Swathi Shekharan
I don’t belong here. These are the words that rang through my head since my preschool days. While my friends compared themselves to their Barbies as we played, I was left with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed doll and an empty smile. Invisible but suffocating, a barrier around my spirit and soul had already begun clouding my earliest memories.
When those around me fell in love with princesses and superheroes, I remained apathetic to every fictional character in media, never seeing myself in them.
I said goodbye to my friends for winter break, responding to every “Merry Christmas!” without a falter in my voice, yet felt my heart sink each time I heard it. No one considered that I had different occasions to celebrate. Ignorant to its existence, not even my closest friends wished me a happy Diwali.
After observing someone speak Dutch to her family, I noticed everyone around her complimenting her intelligence and asking her to teach them this fascinating language. I spoke Hindi and Tamil to my family in public and was always met with a showering response of strange looks and hidden whispers. No one wanted to be taught my languages. Why didn’t I belong?
Melancholy thoughts filled my head with the idea that no one cared about my culture, my stories, my background. The walls were quickly fortified around my soul, as strong as wood, keeping out judgment, hate, and pain.
Years passed. My uncles half-jokingly told me that I’ll be married off if I don’t keep my grades up, warning me that I better study or learn to cook, pushing a cultural narrative that has continued for centuries. A lump formed in my throat as I remember every experience which has led up to this moment. The wooden wall turned to stone.
No one else knew it was there, but that wall ruined even what should have come easy, silently barricading me off from my closest relationships. My best friend and I had a bond going back ten years; we should be sisters, sharing everything that happens in our lives. Yet, crippled by fear of judgment, I couldn’t muster the courage to tell her a single cultural story that was incredibly important to me. What if she thought I didn’t belong?
Most unexpectedly, the first crack in the wall appeared when my sister invited me to see a movie with her called Hidden Figures. Almost instantly, my world changed. I witnessed three courageous, fierce women transform the course of the world, defying all odds and stereotypes against them. Even with every force pushing them away, the Hidden Figures transcended judgment, hate, and their personal walls, allowing them to unlock their full potential. They were empowered by their work and significance, and that tenacious energy seeped through the screen into me.
If those three women could surpass the incredible barriers that should have hindered them, why couldn’t I? I picked up my hammer and took my first knock at tearing down that dreaded wall, opening up to the same best friend who I felt so distant from, sending her photos of my favorite saris. She responded with nothing but unwavering support and love, something that will mean more to me than she will ever know. Even with that tiny step, the wall began to crack and fall away. With her, I know I belong.
Now, I realize I don’t need a fairytale princess to look up to; the heroes of my story are real people just like me. Whether it is Mary Jackson, the astounding Hidden Figure who motivated me to study aerospace engineering, or my best friend, real life is where my inspiration lies. It’s indisputable now that life is so much more meaningful when you let the walls come down and work hard to surmount them. Without this inhibition blocking my view, I finally can see: I belong here.