly in arrange marriages. I think that these beliefs of theirs are what made me so headstrong and active in the women rights movement. My dad and I are always constantly bickering about who is correct and the reasons surrounding our opinions. Although these debates have been happening since I was able to speak, I know that no amount of literature or conversation will change his mind. This was simply the way my parents were raised. My father was taught that a woman should not bare any skin, a woman should not be able to be friends with a man, and a woman should not drink any alcohol. I have always disagreed with their values but there is not much I can do to change their opinions. I disagree and I am defiant and yet their values will always be in the back of my head. And for that, I am silently thankful for. I have my own ‘rebellious’ viewpoints but their traditional views are what keeps me grounded and also what keeps me fighting. It is quite ironic but completely effective.

slow and steady.

Slow and steady wins the race, they say. But is this true? Will the speed of my success help me? Or does it hurt me? I am slow and I am steady, yet I see others equally steady rushing in front of me. I see no ribbons from my point of view. I simply see failure and tears.

Stress.

Here is a little background on me. I worry. I stress. I feel as if I am living life doing what others expect me to do and never living. And to top it all of, I do what they want me to do poorly. I want to live. I want to succeed. I want to be happy. But I also want to do what others want me to do. I don’t even know. 

Being a student is hard. Too much on your plate and you don’t even know where to start. 

 

 

The idea of happiness

Happiness. What a weird concept. It is simply a single phrase that can identify your entire existence. It is a simple word that can completely change your entire day. But why? Why do we let it do that us? Why do we let a single word identify us? We should be able to write our own happiness. We should be able to write our own identity. We need to take control. 

Society.

America is the “home of the free”. It took me many years before I realized how laughable this statement is. Free. Yes, America is free. The people are free. But that all depends on your definition of that word. What is freedom? If you are looking at the word in terms of rights. Then yes, America is free. But that is not the definition that I believe in. Freedom to me is more than having a few rights. Freedom to me is being able to express your own beliefs and culture without being judged. It is being able to walk around on the streets without being judged wrongfully. So now, looking at this new definition of the word freedom, can we honestly say that our land is free? 

The answer is no.

As civilians of the world, we tend to judge. We classify people in categories. We separate them based on how they act or how they dress. We rely on stereotypes. We teach impressionable children how to fit in. We tell them what to buy if they want to look cool. We tell attention thirsty teenagers how to look beautiful. We show them the right clothes, the right way to put makeup on, the right way to do their hair. We then justify these seemingly silly actions as a way for children to express themselves. But, let’s take a step back and analyze our work. What did we just do? We merely sculpted another “perfect American”.

I was watching a Youtube video the other day, titled “NY on Islam” and a woman said that the problem she had with Muslims is that “they want Americans to change for them but they don’t want to change to fit into our culture,”. This quote really aggravated me. America was built on immigrants. America is a melting pot of different cultures. So, what is the culture of America? America does not have one specific culture. Unless, you are referring to the drones that we are creating? The children that we sculpt. Are you speaking about them?

A Lonely Writer

As a child, I was brought up by my books. I never really played with dolls or had play groups or anything you expect a young child to do. Instead, I had books. I read classics and adult books, and learned about the world through stories.

I never realized how this behavior as a child really impacted me as an adult. But, it has. I don’t talk to many people. I like to be alone. Usually, I am in my room just surfing the internet or reading about current events. And while I understand that this may be mature, I don’t always enjoy it. I guess it’s just what I’ve always known.

There are times where I enjoy doing this. I enjoy being alone. I enjoy being able to reflect on the world by myself.

But sometimes, I just feel alone. I feel lonely. I have no one to talk to. No one to hang out with. And I hate it.

I don’t want to be a lonely writer anymore.

Being a brown girl in a white world.

I am an American. Let me just make that clear. I am an AMERICAN. I was born here. I was raised here. I went to school here. I am educated. I am American. But, I am also brown. Now why does that matter? You ask. Well, it matters because I am brown. It is my skin color and somehow that describes me more than anything else.

It doesn’t matter that I am well educated. It doesn’t matter that I work hard.What matters to others is that I am brown. It is what others first see. Why should I even say a word if people feel as if they already know me by my skin color?

I am not going to sit here and blame this on the terrorist attacks on 9/11. Because, I know better than that. This ignorance did not just randomly appear on the days following 9/11. No, it has always been there. As a child, I was terrorized for my skin color. I was mocked and made fun of because I was not like other kids. But, that never really bothered me. It actually helped me. It gave me thicker skin.

But, what began this rant was that I recently realized that this type of ignorance is not just within little kids. No, it is among many citizens. I have encountered many people who judge me before I even say hello. They ask me why I don’t wear a veil or why I have more than one God. They ask me why I am a vegetarian. And even though I have been asked these kinds of things my entire life, sometimes I just want to scream at them. I want to set the record straight. So, that’s what I am going to do here.

No, being brown does not make me Hindu. It does not make me Muslim. It does not make me a vegetarian. It does not mean I have to wear a veil. Do you want the truth? Here is the truth. I am Christian. I eat meat and I eat beef. I do not wear a hijab. I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe in God.

The sad thing is, these questions are usually asked by adults. Most of the time, they are asked by my professors. Yes, they are asked by PROFESSORS. Professors in a university. Professors who most likely have a dozen degrees. You would think at least one of those degrees would lead to some common sense.

People have asked me many things. Most questions  would hurt and destruct any ordinary joe, but not to me. I laugh it off and make it a joke. Because, yes, I am brown. But that does not make me a coward. That does not make me weak. I am brown and I am strong.

Miss America

Wow. That was my first reaction after reading all the hate tweets about Nina Davaluri winning Miss America. It was basically what made me want to start this blog. I never realized how ignorant people could be. I had always seen the best in people. I thought we had changed. I thought racism was a thing of the past. Wow was I wrong. 

I am here to set the record straight. Nina Davaluri is an Indian American. She was born in America. She was raised in America. She went to school in America. Do you know who else is an Indian American?! Myself. Yes, my parents are of Indian heritage. But that does not make me a terrorist. No, I consider myself an American. I was born in America. I have lived here my entire life. So why would I not be considered an American?

Oh.. I get it. It’s because I’m brown. Americans can’t be brown right? The real Miss America has to be blonde with blue eyes, right? WRONG. Miss America is someone that portrays the country. Well, our country is known for diversity. So there we go. 

But, it’s not that simple is it? When are people going to understand that America was built by immigrants. Nobody is truly an American. White people are not Americans. Brown people are not Americans. The only people who can even call themselves a true ‘American’ are native Americans. It’s all in the name. NATIVE. 

So, basically the point of this blog post was for me to say that before you post something negative about someone else, make sure what you are saying is accurate. 

Introduction

I decided to start this blog because it has just come to my attention that there are many people in the world who are ignorant and unrefined about the events happening in the world. Now, I am not an expert by any means. But I feel as if, it is just simply wrong of me to just sit here while people are spreading these lies.