Out of The Maze

I came home from the first day of second grade at my new school in Darien, Connecticut

and asked my mother if I could coat my dark skin in white baby powder.

I studied myself in the mirror,

hoping I could change the color of my skin or the thickness of my hair.

In a world of blond hair and blue eyes,

I felt trapped in this homogeneous maze

Of course, since I am Indian, I had to be

intelligent,

unathletic,

and eat curry every day.

Of course, since I am brown,

I must be just like Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb or Ravi from Jessie—

socially awkward and always doing math homework.

Defined by this “single story,”

I felt as if I was doomed to be

a snake-charming,

yoga-loving,

Indian math prodigy

even in second grade.

I always knew I had brown skin, but I never really knew.

But when I was little and playing with my friend,

I realized her mom’s makeup never matched.

And when I borrowed her hairbrush,

I saw my thick, dark strands caught between her wispy, blond ones.

But then I grew up

And I now know acceptance

Once so young and thrilled that there was another Indian girl in my grade

and that I was no longer alone.

I no longer stared into the mirror,

wishing to look different.

Instead I embrace it.