In the wake of ugly comments following the crowning of a brown Miss America, I was reminded of an essay I wrote for a Philosophy class six years ago. Difficult for me to read even now.
In Beyond Good and Evil, Friedrich Nietzsche states “all company is bad company except the company of one’s equals.” Throughout the greater part of my life, this idea was well beyond my reason. I used to strive for the exact opposite actually. I surrounded myself with people of inferior quality because it made me feel better about myself. Every time I saw one of my “good friends,” my greatness would be reaffirmed. Every time they spoke, my self-worth rose. Satisfaction in my being came from the fact that most of the people I knew were of a much lower caliber than me.
Now I know you are probably thinking that I completely lack self-confidence, and I would say for the most part, you are correct. But I would counter, there’s a good reason for that.
Every day for the better part of seven years I encountered the most virulent form of racism imaginable. Between the ages of 5 and 12, I was relentlessly made fun of for my skin color. Anything I did was immediately correlated to my race and my inferiority because of it. I’m happy to say that for the most part, the specifics escape me, but I clearly remember how I felt during that time. I woke up every morning hoping to see a white person in the mirror. I prayed to God at night for some sort of miraculous switch. I despised my parents and every other Indian person for being who they were. After hearing so many negative things about Indians, I became racist towards them myself. I sympathized with the viewpoints of those who harassed me.
No, I did more than sympathize; I actually agreed with them. I was a worthless piece of shit because I was Indian. I did deserve to get rocks thrown at me because of my darker complexion and affinity for spicy food.
In short, I sided with the bigots, and learned to hate myself.
Those experiences, few of which I have enumerated, have had a tremendous impact on my life. As a result of them, I had no desire to continue living, for I was not worth the oxygen I was consuming. Don’t ask me how or why, but I continued on regardless – perhaps for the simple chance at proving my value to those who discriminated against me. I would have given anything for the teasing to stop, for even just one day.
Then one fateful summer day, while I was on the brink of insanity, we sold our house and moved from that wretched town. It’s funny how at the time, I remember thinking my life may as well be over. I remember distinctly believing that I would do nothing at my new residence but play with my newly-born sister.
Although the racism continued for about two years in Center Valley, the change of scenery invigorated me. I wanted to do something about my situation. I was tired of just taking it.
Since I could not change being Indian, I strove to become the best I could be at every other aspect of life, improving upon any flaws I could. Someone would tie my poor jump shot to being Indian: I would stay at the playground for hours at a time perfecting it. Someone would say I’m only going to find work at a 7-Eleven because I’m Indian: I studied my ass off to earn some of the best marks in my class. Someone would make fun of my clothes, saying I was out of style because I’m Indian: I forced my dad to spend exorbitant amounts of money on jncos. It got to the point where no one could say anything bad about me at all…except of course where it came to my race. And that tore me up inside. The deepest scar had formed, and there was nothing I could do about it.
In the meantime, I was becoming the perfect human being. I was smart, funny, and athletic. I learned to be everything to everyone. But in my mind, I wasn’t doing this to become a better person. I saw my self-betterment as the training of a machine. I had no real personality, and I became immersed in a deep depression because of it.
My good friends of Center Valley had no idea however. They all thought I was great. I was even called “perfect” for some time, but as “perfect” as I was, I was never able to shed my race. I’m sure it was confusing as hell for them when, while holding back tears, I screamed at them to stop.
But, part of me secretly loved it. I loved the attention. I loved being recognized as a valuable human being. I loved people looking up to me. And I loved looking down on others. I never would voice my low opinion of the people I was hanging with, but it filled me with joy knowing that there were more worthless people than me in the world. Through the years, I surrounded myself with them and soaked in their constant praises. Then I turned 20.
Not to say that turning 20 made me any different at all, but I’ve made small changes recently. Although my own self-appraisal is still considerably lower than it should be, I’ve begun to make friends with people whom I admire. I’ve begun to realize that I am a worthwhile human being. The transition has been difficult though. To this date, I still find myself fighting off the old feelings of appraising another’s value and worrying whether I will fit in with them.
I do realize that I still have a long way to go. Way too often do I find myself questioning my self-worth, questioning whether my real best friends, the ones that I really admire, like me for who I am or if they have some ulterior motives for our friendship. Does Denny actually like me, or does he like the fact that I introduce him to some of my good-looking female friends and I bring him to parties? The thing is, I know that he likes me for who I am. But there is still that ten percent of me that wonders if that’s really true. That wonders if the next time I slip up and do something out of line, do something that he (or any of the other people that I really want to be friends with) doesn’t like, if that will be the end of me.
I think the next logical step for me is to get to that point in my life, realize that may be a possibility, and then not care. Do I really want to be friends with someone who would do that to me? Not at all. More than anything else, I’ve realized that I’m the one that has to be spending all this time with myself, and if I don’t like that person, than I’m going to be suffering the most. As Mark Twain said best, “The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself.”
I’ve also taken other steps to “fix” me. I’ve scheduled weekly appointments with CAPS that has helped me enormously. I like to think of myself as a very introspective self-analyzing person, but I’ve learned more about who I am and why that is so from my sessions with Sandy than I ever imagined. Speaking with someone about my issues, someone who dedicates her life to resolving internal issues such as mine, is cathartic. I leave 221 Ritenour every Thursday feeling refreshed and renewed. I leave knowing that yes, I do have some faults, but overall, I’m a pretty decent, worthwhile guy. I leave understanding Nietzche’s “all company is bad company except the company of one’s equals” a little more. But best of all, I leave with a smile, knowing that everything will be all right.