Slugging Through Life
It began before I could distinguish that the words I spoke to my parents did not share the same language my classmates spoke to their own with. That did not stop them from sitting with me during tests to look at my answers and it definitely would not stop them from running away shouting that I smelled “weird”. Weird would later be defined as “curry”. Unlike the scent of my home which I could not scrub out of my skin, my thick and long hair, the longest in class, could be changed. I felt far from proud as kids pulled and tugged at it. I cut it myself and made sure there was nothing to pull and tug at. No one liked who I was, so I made adjustments to fit in, to be accepted. I gave up on myself, and instead fought to fill the empty feeling at the pit of my stomach with anything else. I entered middle school welcomed by racist jokes and discriminatory comments. I did not just let it slip by, I laughed along with them. No matter how hard I tried, every detail set me apart from my non-people of color peers: my clothes, my skin, my culture, and my status. I felt uncomfortable in my own body, so I did what I knew best. I changed. Once again, I shaped myself into a new person. From new music to a new personality, I blended in almost perfectly to those around me. I gossiped about unnecessary things, read celebrity magazines, and did what everyone else did. I found acceptance, but I could feel something missing. Similar to school, my home was just another illusion. When I first chopped off my hair, I felt my parents’ disappointment in waves with only a step inside the front door. As zealously religious parents, they held high expectations for me, and failing to meet their expectations resulted in consequences. Only through trial and error did I learn to create another image at home; an image they hoped for. The satisfaction of my parents became a necessity, for I lacked the courage to withstand the disheartened looks in their eyes. The pressure to please my parents and the pressure to please my friends at school, only further distanced any type of self discovery or self acceptance. I was forced to adhere to two different identities, none of which were mine. I tried to continue my charade as I began high school, but as it went on, I grew tired. For years, I told myself that this change was for the better. It was necessary. However, all this time, I did not realize that I simply hid my true self by following others, for I knew of nothing else. I had obscured myself for so long, never giving myself a chance to develop. I said no to peer pressure, left my old friends, and used dance as a medium for emotional support, but I still did not know who “Jasleen” was. Going through life without any sense of control prevented me from looking in the mirror and seeing me, instead viewing myself through the perspective of others. I left my own thoughts behind and adopted theirs. I made mistakes, now I seek to rectify them. Although I have broken out of that habit, I have yet to define who “Jasleen” is. I may go back from time to time and start thinking, but I understand now that no one else can determine who I am. Previously, I kept looking for acceptance in others, but never stopped to consider that accepting myself was necessary. As life goes on, I flow with it learning new things, twists and turns showing me new pieces of myself.