I should have the right to be average, or great, or sub-par. I should have the right to have an infinite amount of stories told about me, an eternal range of nuanced, kaleidoscopic representations of my life and my identity. I should have the right to not be limited to one narrative.

But perhaps these rights only exist in an ideal world where people of color– especially those who are artists of color– don’t have to labor twice as hard to get our stories told.

In an op-ed written by Pulitzer-Prize winning author Viet Thanh Nguyen, he posits the idea that we live in a culture of “narrative scarcity” in which “we feel deprived and must fight to tell our own stories and fight against the stories that distort or erase us.”  In a culture of narrative scarcity, every story told about or featuring people of color or other marginalized groups will automatically define those people. In a culture of narrative scarcity, people like me– immigrant, Muslim, Indian, hijabi– or people with similarly unrecognized or misconceived identities, simply cannot afford to tell bad stories. Our stories have to be good, captivating, enthralling, so our privileged counterparts can see us as human. Otherwise, we become the quirky black sidekick who occasionally blurts out, “DAMN!”, or the strange Indian foreigner who can’t pick up any social cues, or the Latina maid working late into the night, or the Native American woman depicted as being “exotically beautiful”. We become stock characters pulled out of some dusty corner of the white writer’s shelf to satisfy their diversity quota.

Few artists of color achieve widespread recognition in America– like Oprah, or Hasan Minhaj, or the up-and-coming Lana Condor to name a few– and most are just lay citizens trying to get by. In either case, though, people of color have to work twice as hard to achieve what any privileged person takes for granted: visibility in media, an assumption of ownership over the national culture, and the idea that they aren’t defined by a single narrative. Not only do artists of color and other marginalized people need to fight to be seen and heard, we have to create a place from scratch for ourselves in a narrative framework that for centuries hasn’t included us except as sidekicks, villains, inferiors, or foreigners in the margins of a larger, whiter, more christian narrative. We have to fight, all the time, and if we make a mistake, or write a bad story, or film a bad movie, we take on the risk that our nation views us as that single monolithic mistake.

We need to come to a point where artists of color don’t have to work as hard to have the same visibility as more privileged artists. We have to come to a point where a bad story about an Asian American is just a bad story about an Asian American, and won’t define all Asian Americans. As Nguyen eloquently writes, “The real test of narrative plenitude is when we have the luxury of making mediocre movies. And after having made mediocre movies, we would be rewarded with the opportunity to make even more mediocre movies, just as Hollywood continues to make enormous numbers of mediocre movies about white people, and specifically white men.”

I have the right to be mediocre. The paradox is that I’m just going to have to work twice as hard to get that opportunity.

(Read the New York Times article by Nguyen here: https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/21/opinion/crazy-rich-asians-movie.html)

Words have the power to tell a story. The words that you chose determine how you tell the story. The purpose for saying the words is why you tell the story. You use words to explain whom the story is about and where the story takes place. Most people use words every day to communicate with others. We can understand each other because we share words in a common language. The language you use influences the fundamental process that you use to think. The language in which you think modifies how you perceive an external stimulus. These words, thoughts, and perceptions create an identity for you as the speaker.

Now, I want you to reflect on the identity of different countries. What does this have to do with words? Their language? Oh, but it has everything to do with their language. So back to my first reflection prompt: reflect on the identity of various countries. Let’s start with the United States of America. Typically, the United States is viewed as a collection of independents, indulgent to a point of selfishness, and with a strong emphasis on self sufficiency. Heck, the American Dream is a national ethos built on the freedom to achieve. The majority of this country’s inhabitants speak English. In English, the standard syntax is subject, verb, object. Because of this, the frame in which we speak is implicitly selfish. The center of the sentence is the personal pronoun “I”. Everything proceeding the sentence reacts to “I”. The behaviors and attitudes of English-speakers largely reflects their language.

Translate these following sentences into Spanish:

“I like to write.” –> “Me gusta escribir.”

“I forgot my book at home.” –> “Se me quedó el libro en casa.”

If you literally translate what was said in Spanish, it will sound like “Writing is pleasing to me” and  “My book stayed at home.” Sounds odd, right? Typically, English speakers do not frame their sentences in this way. Notice how the Spanish translations places writing and book as the subjects of the sentences. It’s not about the speaker; it’s about the subject of interest. Writing embraces the role of being a desired activity, a pleasurable activity if you will, therefore the significance is placed on writing, not one’s self. Notice then how Spanish culture is notably generous. In the two summers I spent in Belize, lower-class mothers catered to my needs, giving me a home and what food they had. Children would offer me their most prized drawings. They hadn’t even the supplies to make the drawing until I provided it for them and yet they offer me the product of hours of their time with notes of gratefulness and love. The benevolence in these people was astounding. A component of this kinds is surely due to the selfless nature of the language in which they think, speak, then act. Furthermore, Spanish speakers tend to be less uptight than inhabitants of American society who generally takes blame heavily upon themselves. In the sense of forgetting the book, my Spanish professor, a skinny mellow 5 foot 6, black sneaker-wearing old man, once phrased it “the book takes the blame for being forgotten.” Americans hurry through an extensive schedule. Every single day. (Stereotypically speaking. But stereotypes don’t come from nothing…) People in Granada, Spain take a nap around 2-3pm. Every single day. The streets are quiet during this time. People relax.

Clearly, language dictates how you interpret the world around you. Knowing another language is like having another perspective on life.

So I declared a major in Spanish as part of my studies at the University of Michigan because I wonder how having another language would influence how I perceive the world around me and how I perceive myself. Not a bad idea for you, in any language, to try out a new perspective.

I am walking with my head dipped down. My steps pound the pavement with a steadiness that can only come from familiarity. There is no more frantic rushing or hesitant pacing. There is only one schedule, one week at a time until another semester is over. At least, this day is over. Lecture following lecture, staring at a PowerPoint slide, staring into oblivion. There is an easy complacency between exams, when only minimal attention is required. I take notes without reviewing them. I ignore the extra readings. I will return to them, eventually, in the frenzied night before the test. But for now, I am calmly ignorant, willing to leave the inevitable chaos for the future. It has been a typical Thursday in a typical life.

I return to my room in the same quietness. It is a feeling that isn’t negative or positive, isn’t happy or sad. It is just the feeling of existing, floating in the middle. I am not exactly aimless, but I don’t know where I am going. It is a simple feeling, because it doesn’t excite any outcry of grief or burst of excitement. One can simply feel it, no further reflection needed. But these feelings, ultimately, are a trap of our own doing. We may wake up, engage in conversation, walk from class to class, but we aren’t truly there. We may be in attendance for all these things and never be truly present. Then, something shakes, and the careful holding pattern is broken.

On Thursdays, I run. Like the classes, it holds my day in order. I struggle out the door with my half-tied shoes and suddenly, the sun is beating insistently on my face, urging me to look up and around. All seems to be well, only a few stragglers adorn the sidewalk. They absorb the sunlight without acknowledgement. I easily dodge them as I push my legs into motion. I need to focus on my breathing, I need to get it under control. But it is abruptly impossible because there is something in the air, too, that is strangely compelling. In the middle of the track, I stop and look, breathe and feel. The perfect blue of the sky takes up my view, until it becomes all I can see. It makes me feel miniscule. The world surrounds me, in a magnitude I can’t imagine. I reach out my arms and my combined wingspan is so insignificant that it makes me laugh. The careful schedule is rendered immediately ridiculous. In the context of the world, I am running on the smallest little hamster wheel. Perhaps this should have summoned some sort of existential despair. Instead, only exultation in an order much greater than myself. Somehow, the world had arranged itself into a storybook. A perfect fall day in every aspect lay before me, from the still-vivid grass to the crackling, drying leaves. Yet, I had failed to see it all until this moment. Perhaps it is not the world that suddenly becomes extraordinary. Perhaps it is our vision, usually so dim, that becomes luminous.

Listening to music while doing schoolwork can increase concentration and relaxation for many people. I certainly enjoy listening to laid-back tunes in the background to destress after classes. It’s been a hectic, tiring week for everyone, so I thought I’d share some study music playlists and artists. Here are my (Spotify) recommendations, in no particular order:

Classical Essentials
Study Vibes
Chill Lofi Study Beats
study & chill
Studio Ghibli
Chopin
Bach
Joji
Lofi Hip Hop Radio – Beats to Relax/Study to

Enjoy!