A couple of weeks ago, I posted a Facebook status inquiring if anyone wanted me to write about being "foreign, female and fat on DePauw's campus." It was the most popular status I've ever had.
I strongly felt I'd only ever seen a home at DePauw. I had been accepted in ways beyond what I'd expected when I first came to the States. I've always been the first to defend America as my real home-every time my mother argues I'm a second-class citizen here; any time I'm talking to my friends and they bring up India. It's where I've found my interests validated, my choices venerated, my freedom valued. As questions about privilege started coming to the surface, I looked back at how many excuses I'd made-for America, for DePauw.
Forget the fact that I'm Indian and majoring in a subject Indians aren't known for majoring in-film studies and English writing. I was formerly a physics major, but switched when I realized I was spending too much of my time lying to myself about who I want to be.
But a English writing and film studies double major doesn't make me employable by the American market (Film production assistants aren't really being handed H1-B visas). My GPA, my precociousness, my devotion to my work-nah, all that matters is my birth certificate. Now I'm crying for having a dream-stupid me, the American Dream-and Mom tells me I could've avoided half my problems if I'd just spent my time awake.
But my employment prospects don't have anything to do with DePauw-it's a problem I inherited from my love for comedy and television, for SNL and Billy Eichner. At DePauw I've always felt safe. I've always felt like I'm at the top of my niche.
I'd convinced myself that color doesn't matter, that gender doesn't matter-that I'm head-to-head with the best writers on campus; that my origin doesn't matter. Really, I've just been in denial, refusing to acknowledge what I don't want to. I recently realized that the oblivion I've been comfortably living in rendered me blinded.
There's a professor I've defended for two long years-mostly to myself-until a few days ago, when I realized I had no reason to cover for him any longer. I'll convince myself that I must be doing something wrong; that I must be misinterpreting their actions. I've always been that "happy to be here" kid who'll let anything go as long as she's in her precious America. People with more money and whiter skin than me are just going to get further, you know? Why fight boring, losing battles?
I've done this the six years that I've been here. I've been at parties and agreed to feeling inferior; I've let myself be OK with the fact that I'm always going to be different or the "exception." I should celebrate that-but what does celebrating even mean outside of oneself? It sounds like another excuse.
This inequality is why I chose comedy: it's a space where I can compete and prove myself just as good, if not better. Since I'm not going to be taken seriously anyway, I shouldn't take myself too seriously. Because asking for unfazed equality would be too much.
- Chawla is a senior English writing and film studies major from New Delhi, India.