A Multi-cultural social shock

Social shock

It was my skin that caught them off-guard when the doors to the class opened to let me in. Or it was the expectation in their minds that a foreigner had come to their school, from another country, who spoke English fluently and had enrolled in the school halfway through the term, skipping most of year 9. I was just as surprised as they were. Meekly walking in after the principal, I raised my head to look at a class of 8 staring back at me with wide eyes, roving their eyes over the stiff uniform I wore awkwardly, down to the clean white running shoes that had not experienced Indonesia's tropical wear and tear yet. No, they knew immediately that I was a foreigner. However, I was a foreigner in a class full of locals at an international school. I was an Indian kid caught between multiple cultures and societies, struggling to fit in.

I was born in Thailand and spent 13 years of my childhood shuttling between international schools and returning to the gated Indian community where Hindi was spoken prominently. Growing up, I was constantly exposed to Americanized English, Thai, and Spanish at school, so it is no surprise that I developed social skills late, even as a young learner. AND this is where my stutter developed. My brain was unable to form words phonetically when it was too busy trying to translate languages from Hindi to English or English to Thai, as explained by the lovely speech therapist who tried her best, and so I have learned to speak only when required. Books were my getaway. I read in between breaks, in classes, at home, and even wake up early in the morning before school to read several pages of yet another breath-taking novel. How else could a growing child like me experience the world when I could not express verbally what I wanted to say? So, I spent years dreaming and creating the stories I read, mentally conversing with characters, putting myself in situations, learning to view the characters as myself. And this is where I grew to be socially isolated from a lot of the other students around my age.

The feeling of social isolation rushed back, as I lowered my head down quickly, shuffling my feet from side to side. Anxiety was not a familiar word to me back then, to explain the heart flutters, the shaky limbs, and my sweaty palms. It did not help that I wanted to disappear into the private uniform I wore, unable to even look at the logo the school painted proudly on our breasts. The class, from what I had glanced at quickly, were all rich, local Chinese kids in Indonesia, selected exclusively to be in the private school I had graced with my presence. So, it was a culture shock for them to see my tanned skin come in through the doors, to be the only one of colour in that class. The class was learning English at that time, and quickly, the teacher took over, asking me to introduce myself, as the principal walked out with a smile and a wave. I blinked, looking at the teacher with wide eyes before looking back at the class, now eagerly waiting to hear me speak. "My name. Erm... My name- -is S-Semanti I stuttered, swallowing audibly as I clenched and unclenched my fists. "Where are you from, Semanti?" The teacher asked, trying to engage me in a conversation. The question of the century. Do I say I am from India because I am Indian due to my ethnicity, or do I say I am Thai because I was born in Thailand? "I am Indian," I replied quietly, opting for the simpler explanation of my cultural background. The small talk lasted shortly, before the teacher asked me to sit at the front, an empty desk next to a student who wore a prefect tie ironed neatly. "My name is Celine," she muttered quietly, as I gave her a glance. I nodded shyly and looked straight ahead, unsure of what else to say. I had not brought the necessary textbooks and notebooks needed in class, so I stayed frozen in my spot, watching the teacher's every move as he started going over a reading comprehension task. I eyed the task from my peripheral on Celine's desk, itching to read it and understand what was happening, but since she had not offered, I stayed put.

However, social isolation never quite hits you until you are sitting in a classroom all alone during recess. Even at the tender age of 14, as kids, we socialise and build bonds that strengthen over time as we slowly transition to our senior years in high school. These kids had already built bonds with each other over the years, so it was only natural that they would maintain a routine and follow each other around, talking and laughing excitedly amongst themselves as they walked downstairs to the canteen. I had not moved from my seat, and I looked around to see the empty classroom glaring back at me. The noise was deafening, with laughing students outside, running kids being scolded in the hallways, and teachers rushing to the staff room. No one noticed the new kid sitting in an empty classroom, unsure of where to go and what to do. Grabbing my lunch, I eyed the windows to the side of my class, realising I did not want to be caught eating lunch by myself. Psychologically, in class. Quickly checking out the door to see if anyone was outside, I jogged to the girls' bathroom at the end of the hallway, locking myself in a cubicle to eat my lunch. But even a sandwich made with love by your mum can taste like sand when your mind cannot appreciate the ingredients inside the food. And so, I stayed in the bathroom until the bell sounded, almost running back into the class before any of the other kids got there, wanting to hide my lunchbox in my bag quickly. I sat still, flicking my eyes over to the door as my eight classmates worked their way back into the class, quickly trudging over to their desks, still talking loudly in their own language. When, suddenly, as one, the class paused and looked at me, my skin prickled with unease as they eyed me weirdly. The class had a total of 5 girls, including me, and 4 boys, so to have all of them suddenly look at each other and back at me just made me feel more isolated. Their chattering was hushed to a whisper as they carried on conversing in Bahasa Indonesia, the girls flashing their eyes between me and themselves, whilst the boys just shrugged and listened. It was clear the conversation involved me when I heard the words "Indian" in between the foreign languages. I wanted to run back home. Go back to Thailand and do anything possible to get out of that door. So, slowly shifting, I laid my head on the table, looking outside the window mournfully as I waited for the next subject teacher to come in. I was miserable in this new country and new school.

This continued for the entirety of the week, when one day, the entire class stayed in their spots when the bell rang, unmoving as they just turned to each other and started talking, still not paying attention to me. Confused, I froze, unsure of what was happening, as I stared at everyone, then at Celine, who had taken her lunch out to eat on the desk. "Is the canteen closed?" I asked quietly, the first words I had ever spoken since my introduction to the class. Celine looked up, her eyes widening at the fact that I was speaking to her, before flitting behind me to look at someone. Her eyes flickered back to me, before shrugging and replying quietly, "No, we just wanted to eat here". I blinked once, twice, before looking at the class suspiciously. A chair scrapped across the floor, and I watched as the tallest girl in the class pulled a chair over, sitting in front of Celine as she, too, opened her lunchbox, engaging in a conversation with my neighbor. The entire class slowly shuffled their chairs around Celine and I, but oddly, no one put their lunches on my table like some were doing with Celine, preferring to hold them in their laps and either eat quietly or speak softly in Bahasa Indonesia. I could not even bring my lunch out, as the feeling of being entrapped within a social circle seemed to have a vice-like grip on my body, as my palms started sweating profusely. "My name is Tiffany," the girl to my right suddenly said, pausing all the chatter around me. I blinked at her, before nodding awkwardly, hoping my smile did not look like a grimace. "Angie," the tall girl replied, her smile widening as she set her food down. Slowly, the students all around me introduced themselves as I looked at each one shyly, wringing my hands on my skirt to wipe the sweat off. "Semanti," I replied, trying not to move my chair out of the circle. Hunger was calling me, so reluctantly, I bent over and retrieved my lunch, as 8 pairs of eyes watched my every move. "Why are you all here?" I finally asked, as I steepled my fingers on top of my lunch box, unable to accept their scrutinisation. "Because you’re here," Angie replied, her accented voice lilting over the English words. I looked at her in shock, before looking at Tiffany, who had placed her lunch box on my desk, and started to eat it with gusto. "What she means is, since you don’t want to join us downstairs in the canteen, we decided to join you here instead". "Ah..." I replied wordlessly, looking at them. If I could have blushed, I would have, as I ducked my head and opened my lunch box. Instantly, several of the girls leaned over, looking at my food excitedly, chattering about their amazement at the smell of Thai food that wafted over from it. "What is that?", "Oh my god, that smells so good", "Can I try it?", I looked at Tiffany for the third comment, feeling slightly amused as she stopped mid-chew to stare at my food. Wordlessly, I pushed my lunchbox to the center of the table, and at some unspoken command, 8 pairs of forks and spoons dived into my fried rice, exclaiming in surprise at the spice and surprising flavour that accompanied that rice. Pulling the food container back, I could not help but smile a little as I started enjoying my lunch, marveling at its taste for the first time since I had started school. We did speak much at lunch, but they continued joining me when, finally, Angie ended up pulling me out of my chair to join them downstairs. They seemed to understand that I was not socially competent, but what surprised me the most was how they did try to include me once I showed that I wanted to be involved. English was not their first language, so many of the students felt nervous and shy about speaking to me, making me realise that I felt exactly like them as well. Oddly enough, I remember the entirety of year 9 being full of awkward conversations and tender moments, a healthy balance, I must say. Thankfully, I did not remain the only colored person in class, but more importantly, I was grateful that they did not see me for my skin color as I saw myself. This high school experience opened my eyes to how I instantly see my skin and my ethnicity as a negative trait rather than a confidence booster. But overall, if it were not for the class of 2014, who stayed by my side through all the high school years, staying in touch with me even till today, I would not have ever grown to love Indonesia as much as I do now. Social experiences are hard, especially hard when one has trouble expressing their thoughts verbally, but patience and tender care are all we need sometimes to help us feel like we do belong somewhere