You probably don’t remember this, but I still think about our short conversation that day. I still think about how I just smiled and pretended everything was fine because I was not allowed to say anything back.
Every time I think about that Saturday afternoon, when I would have rather been reading than making your food, I scoff in disbelief.
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I took your order and proceeded to prepare your lunch. I was the only one in the shop at the time, and you were my only customer. I guess you felt the need to dispel the silence in the room by starting a conversation. You just chose the wrong topic.
“I bet this makes you wish you had stayed in school, huh?”
I was so surprised by your question. I can still play it in my head as clearly as you said it, the tone, the voice, the look you gave me.
I turned to you and smiled because that was all I was allowed to do.
“What? I’m actually a senior in high school, so…”
In my head, that was the end. You made a mistake, I corrected you, and I was ready to let it go. But you were not. You had already decided that I had somehow failed in life somehow to be in the position that I was in. If I hadn’t yet, then I was bound to eventually. Why didn’t you stop?
“Well, I bet this makes you want to work harder in school now.”
I looked at you surprised. Do I look like I don’t work hard? Why did you have to say that to me? Had I not just mentioned I was a senior in high school? Was that not enough?
I wanted to say so much. I wanted to list down all my accomplishments, all the awards I’ve received, all the colleges I got accepted into and all the honors. I wanted to pull out my transcript and make sure you looked at it correctly and I wanted to see the disbelief you would have in your eyes.
But I scoffed and even laughed a little. And I said what I could manage at that point. “I have a 4.2 GPA.”
You looked surprised. You looked surprised, and that made me so mad. I was so mad that you were shocked because of my answer.
“Wow, that’s good! You can be anything you want, go to any good school you want!” You started speaking nervously.
“Yeah,” was all I could get out as you kept rumbling on, praising me when I was ready to move on.
I handed you your lunch and you praised me one more time before you left. But I never forgot that conversation. I still think about it even today, three years later.
Why did you assume I was a dropout? Was it because of the way I was dressed? Because of the way I looked? Because of my accent?
Why couldn’t you believe that I could be successful and that I could accomplish high school just fine without me having to whip out the facts? Because of the way I looked?
What about me made me look like a dropout or like I was bound for failure?
I always think about it, if it was somebody else, in a different skin color, would you have assumed the same thing? Would they be dropouts in your eyes or just students at a part time job?
I had to change because of you. I lost my trust in a lot of people because of you. I became so worried about what other people thought of me, I became so worried about how other people saw me. I hated the fact that I may just look like a failure to other people, that I looked like I had given up. I hated the fact that I may look stupid to other people or that, in other people’s eyes, I was not going to amount to much. I did everything on my own. I never asked for help from anyone and I tried to show that I could manage on my own because of you, because I didn’t want people to think I was not capable of doing and being just as much as other people could, just as much as the people you would’ve just assumed were just at a part time job could.
I saw people’s kindness and sincerity as a masquerade for what they truly thought because you were smiling while putting me down.
But I chose to forgive you. You made a stupid mistake and I chose to forgive you. But still, something bothers me until this day: why didn’t you let it go when I corrected you? Why were you scared of admitting that what you thought of me when you first saw me was not true? Why was it hard for you to believe that I, too, could be successful and was a success?
I never liked being the best, I never liked standing out. I was happy with how I was and what I was capable of, but I got scared. I got scared that people would not give me a chance to show them who I am and what I can do before they decide that my life is wasted. I tried being the best for the first time because I wanted to prove you wrong. I am.
