The Quiet Weight of Being Different

I usually try to think about what I am going to write in these Thursday posts throughout the week. Sometimes, days before the deadline, I am already doing the final polish, if you will, before scheduling it to publish. And other times, like tonight, I am past my usual deadline for publishing the post, sitting at my computer, thinking, "Oh, what do I want to talk about this week?"

Do I want to talk about how much I hate the freezing cold weather and the fact that I feel tired all the time, and all I want to do is crawl under a blanket and do nothing? Nah.

Maybe I want to talk about something that has been bothering me for some time. I am going to call it the limbo of being an immigrant. And I want to be clear about one thing before I go into the story: this is NOT about racism. It has nothing to do with that. It’s just a feeling I’m sure most immigrants can relate to—trying to find their place in this new country we’re supposed to call home.

Now, what am I talking about, and what has happened? When you are communicating in a second language, well, first of all, it’s exhausting. Everything you are trying to say, you first translate in your head before saying it out loud or writing it. There is this constant struggle of wanting to say something and not being able to find the right word or phrase. There are so many times in an immigrant’s life when one would think: "Oh, if only I could respond to you in my first language. I would wipe the floor with you." And yes, it usually happens in moments of anger since those are the times when your language proficiency tends to fail you the most.

So there are times when you find yourself in a room full of native speakers, and no matter how kind and understanding they are of your mistakes and accent, there are instances when you see confusion on their faces because you might have mispronounced something or said something grammatically incorrect. They understand you, and they don’t correct you—not wanting to make you feel bad—but you know it’s there. You’ve seen that little grimace.

I think a lot of it goes back to the fact that where I grew up, we were not kind to immigrants. If they were coming from Western countries, yes, we would find that amusing, but we would still make fun of their accents. And if they were from a neighboring country, we would flat-out mock them. Heck, we even made fun of other cities’ accents all the freaking time. It is sad and even despicable that our generation grew up in such a toxic environment. I do hope it’s better now with the new generation. But what I am trying to say is that the fear of being an "outsider" stays with you when you have been exposed to it for most of your life. You internalize that fear, and you start making up stories about yourself in your head. Then you spiral into self-doubt, insecurity, and sometimes even sadness over not belonging in a place you are trying to call home.

Being a minority is not easy, and sometimes you can’t even make the people around you understand what it means. As a woman who grew up in the Middle East, there is no way for me to explain to a white man why ordinary conflicts or differences of opinion affect me differently than a woman who grew up in a free society. I mean, I can try, but there is no guarantee I wouldn’t come out of that conversation even more frustrated and the other person even more puzzled. How do you explain pain to someone who’s never been exposed to it?

Somebody asked me today: "Are you vouching for so-and-so because you come from the same country?" Ouch!

I promised I was not going to make this about racism, and I’m not about to. But I am going to make it about not letting people feel like they belong—just because of their differences. I just wish people who had the privilege of being born in a free country with countless possibilities in front of them would realize they probably wouldn’t be capable of doing half of what an immigrant has done with their life. Sometimes I want to shake them and say, We have taught ourselves a whole new language, and we are talking and writing clearly enough for you to understand us. Would it kill you to be just a bit more tolerant? What have YOU done with your life?