Hi friends,
I was on a call with a client the other day and we were talking about our kids. I mentioned, off-hand, that my kid is half-English and half-Indian to which my son, who was sitting right opposite piped up, “No I’m not. I’m only 3/8ths English. I’m also 1/8th French Canadian.”
It was funny, especially the specificity of it, and we laughed. But it bothered me a bit, how we are required to divide ourselves up into parts. How we define ourselves as half of things when we’re fully both, all.
I was speaking to a writer friend in India the other day and she talked about how it bothered her that literary agents in the West didn’t want to work with Indian writers.
“That’s not true,” I replied. “I’m an Indian writer.”
Her response shocked and saddened me. “No, I mean Indian Indian,” she replied.
I am an Indian citizen living in Britain. Which means I’m often not British enough for Brits. Or, apparently, Indian enough for Indians.
It reminds me of the Ijeoma Umebinyuo poem:
“So, here you are
too foreign for home
too foreign for here.
Never enough for both.”
I like this poem for its melancholy, but as I was thinking about it, I jolted back to attention.
Because the truth is, lovely as the poem is, I have never, ever, thought this way.
Other people do, of course. They project their bias on to me. But I’ve never accepted this as my self image.
As far as I’m concerned, I’m 100% Indian. And despite a lack of passport (a mere formality, you’ll agree), I feel 100% British.
I live in England and I have never belonged to a place more, made friends so easily, or fit so seamlessly into a culture. Even when I lived in the most conservative of towns, I couldn’t walk into the local pub and not be greeted by at least half a dozen people. They may not have been able to say my name (and man, that annoyed me at times), but they really did think of me as one of their own. The last time I went there, an entire table of people erupted into cheers of “Look who decided to come visit!”
No one gets to take that away from me.
I don’t have to divide myself up into parts, Indian, British, whatever.
Nor do you.
The point, when it comes to publishing (and I guess, life), is this:
People will mirror your biggest fears back to you. If you think you can’t succeed in this industry because you’re not something enough, someone will come along to tell you exactly that.
I’ve been “too Indian” and “not enough Indian,” whatever that means.
I can look around and easily find people, situations, and poems to confirm that it is difficult for me to get to my goals because of who I am.
I can also look around and easily find people, situations, and poems to confirm that it isn’t.
Both things exist.
Where I focus my attention and what I allow to enter into my self-image is my choice.
I have spoken about how agents have tried to put me in the “Indian writer” or “immigrant writer” boxes, and this isn’t exclusive to people of color.
I was able to laugh that off and walk away from those relationships because that’s not my self identity. And I wasn’t going to allow somebody else to infiltrate that. They’re welcome to their biases and opinions, and I’m welcome to reject them.
This is important because when you allow other people’s projections to influence you, it holds you back.
It held me back, too. Until I decided that it wouldn’t.
You’ll need to decide it, too.
P.S. The Bookish Academy is live, and I’m so incredibly excited about all the amazing resources we have in there.
If you’re playing along at home, we’re doing a month of bonuses. Today’s bonus for signing up (to any level): 7 scripts that will help you successfully connect with fellow authors, whether that’s to ask for a pre-publication blurb or some authorly advice. (Tried and tested from my own files; they work!)
Cheers,
Natasha