From nudes to skin tones, to skin talks

Today, I sat in a talk which I thought would influence, inspire or entice me to like my supposed career path.

Here we go...

So, as I sit trying to catch my breath as quietly and as subtly as I could, the speaker is sat on the stage with a lecturer from my university in a Newsnight fashion.

At first, I heard “being the only Asian at that time,” he instantly got my attention.

He talked a lot, the questions formed by the lecturer were shit to be honest, “who was your favourite lecturer?” for example, what a time waste. If this was 20 years back is that question still relevant now? No.

I looked around, there was a mix of males and females from all backgrounds listening in to what this talk entailed. Not going to lie, I was waiting for one question. And that one question was brought up at about 13.37 when I was just about to check my notifications on Facebook.

I threw my phone into my bag.

“So I mean, erm so like would you say that the posh Asian girl who went to posh schools and received proper education is more likely to get to where you are at now, I mean working for the BBC etc…” and he went off on a dry ending as he adjusted his choking belt around his pregnant belly.

Hold up though.

“Posh Asian girl?” 

Who’s that pls?.

My neck twitched. My curls now stuck to my lip gloss.

I thought to myself…

Is this dick for real? I’m no toff, but I’m no scrounger either. But wow, that was a big dose of “fuck you”. Number one, what the hell is “proper education”, and two I ain’t from no posh school. So suck on my dick when I sit here knowing fully well I worked my arse to get to where I am, through cultural and religious barriers. Not a silver spoon stuck up my arse and Dr Khan as my dad. I want no medal, but that was insensitive and benefited no one in the room, instead he embarrassed his toff ass and grew pink in his porky cheeks.

“So how did you feel being brown, I mean is that why you got into the positions you did...?”

Lol, “feel being brown” ??  Like it’s a symptom of God’s mishap.

“It’s not about skin colour, it’s about the cultural and social background that you come from.”

I became nostalgic of that one time (in band camp) in year 10, I was pulled into an empty room and was sat at a table of Asian girls, and this one line shrieked in my right ear “don’t end up cooking chapati, we want to see you girls in uni!!” as I sat with sweaty palms and a throat full of phlegm ready to spit at this ethnic representative authority figure.

So I guess now I class as a brown face in university, and perhaps ten years down the line I’ll be asked the exact same question about “feeling brown”. Lol

Back to this talk.

The guy went on to say how he was someone who no one had come across before, he was new something fresh. All because he was a Muslim Asian male, full of ideas to make these controversial, religiously touching and political documentaries.

Okay. I can do that without having a dick.

My conscience spoke to me.

“If you’re from a background where you know you won’t get any help, it’s better to recognise that as early as possible, it’s very important.” 

Okay... 

“If you know you’re from an immigrant background, back then no one gave a shit what you thought about."

Right...

“If you are from a certain social status, or class then you immediately fall into the trap of being disadvantaged in the world of work.”

Yes I fucking get it!

I know the reality but can you give me something to take away from this please?!

Where’s my motivation? 

(Plays Motivation by Kelly Rowland.)

What I wanted to ask before his ass left the auditorium was, “where the fuck do I fit into this?”

I'm an Asian female! Does that mean I can tick a professional’s boxes like he did?

Am I supposed to seek creativity through “keep doing what I'm doing?” cos what the fuck does that mean any more?

“The degree didn't even help me where I am now, it was taking every work experience I could.”

Someone take me!!!

You know what? It fucking sucks having all the passion but no one to push you further. No Asian female that has actually made me go “woah shit, if she can do it then so can I!” Instead I'm seeing Riz Lateef presenting the news looking pretty and Mishal Hussain talking to Syrian political figures. They are symbols of success but…. I don’t see them for who they are, I'm blinded by their BBC microphones for crying out loud!

Instead, I'm behind the bars of higher education, work experience: work for other people so that I can gain a few more bullet points under the “skills” subheading on my CV.

“The BBC employs 12.4% (BAME) staff.” That stands for Black and Asian Ethnic minority people btw.

So you tell me, whether that’s deflating or motivating?

I need my bed. Where’s bae at?

*Realises there isn't one, eats cold pizza and sways to Isaiah Rashid.*

I didn't order an Eton Mess?

The one place where the air is thick with toffee syrup, ground coffee and middle class dribble. Costa. I'm with my sister and as usual we look around for two spaces that aren't next to a family, a couple or a mute old man. We join the queue made up of grey haired women, men in suits and now us. As we stand looking like two specs of cocoa in a glass of warm milk my eyes are struggling to read the price list. Yes, I keep forgetting to wear my bleeding contacts. My mind was set on a pot of tea and a lemon muffin. (I definitely recommend it!) So, we stand and sigh as we wait. Then, two boys with silver spoons stuck up their backside join the queue. I didn't think nothing of it until they began to elbow my back as they laughed about their amusing cocaine incident at their last party. See, this is why being short isn't fun. People are often mislead about my height, thinking I'll smile at the idea of being pushed a little and fucking elbowed for that matter. 

I stand containing my anger and finally I order the pot of tea and two lemon muffins. The boys continue to talk so loudly, I don't understand how they were so casual about it but to be fair they were surrounded by their usual environment; the proud middle classes. As the barrister set up my tray, these buffoons thought it was wise to put their stinking sandwiches, innocent smoothies 'what-have-you' in front of my tray. Now look, like I said, I am short. I can't reach the tray to save my life. 

"Would you please excuse me, I can't get to my tray"

"hahahahahahahah oh shit"

"Did I say something that upset you?"

"hahahahahahaha" the two Tesco value blocks of butter were in hysterics.

Spraying their spit. 

"well?"

Both gave a look of *wtf* and *who does this thing think she is?*

Fuming, but nevertheless we sat down next to this Portuguese man and my sister sat opposite me. I take a look around. No one's brown. Does this effect me? Yeah, because I was put in a situation where I fought the stink of internalized racism. Being laughed at just because a brown girl spoke back. No one understood that one very moment of being undermined. Do you think the same would have happened if I was white? No it wouldn't have. What got to my tits the most was eavesdropping their conversation as they rejoiced their mums at the table behind us.

"ahahahaha, and she was like..."EXCUSE ME" who does she think she is?"

"I know, all she had to do was lift the tray over our food, so stupid"

"Why would you even say that to us?"

"hahahahaha, oh just leave it hahaha" one of the mums concluded.

Good thinking bitch. 

You may question why I was passive to the situation itself but to be honest my mind was dealing with more important shit at the time. Besides, my sister kept me sane by grabbing my hand and warning me not to turn around. But can you fucking blame me? People laughing at my expense and for what? 

It's true. I'm sat in an Italian established coffee shop which gave birth in 1971, London. I wouldn't know how a non-white person would feel in that time and place. Ah yes, time and place. Maybe these factors are to blame for why the shop wasn't full of non-white people. This particular coffee shop was on top of a book shop. Oh yes!! that explains it (!). The uneducated, problem causing, terrorist talking non-whites aren't found in places like these you see (!). They prefer to sit by with blue collared jobs whilst their women produce babies and orgasm over patriarchy (!). My only message to those two Eton mess' is fuck you. Fuck you and I hope you choke on your next popodom and whilst you're at it shove another silver spoon up your arse until you're in so much agony that you need to call your Pakistani private doctor "Dr. Shah" to leave you with a fat bill, leaving your Barclays saving's account to a minus four digit figure.