Margin of Error

I was sitting in the lounge in Hamburg railway station. The room was small with no people of color. I tend to do real quick diversity scans of the rooms I enter. I wish there would be more than white men in rooms. This room was no different. I see a few German men pouring themselves a drink by mixing coca cola and Fanta. I thought maybe I should try it. I get up to refill my drink. As I was getting coca-cola, I ditched the idea of adding Fanta to it and I started to make my way back to my seat. On the way back I realize I need to charge my phone. I did not see a charging point near my seat. So I moved a suitcase to see if there was a charging point behind it. Well that definitely led to a domino and everything went slow motion. The suitcase started to fall, I went to stop it and I did manage to but I had a glass of coca-cola in my hand and some of it spilled on the floor. I looked around to see everyone looking at me and I could feel their thoughts. I started to turn red (internally) and my ears felt like they were heating up. I tried to act fast, I got some tissues and started to clean it while all of them looked down at me. Here's the thing : being a woman of color on a visa. I have always felt like I have no margin of errors in these spaces. I realize now that some part of the feeling might be internal. 

Throughout my life I have been told that failure is not an option. I remember failing an exam in my bachelors which I was certain I would pass but I did not. My whole world crashed when I got my results. I walked with my head low, scared to go home because I could not tell my parents or anyone else I knew. By the end of the day, I gathered some courage and I asked for a revaluation of that paper. The process was supposed to take a month and I did not want to tell my parents until then. Well unfortunately they found out. It is still one of the greatest mysteries of my life. I do not know if a friend snitched or if they went through my stuff. I wish they had not found out but they did. I had been spending the few days before giving myself pep talks about how grades do not really matter, that I would do better the next time and in this moment I just wanted to support myself because I knew nobody else would. I was right, when my parents found out I was screamed at, abused physically and mentally, my cat's & her new born babies were threatened, I was told I would not make it in life, I was grounded and things were taken away from me. I was shamed for failing. It was one of the most difficult times in my life. They saw it as the start of my downfall. It was only downhill for me from there according to them. I was 19, I was an adult but I was not treated like one. I was treated like a criminal. They had eyes on my every move. It was reinforced that failure was never an option! Spoiler alert I did pass that paper on revaluation. 

As I moved to be independent in the real world, I see the world is filled with people like my parents. For every opportunity I get, there is an expectation to show gratitude. I am supposed to be grateful to be in a room like the railway station lounge where my skin stands out, grateful to be in a country that is more developed than mine. I must show my gratitude by being perfect in looks and actions. I question things everyday. I do question why I feel this way. It is not just internal. I have been told by my parents, my family and by society. “You are lucky to be here.” I must be successful in the way they see success. Anything less is unacceptable. You must fit in the box they carved for you to fit in the system otherwise you are kicked out, or in the case of many South Asian women you get married off. As a South Asian woman, trying out something different in life, you are not just representing yourself but your people too. There is so much pressure not to fail. The shame of failure is inculcated since you are a child on so many levels. I wish I could break down each one of them for you but I am still figuring them out myself. The book of life was written by white men to create a system from which they benefit. We do not have to follow their template. 

Growing up knowing that failure was not an option has made me scared of trying new things. I mean, what if I failed? In the last few years, I have been unlearning and nurturing myself in ways I wish I was as a kid. I am trying to do things differently, I am learning to fail and fall. My capoeira instructor would tell us that we should ‘learn how to fall right’ even before we start learning. I am trying to enjoy things I am not good at, taking more chances, expressing myself and asking for things I want or need.  I have been trying to debunk failure being a bad thing for kids I interact with. Their parents have not been appreciative of that. I have started to believe that failure and excellence can coexist. In the book, I am rewriting for myself now: There is not only margin for error but even pages for failure.