2Shy is a Bad Word
Life as a loser sure isn't interesting when you aren't milking it for all it's worth.
When you're a loser, you should be able to say what you want, be friends with whom you want, and not have to care about what others think of you because it's your right as a dork.
Only I am possibly one of the most self-conscious losers in the history of loserdom.
It wasn't always this way. In middle school I said what I wanted when I wanted and thought I was winning others over in the process. But, as usual, I was wrong.
Now, as I'm starting my junior year almost silent. I think limitless times before I speak- often at the risk of not speaking at all. Class has become hard for me because I refuse to participate in most discussions. I have an incurable identity crisis because of my race versus my skin color. My friends are probably not really friends at all. In short, I am a messed up person.
But you probably don't care about that. After all, my life right now isn't exactly as interesting as it once was. But what you probably will care about is how I got to be this way.
Because, let me tell you, the story isn't anything short of a marathon of heartbreaks. But it all depends on who's doing it, right?
Anyways, I'll introduce myself. Starting with who I am:
I was born of Indian heritage. However, both my parents didn't actually live in India for most of their lives. My mother moved around to countless South American countries, picking up the Spanish language on the way. My father went to school in London for most of his childhood and rarely visited India. They both moved to America when they were quite young.
As a result? No Indian language, minimal knowledge of the culture or religion, and me.
When you think of an Indian girl, you might think of someone with dark skin and brown eyes, someone who speaks her native language at home and is a whiz at math and science.
Hehehe, wrong.
First off, I have greenish-brown eyes. They change with my mood and the lighting. Indians do not have green eyes.
Secondly, math couldn't be a worse subject for me. Science, I find, is a bore. Indians do not neglect math and science.
And the clincher: my skin is practically porcelain colored. I am insanely light. Indians are not white.
Because of my appearance, I had a huge identity crisis when I was in elementary school. On standardized tests, I filled in "White" under the blank space for race. I thought that because my skin was light, I couldn't be anything else. Besides, practically no one knew I was Indian.
I lied a lot too, often saying that I was born in India as if it would make up for my non-Indian flaws I might have had.
Even now, I don't think of myself as Indian. I often have to remind myself a billion times a day that that is who I am and to embrace it. But, unfortunately, I can't seem to convince myself. I am doomed to be confused for the rest of my days.
The only Indian thing about me is the fact that I do Indian classical dance and am in love with it. Dance is my life. Not only Indian dance, but jazz and occasionally hip hop as well. I've been dancing since I was 4 and it's been like my savior. But even then, I'm not 100 comfortable with it.
With my dance class came the constant reminder that I didn't look like an Indian should. My dance friends call me on this all the time by jokingly calling me "whitey" and denouncing my Indian culture to all the world.
Not only do my friends do this, but also people whom I've never seen before.
I don't know how people think they can come up to me and make comments such as "Wow, you don't look Indian at all! I mean, I never would've recognized!"
What is that supposed to mean? Is it a compliment? A tactless observation? Should I be insulted?
I just don't know. But I do know that in the handbook of Human Decency, there was totally a law that said "Thou shalt not point out flaws of those you have just met." Too bad not many people received the guide.
I know, I'm bitching. But suddenly this is a huge part of my life! Why are people so shallow?
My identity is only part of what makes me painfully introverted. My failed friendships and shattered romantic relationships make up a huge part of who I am.
And that's probably the part you should stick around for.
Cause, let me tell ya, with this much disappointment in my life, I might as well have hauled myself off to a Hopeless Hindu clinic to stew in my own self-pity.
I must be incredibly resilient, or just a glutton for punishment.
I'll let you decide.