It was the second grade, and I was just getting on to the school bus; I sat right in the middle row next to my friend who looked just like me -- we each sported fresh new glasses, a fashionable bowl cut, a polo shirt, and khakis. Aside from the banal clothing we had both decided to wear, we shared one glaring similarity: we were both Indian-American, each with caramel colored skin. A tall and quite imposing fourth grader had sat in front of us and before the bus had started, he swiveled back at us and immediately asked, ”Are you guys brothers?” This question had angered me a lot as a child and I have been compared to other Indian people in a similar fashion up until sixth grade. Unfortunately, this one instance of a child being ignorant had sparked something in me: a distaste for my ethnicity and the stereotypes surrounding it.
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The latter part of this is true -- it had become a personal part of my identity but in a negative way. Starting from when I was five I had started squinting at the chalkboard, not being able to read properly, from which I now have glasses for the rest of my life. Furthermore, not two years later, my teeth had been completely disorderly, and that’s where braces come in to save the day. Now as an Indian child with thick glasses and multi-colored braces, I struggled to fit in and find my
The latter part of this is true -- it had become a personal part of my identity but in a negative way. Starting from when I was five I had started squinting at the chalkboard, not being able to read properly, from which I now have glasses for the rest of my life. Furthermore, not two years later, my teeth had been completely disorderly, and that’s where braces come in to save the day. Now as an Indian child with thick glasses and multi-colored braces, I struggled to fit in and find my