Storytelling Saturday #11: “Fellow Immigrant”
Welcome back to Storytelling Saturday, where I share stories about my experiences as an international student and immigrant. The “Other” category has many shades of grey.
Despite my very frequent rants about encountering insensitive comments, I am actually very lucky to be surrounded by people whom I feel safe with. Some have experienced similar things (very often worse) and have a deep understanding of where my frustrations come from. Others, although not having had the exact same experience, have had hardships that make them understand the feeling of being un-listened to. Thank you to these people (you know who you are!) who allow me to have enough breath in me to rant in the first place.
And then there are people who strongly claim that I have a shared understanding with them, then fill my lungs with anxiety when discussing the very topic. The most memorable one of these encounters was the last time I opened up to this person. I had just had a visa endorsement rejected and was doubting my values as an immigrant and a human being. Going through the immigrant process feels raw and naked, and the wound is left wide open when it results in an unsuccessful application. It’s not something that I share with many people because I know that most people don’t know how to respond. I am crushed by well-meaning people who tell me how it’s going to turn out okay because I am a good person. After losing hundreds or thousands of pounds and packing my possessions to deal with ‘just-in-cases’, I don’t have the energy to explain how it has nothing to do with whether I’m a good person – I need to be useful to the state. Yet, I don’t want to seem ungrateful to these people who are just trying their best to cheer me up, so I simply say thank you and look for my own ways to stitch up my severed mind.
I was feeling very raw when I shared this news with the person in question; I think I was expecting a different response, or even advice, as they were also an immigrant to the UK. I didn’t expect the ‘different response’ could be something worse than ‘oh dear, sorry to hear’. They simply said, “Well, I got my visa and it wasn’t that bad.”
I could feel my lungs fill with despair. What was I supposed to say – argue and try to validate my experience as being bad? Or suddenly feel enlightened because my mind was playing tricks and was fabricating the sinking heart feeling? What’s the point.
What I wanted was to be listened to. Mentally hanging like Mufasa in the Lion King, wanting a hand to grab mine. They needn’t pull me up – no one can – but just a grab to let me know that I can get back up. Instead, I felt like I was a failure—labelled by a fellow immigrant. It wasn’t quite what Scar did, but a push enough for me to want to let go of it all. I now know that being accepted by another person is not dependent upon having similar experiences, but upon being able to feel listened to.
Time to get myself up on my own.
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