A lot of my family & childhood friends would be sharing this today – because it is a significant day that shaped our childhood and our experiences. It is significant because it was a day that made us and our experiences a part of World history. It may sound trivial to some, nuanced to some others, but for us who lived through the Gulf War, it is significant.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realised the magnitude of having lived through the Gulf War. It was the first time that we had taken a family trip to India. And it was also the time when we realized that everything that was what we called ‘home‘ was being demolished, destroyed and burnt as we watched the daily news.
It was a time I recall of fear and anxiety – constantly wondering what my uncle, who I adored, and my grand-uncle, who was every bit the grandfather I never had were going through. I was worried sick about my school mates and teachers, family and friends who were still in Kuwait.
I didn’t get to see the war first hand, but I had the nightmarish imagination of what our history books told us. (I always hated history, and being part of history made me hate it even more!) Regardless, we waited and worried. My parents were suddenly without a job. My grandmother was suddenly without the security of knowing where her young son was.
And I…?
I was suddenly lost, displaced and without a home. My roots were rudely pulled out. I had no friends, my family were somewhere in the middle of burning oil fields, fighter jets and in a war zone.
So yes, one would probably say, “But you were in India!”
Ha! I can tell you first hand of the exclusive behavior reserved towards NRIs – even in school – even by children who learn to say nasty things as they listen to adults speak at home. It is no small joke when some of us relate to ‘not being wanted in our country of birth and residence… and not being quite wanted back in your country of origin either. So it was quite a ball-play between bastardly and step-motherly treatment, I guess. Or so, I felt at the time.
For a 12-yr-old, just getting to terms with her hormones, and now facing the prospect of suddenly being thrown into a new school – to make new friends and fit in – all the while wondering what was happening back home was scary, to say the least.
Those of you who know me personally today, would find it utterly and ridiculously impossible to believe how painfully shy I was as a child. I would talk, but only if I knew the people. I would be afraid to raise my hand in class, and I would hate to go out of class in case any of the ‘tough girls‘ would ever find me. I felt safer when my older cousins were around because I remember they would be the big sisters who would care for me when I needed that nudge.
So walking into a new school, in a new country, and having everyone stare at me was daunting – and horrifying – yet, there was a sense of fear because all those people had something that I did not.
They had a home.
I did not.
I was a refugee.
So, I came up with the perfect solution to keep the fear and insecurity at bay.
On my very first day at the school in India, as I entered the school gates, I remember mentally telling myself, “Be friendly, laugh, talk… fit in.“
And no one did.
No one saw my fear, my insecurity and my inner chaos.
What they did see was this tall, different-looking, who preferred to speak in English, (although she spoke better Hindi than many in the class :)), who did well in class, whom the teachers adored (because she did well), who made friends easily, won the school elocution competitions, participated in school and community events, read mass readings at church, led the choir, and lived… (and effectively shut down feeling the fear!)
Sadly, these defense mechanisms became a part of me and shaped into a large part of my personality. I must say the adversity challenged my sense of identity, but my social persona today is largely a result of what happened 28 years ago. It was my desperate need at the time – to find a home, find a community, find my place.
Hmmm… I never thought that deeply about the Gulf War until today.
I am a survivor of war. My family and I are all war survivors. And we, all five of us, have experienced the fear and desperation that comes with being displaced and living like a refugee – even if it is in your own motherland.
So today, I acknowledge how far we have come along. Yes, we have been blessed – we have come through it. My childhood friends, Many of us are still in touch with each other – we share that bond and experience. We carry the trauma within us in various ways – some superficial, others deeper and with invisible scars. But we know we’ve come through.
And with that, I realize today, how grateful I am to this city I live in today. A city I was forced to be displaced to 4 years ago – but a city that welcomed me and gladly allowed me to drop roots and make my home.
Luvena's World 