It’s an odd feeling to be vulnerable in front of 15 mostly-strangers.
On the one hand, you feel this prickling sense of anxiety and self-consciousness. The weight of their gazes rests heavily on your shoulders, and though their faces are open and friendly, you can’t help but be hyper-aware of every twitch of their facial muscles, every quirk of their lips, whether they’re smiling or frowning, whether they’re laughing with you or at you. Because you don’t really know them. And they don’t really know you. So you don’t really know how they’re going to react to what you have to say. Maybe they’ll listen attentively, or maybe they’ll zone out halfway through your first sentence. Maybe they’ll find your story intriguing or maybe they’ll find it uninteresting. Maybe they’ll want to be friends, or maybe they’ll think you’re just not worth the time and effort.
But on the other hand, you also feel an unmistakable sense of possibility, of opportunity. Here, you have a chance to remake yourself. Here, you have a chance to be reborn. Because they don’t know you. Or, rather, they don’t know who you used to be. This means there are no preconceived notions to shatter as soon as you open your mouth, there are no expectations to fulfill or standards to meet. You can introduce yourself as the version of you that you like best, without having the old you constantly looming over your shoulder. Though it’s different from the warm familiarity and natural closeness you have with your childhood friends, who’ve known you at every stage of your life and can still see all the old versions of you that trail behind you like shadows, it’s still pleasant. There’s a refreshing newness to it that excites and encourages you to keep being that better version of yourself. And all the ‘old you's just melt away, shadows under the summer sun.
That’s how I felt on the afternoon of June 20th, the first day of our orientation retreat at CSU Long Beach. As I stood in front of 13 fellow interns and two program coordinators, I held in my hands nothing but a poster-sized Post-it note covered in messy scribbles and hasty drawings that summarized my whole 19 years of life. “Meghna’s Map <3,” I called it, my very own Life Map.
My life map, which details the four major stages of my life (so far), including my early childhood years, my adolescence/middle school years, my high school years, and my first year at UCLA!
I’d never done an activity like that before, so I wasn’t quite sure where to start, what to include, or how to condense 19 seemingly monotonous years into a meaningful story that provided insight as to who I really was. Eventually, I decided to start at the very beginning, with the story of my birth (which I won’t go into since it’s pretty long, but let’s just say it involves a train, heavy rain, and early labor). The more I drew, the more my life story began to slowly piece itself together. My early immigration to the United States and the pressure to assimilate into American society connected to my inability to speak my native language and the subsequent detachment I felt to my so-called “motherland.” The stereotypes of what were acceptable career paths for Indian Americans and the expectations placed on me to conform to those stereotypes incited the bitter feelings of self-resentment I experienced as I tried to distance myself from my own culture. My childhood love of creative writing and story-telling transformed into “a passion I could apply to the advocacy space” through participation in several Asian-oriented organizations such as the UCLA chapter of Dear Asian Youth and the Dear Asian Girl podcast, symbolizing a fundamental evolution in the way I perceived my own identity (Farrah, 2023).
That last bit was an especially crucial realization for me. For the longest time, I had worried that I had nothing significant to share in advocacy spaces, that the skills I developed in constructing fictional worlds and composing flowery poetry couldn’t possibly contribute to social justice work. But after completing the Life Map Activity, after seeing my (albeit unfinished) story laid out before me, I learned that my strengths and talents are important, that my lived experiences do matter, and that my story does have beauty and power and value, simply because it’s mine.
I give my life meaning. I make my experiences matter. CLA has taught me to stop second-guessing myself and wondering if I deserve to take up space. This is my origin story. It’s beautiful and powerful and valuable. And it starts right here.
This is one of my favorite pictures that we took altogether so far! Even though we've only known each other for a week, I feel so close to everybody here. They're all amazing and I hope our friendship only continues to grow.
The views and opinions expressed in this publication are those of the author and do not reflect the views or positions of CAUSE or the CAUSE network.
Written by Meghna Nair, Leadership Academy 2023 Intern.
The CAUSE Leadership Academy (CLA) for students is a nine-week, paid, internship program that prepares college undergraduates to lead and advocate for the Asian Pacific Islander community on their campuses and beyond.