Representing

A story often told by my dad was of the time the school filmed the third grade class, which included my brother Davy. One by one, each student was given the opportunity to say something into the camera. Apparently a precedent was set amongst the kids where each child looked into the camera, waved and said ‘Hi mom!’

When it was my brother’s turn however, he looked into the camera and said ‘Hi mama! Hi dada!’

This made my dad very happy to be included, hence, he often retold the story.

Only a year younger than my brother, I made a mental note to be sure to say hello to both parents when it was my turn to be filmed the following year.

My parents came from India in 1970 and put their roots down in the town of Corbett, Oregon in 1975- the year I was born.

Corbett is a small, rural town with a couple of blinking stop lights and at the time, only about 3 families of color- ours being one of them.

The first time I became aware that people saw me through the lens of race was in third grade when it was my turn to be filmed in the Library. Having learned what to do from my brother a year earlier, I was ready.

As she was moving down her list of students, the videographer asked which one of us was Rachel.

Before I could answer, a peer piped up saying ‘the black one!’

I froze. My eyes met the Librarian’s. She was black. I said I didn’t want to go. They asked me if I was sure.

I was sure.

They moved on.

There is no video footage of me saying hi to my mom or dad that day.

I was too busy collapsing into myself.

I hadn’t known that people looked at me by my skin color.

It was the day I realized that I was seen as other.

It was a day when some of my innocence was lost.

Growing up different, more episodes followed.

A boy asked me why I wear lipstick only on one lip. I didn’t wear any makeup at that age and told him so. Another peer, overhearing this, turned around in his seat and said ‘You’re wearing it right now!’

In eighth grade I got on the school bus when an elementary school student stared at me wide-eyed and announced ‘YOU’RE BROWN!’

This is what it was like in 1989 in a small town in Oregon.

None of these incidents embodied prejudice, just a lil ignorance. They’d never come across someone like me before. That’s no one’s fault.

Well maybe the media. Representation matters.

For the longest time, I equated being Indian with being a minority (ironic, I know).

In my youth, I approached every Asian with the friendly vibe akin to that of a golden retriever.

Hey are you Asian? I’m Asian too!

or

Namaste! What part of India are you from?

I was usually met with a frosty attitude that confused me. Most of them were offended to be approached by me on the basis of culture or race.

I was doing to them, what was done to me! I had assumed that they’d grown up anomalous like me, but eventually I figured out that most Asians didn’t grow up isolated from other Asians. Probably because they weren’t raised in a small, rural town as I was.

From the medley of these events, I slowly grew used to the role of cultural mediator. Like a representative, I developed into someone who helps the majority in better understanding the minority, without me taking offense.

I am often found surrounded by those different from me. For example, I’m more liberal in my political views but instead of living in liberal Portland, I live in the conservative suburb of Milwaukie. I have Republicans on all sides of me…and with the exception of one, we all get along. They’ve taken us four-wheeling and shooting guns while I explained the evidence for climate change, around the campfire.

It’s interesting the way our experiences shape us, like spiritual erosion, carving deep canyons into us and revealing our layers. In this layer, you can see where a catastrophic event occurred, and you can see how it served as a foundation for all that was to come later.

Thanks for being here and reading my stories. I feel grateful for your interest and support. <3