A Proud Coconut
A coconut. Brown and hairy on the outside, white on the inside. Sometimes, I can’t help but think that I’m a coconut. As the daughter of two South Asian immigrants raised in a diverse area, I have constantly been jumping over the fence between two cultures. When I visited India every three years, I would always feel ashamed of the “white” part of me. I was never able to speak Malayalam, my mother tongue. People would constantly stare at me because of the way I acted and talked. Aunties would ask my parents, “How will she survive?” They were disappointed in what I had become, and I couldn’t help but feel ashamed because of that.
Travel 9,000 miles to the West, and my feelings flip like a pancake. In America, I often looked down upon the brown, hairy part of me (I can’t tell you how many times people have commented on my hairy arms). In math class, I would answer every question and ace every test. I attributed my academic success to my brains and hard work, but others would attribute it to my skin color.
“ I attributed my academic success to my brains and hard work, but others would attribute it to my skin color. ”
“It’s because she’s Indian” is the most classic line in the book. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I took heed to people’s advice and stopped acting like a “tryhard” in all my classes. Sure enough, more kids liked me (or at least, less resented me). But I eventually came to the realization that I had changed so much to meet the standards of a society that was designed for the benefit of white people. So I stopped trying to please others and instead demolished everyone in math class.
Unfortunately, that didn’t settle the war inside me. I had plenty of brown friends at school that reminded me of my struggle in India. They all knew their mother tongues, and they often talked about Indian foods and Indian celebrities. I felt odd knowing that I was probably going to go home and eat chicken nuggets while watching The Amazing World of Gumball. I felt like I was betraying my culture. Not to mention, most of my Indian friends are Hindu, while I’m Christian. Some people made me feel less Indian for that very reason. I often felt dumb when I didn't know what a certain Hindu celebration or tradition was, as if the color of my skin alone should have given me that knowledge. It’s clear that people resort to stereotypes when they look at me, because the most common question I get is “Why do you have a white name?” This comes with the assumption that all Indians are Hindus, because Hindu names aren’t as simple as “Tasha Paul.”
For a long time, I didn’t know where I belonged. Was I failing to be a true Indian? Am I brown enough? I was so confused until I realized that I wasn’t alone. After reading The House on Mango Street ( a coming-of-age novel that delves into the concept of identity) and watching Never Have I Ever ( an Indian-American comedy-drama that explores what it means to be a Desi teen), I felt like a whole new world had opened up to me. A world in which no one cared what society expected of them. I thought: if this is so common, then maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe I’m perfect just the way I am.
“ I thought: if this is so common, then maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe I’m perfect just the way I am.”
Nothing is black and white. Nobody truly fits in anywhere, as we were all born to stand out. The moment you start to conform to society’s rules is the moment you begin to lose yourself. I am me, and I am proud of who I am.
