By Nicole Subkhanberdina

I wonder if one day once I’ve left this city, whether to America or to another escape, will these experiences and consequential feelings fossilise? Will this sense of constant, ever-reminding singularity become a thing of the past, just a hard period of my life? In the grand scope of things, I am insignificant, an understanding reflected in the song “I want you to love me” by Fiona Apple; to quote a line: “And I know none of this will matter in the long run but I know a sound is still a sound around no one”. All my struggles, hopes, dreams, and loves will make an almost imperceptible mark on the world, something that has often urged me to disregard my feelings and thoughts, invalidating them by looking at my life in the context of humanity. However, I’ve realised that exploring my consciousness through a looking glass is much more tempting. 

My upbringing in an almost entirely white school as a Central Asian girl, at this point feels tired, worn out. I have written about this topic more times than I can count, yet it still feels like there’s something missing, something that hasn’t been said. Is it an essential story I haven’t told? Or have I just not found the right words to explain my entire story. Part of this feeling is because I write these lines only for myself. When I try to expand my audience, I get too shy, or they simply don’t hear me. The people of whom I seek the most validation from; teachers, my parents, and my peers don’t know this exhausted side of me, even though it has been one of the biggest influences on my life. My interests, writing, and art, have almost all been based on my experiences living in such a strangling and hateful environment, receiving the bitter venom of racism spat from other 5 year old’s tongues up until now, everyday comments hiding the subtle degradation meant at 14. It seems like every time I create something studying my past, it’s a futile facade not capable of regenerating the damage already done, yet I just keep doing it. I wonder if I will ever recover from the omnipresent knowledge that I am different, an other, and no matter how much I exceed the rest, I am dismissed. As much as I hope that one day this sentiment will become a fossil, a reason to pity my old self, but be proud of my future self for overcoming it; simultaneously, I am scared. If I finally succeed in believing that others truly see me as an equal (which would also require the eradication of all the microaggressions and straight up racism I experience, I’m not strong enough not to take those to mind yet), what on earth would I write about? What would I blame my inherent mistrust of conventionally attractive white girls on? What would my common app essays submitted to colleges be about? After an entire life of trying to get people to see me for who I am instead of my race first, I have somehow become everything I didn’t want to be. I wouldn’t be nearly as creative, introspective, or resilient as I am now if not for my slanted eyes.

I am my race, it has shaped me more than anything or anyone else, cursed me with disparity, yet it’s also my most poignant blessing. I’ve realised that my hardships have only made me a more secure person, as painful as the journey was, I wouldn’t trade that in for blonde hair, nor blue eyes. 

Nicole S is a teen girl from Kazakhstan currently living in France. She enjoys writing, art, musical theatre, and hopes to go into politics. A fun fact is that she has 8 siblings!

Instagram: @nicole.subk