Posted 30th August 2015 29

I constantly wonder what I am doing wrong. Now, and even back when I was younger. Why wasn’t I given a chance to be a camp supervisor when I was twelve? I felt like I blossomed while camping and thought I could do as well as anyone else helping others. Apparently not. Why was I cut off from a chance to sing in plays? It was always one popular girl who got the popular roles. When I asked to audition, I was not taken seriously and was told to sing with another girl, creating a terrible duo that dashed my aspirations and earned myself an eyeroll from the teacher. Why would my parts be striken from scrips? I was told the play was too long for my very first main role, and lo, I finally wasn’t cast as a child. The scene was cut, with the play ending short. Why would teachers and professors alike be incapable of giving me fruitful opportunities when I yearned for them? Writing and speaking and drawing and performing music?

I worked hard. I worked so, so hard. I gave my heart to what I aspired for only for others to let me down. I spent minute upon hour upon days and weeks improving myself just so a teacher or an employer would say, “You’ve done well. Here’s the responsibility you labored for.” Only for my mentors to belittle me, calling my attempts sub-par.

When you grow up in America, you are told that your originality and individuality would secure you not only a job you love, but a well paying one. Be yourself and all will come to terms in your way. From rags to riches, and guess what, that can be you, too. As a kicker, I was often told that if I worked tremendously, definitely hard, then, paired with my individuality, there would be no one to stop me in my endeavors. That is, no one except the same people who told me about this convoluted belief. Teachers told me I would never get far in life. I would tell them a dream that I wanted to achieve with immediate rebuttal saying that I would never be good enough for that. Writing teachers with bright smiles sweetly whispering that my writing was trash. Professors angry at my silence because I was afraid that any of my input would result in belittlement.

No, people do not care about how you are as an individual. Not every special snowflake will become a CEO of a well off company. Face it, no one wants people who are quiet, small, super tall, with a strange sounding name, with a mental tick, with weird looking nails, a stange philosophy, the ability to be only mediocre and so on and forth.

I’ve tried. I dove into my studies and work. I achieved wonderful grades, flurished within myself, and continued my education. But as I was held back from my sought after opportunities, I saw others step forward flawlessly. The ones who had money, the ones with the prettier smile, the ones who were taller, the ones who looked their age, the ones with silky hair, the ones whose voices rang strong, the ones who were just plain better than me in ways I am helpless to change.

How could I, a woman of 25 who looks 15, who is a tiny scrap of a person, whose voice is soft, who stutters if she gets too excited, who doesn’t have soft angel locks of hair, who gets nervous and picks her arms, compete with those people? Those gods and goddesses? How can I be taken seriously?

Looks matter. Voice matters. Eyes matter. Height matters. Likes and dislikes matter. All of it matters. The drawback is, will your categories that comprise who you are warrant you that American Dream of individuality?

0 Comments Forgive Condemn