The Importance of Finding Wholeness in a Fractured Identity

 Before I learned multiplication tables, I learned how to translate my family’s words so that Americans would understand them. The slightest tilt in their voices, the roll of an ‘r,’  the stretch of a vowel – was enough to invite stares and laughter. The moment of distance was never just about language, though. It seeped into the cafeteria when my third-grade self struggled to explain the “strange” food in my lunch box. It seeped into family trips to India, where I was suddenly too “American”. I listened to my cousins complain about how we dressed or how we spoke. It seeped into a country that celebrates K-pop and anime, but fails to see India as anything more than slums and curry jokes. 

        Racism in the United States is nothing new. But the racism Indian-Americans face often gets shoved under the rug, unspoken and unacknowledged. Microaggressions, stereotypes, and outright discrimination are brushed off as entirely harmless. For a long time throughout my childhood, I wondered if I was the problem. I remember nights I’d sit on my bedroom floor asking myself why I felt ashamed on culture day, why I couldn’t fight back when my food was mocked, why my identity felt like a constant apology. My solution was to try to erase it. I worked hard to make sure I appeared as American as possible, to make sure no one could tell where I was from. I even felt relieved when people assumed I was another race. It hurt to hide my roots, the very foundation of my existence, but at least those precious roots were protected. At home, I could be Indian; at school, I could blend in. It worked until it didn't, until I felt suffocated.

        The summer that shifted everything was 2023, when I returned to India. By then, I was already tired of hiding, tired of flipping switches depending on where I was. In India, I felt at home in ways I had never felt before, but I also missed America dearly. No matter where I was, a part of me was switched off. And that summer was the summer that I realized I did not want to live a life of constant compartmentalization. What I’ve learned since then is that this struggle is not only an Indian-American struggle – it’s a human one. Whether you’re balancing cultures, sexuality, religion, or even just the difference between what different people expect you to be, the feeling of being too much and yet not enough is universal. You start cutting yourself into pieces to fit other people’s expectations. You learn to perform versions of yourself for every room you walk into. Eventually, you start forgetting what your true self even looks like. 

        If there’s one thing I want you to take from this, it’s that out of everything, the most important thing is to have a strong sense of self. This is much easier said than done, but spending time to reflect on your own behaviors, values, morals, and thought processes will benefit you greatly in the long run, especially if you’re someone who struggles with two different identities. Personally, I like to do this through writing, but it can and will look different for everyone. The process doesn’t have to be creative or magical, though it can be. However, it can also just take a few seconds at night to reflect on yourself and how you feel, and why you feel that way. What you like, what you don’t like. It’s the little things that we suppress around others out of fear, but it’s also the little things that make you whole. It becomes a lot less suffocating when you unapologetically and fully allow yourself to breathe and live. Because once you allow those doors to open, no matter which part of your identity you lean into, you’ll know you’re whole.