“For my grandmother, my birth is a total failure.” This was the first sentence of an essay named “Failure,” which I wrote in my senior year English class. I never told anyone about being discriminated against by my grandmother because of my gender until I wrote that essay because I still saw the whole thing as a shame even though I had already accepted my grandmother’s dislike. By writing “Failure,” I faced my grandmother’s rejection and the negative emotions it brought, and I gained courage and confidence to move on.
I was hesitating at first, considering whether it was a good idea to write about this experience I had. Since the essay was going to be peer-reviewed during class, which means besides handing in a hard copy of the essay to my classmates, I had to read it out loud, I didn’t know how my classmates would react. Would my classmates see me as a coward after they read the part saying that I was afraid to raise my hand and answer questions in elementary school? Would they think I was affected when they knew I felt that no one wanted to make friends with me when I was young? Did I even have the courage to tell my classmates and the teacher that my grandmother “looked at me with full disgust in her eyes,” or that my mother “received contempt and curses for giving me life?” What if it made someone uncomfortable reading my essay? These types of questions popped into my head one by one with familiar feelings of fear, timidity, and self-denial. I suddenly realized that it was happening again, the same thing that had in elementary school: I was being manipulated by my own fear and lack of self-confidence. “You are not the kid who always hid in the dark anymore. You have received a lot of support from others and you have changed. Now, it is time to challenge yourself again and make one more change: stepping out of your comfort zone and sharing your emotions, thoughts, and experience of growth with others,” I said to myself. After, I decided to write all of my thoughts out.
While I was writing, I started to call on the memory of how I felt after I found out that my grandmother hated me, how that had changed my life, and what I thought about myself. I remembered refusing to wear dresses because I was worried I’d appear to be too girly. I remembered walking as fast as I could anytime I saw my mother standing at the gate of my school because I did not want her to be judged by others. I remembered what my mother said to me after I gave up the opportunity to run for class president because I thought only boys would be selected. She said, “No one will judge you based on your gender, and if people do, they are wrong. Pursue your dreams and never let the identity of being a girl disrupt you. I am so proud of you and always here for you.” When I was writing all these memories down, I realized how silly I was for believing that I was inferior to others because of my gender. I rehashed what happened in my childhood and concluded that instead of evading my emotions and doubting myself, what I needed to do is to continue making progress and to fight for my future to prove that I could do better, which was also what I wanted my classmates to know.
I was nervous reading my essay out loud. I was prepared for my essay to be disliked by my classmates. Fortunately, they liked it and found it interesting and informing.
“I’d like to be friends with you. You are a cool girl.” “You have me, and we will fight together.” “Sorry, I was not there for you at that time, but I am now.” These words were what my classmates said to me and it was meaningful.
My English teacher said things that were similar to what my mother always said. “It is never your fault, neither your mother’s. People should not evaluate you by your identity but your capability. You do better than a lot of people, so do not let those fatuous ideas control you. I know you are going to be successful.” The encouragement and support from people who helped me became the power moving me forward. What my teacher said was right: it was not the blocks outside of me that were preventing me from being successful. The blocks were within myself.
Writing the essay, I changed my passive attitude toward my grandmother’s hatred to courage and motivation by taking another look at the experience and challenging myself. Whenever I want to give up something, I tell myself that I am a strong girl. Being discriminated against was not a joyful memory, but it was part of me. Sadness, disappointment, self-abasement, delight, courage, and passion all turned me into who I am today. To write “Failure,” I broke myself, and I said farewell to this unpleasant experience.