I'm A Brown Girl

~ Chapter 1 ~

I stared out of the window of my apartment, gazing at the stars of a typical night in Merwalk, California. A town that wasn't diverse, plain, and boring. I had no friends in Merwalk because I was the odd man—I was different. I was Indian while the people in Merwalk were American, or as they say, "Caucasian Americans." They judged me for being too dark, made fun of my bindi, and called my accent "hilarious," mimicking it behind my back. The nice ones were shy to befriend me because of their fear of being judged. The teachers, too, didn't like me and gave failing grades, sometimes even asking me to enroll in an ESL class. I stayed in America for almost two years and I was never satisfied. 

Sometimes, I wish I was in Mumbai, my old home in India. I am already cringing at the word "old" because I always wanted Mumbai to be my forever home. I can envision myself standing at the top of the roof of our 4-floored house, overlooking at the stars shaped like sugar crystals and the people down at the roads who look like tiny ants. People talking and laughing in Marathi and Hindi, some honking their horns on their cars and others boarding an auto to the marketplace. Fruit vendors selling their sweet mangos that everybody liked, and the buildings in the far east that were crammed in a beautiful way.

School was very much the opposite of how it was in America. My teacher, Madam Priyanka, taught advanced mathematics and writing. While we were learning algebra, we already started learning geometry and logarithms in India. Not that the education system in America was bad, but Mrs. Smith had no reason to fail me in Algebra! I was at the top of my class when I was in India and I never failed a single subject. Since I live in Mumbai, I learned English very well and my accent isn't too terrible. Everyone in India were like brothers and sisters and it is impossible to feel miserable, although teasing is common. I had a huge circle of friends: Shilpa, Manisha, Varsha, and Piya, and the five of us played hopscotch and football on the fields during recess. I still—to this day—can't comprehend that we don't have recess in my school. Apparently, "eighth graders are too old for recess." But you're never too old to have fun, right?

"Diya, have you finished packing yet?" Mummy called from the living room. I replied back with a no and she began lecturing me about punctuality and preparedness and how I don't have those qualities.

What happened to my mother? She never even yelled at me when I was in India—and when we had to go to America, our maids and servants helped pack. Apparently, there are no maids in America for us because they are expensive here. Our house, right now, is a small apartment. So much different than our 4-story house in India. Now, we're offering rent to 4 individual families. That's what many homeowners do instead of selling their houses.

I closed the window of my apartment and began throwing clothes, books, and other random things into my suitcase. Mummy told us that we were moving to a town called 'Oendis' and it sounds like oysters and clams in an ocean with seagulls. Papa told me it was at the East Coast and that we could go to the beach more often in Oendis. He also reassured that Oendis was a diverse town with many Indians, Hispanics, East Asians, African Americans, etc etc. I don't care if there are Indians or not. All I care is that there is someone with a kind heart who befriends me — and most importantly — makes me feel welcome. It has been two years and I haven't felt welcome a bit, even with our "friendly" neighbors.

"DIYA!"

I groaned loudly and began tossing random objects. When my mother arrived she began taking all of the stuff out of my suitcase out and glaring at me. Didn't she tell me pack in the first place?

"Diya, this is not packing. You have to be organized! Fold those clothes, put those books in your book bag, and get rid of those drawings!" she yelled. "We are leaving first thing in the morning! You are fifteen years and have no sense in being organized for crying out loud," she added, before taking a pile of sheets to the laundry room.

I opened my laptop and clicked on iMail to see if there was any email from Manisha, Shilpa, Varsha, and Piya. None. I tried keeping in touch with them, but they never answered back. Perhaps they didn't check or they were probably busy. I tried sending another e-message: Hey guys, it's me, Diya. How are you all doing? No one answered but it seemed like Manisha read my message. Manisha is typing.... My eyes lit up as I waited eagerly for Manisha's message.

Good 👍 how about u? My family moved to London six months back... i feel lonely, Manisha answered, liking my message. Of course my friends would care. They are my best friends.

Soon, Shilpa replied to my message: Good! I miss U Diya. Varsha moved to her village and the only person i'm with is Piya. Manisha also left ... it has been very different without you all. we must meet once u and Manisha come to India. Varsha replied with a thumbs up emoji and nothing else.

Piya replied to my message, saying Not the same! I miss u dearly! How are you?

For the next few minutes I was texting my friends. Manisha moved to London after her dad got a job. If her dad's branch changes to America, Manisha might visit me. Shilpa is not going anywhere—she is still where she is in Mumbai, as well as Piya. Varsha's parents lost their jobs and had been going through financial troubles, so they sold their house in Mumbai and moved to their village in Tamil Nadu until her dad got a job again. I told my friends about how I was moving to another town in America in the East Coast, and everyone seemed happy and wished me good luck in my new school. Eventually, Shilpa, Piya, and Varsha left for eating breakfast while Manisha said she had to go because it was the middle of the night where she lived. I began rereading our messages and smiled. Friendship rekindled? Check.

Footsteps. Clock Clock. Mummy was coming. I quickly folded all the clothes as quick as I could and made my stuff look as neat as possible. I cleaned my room and made sure everything looked good. She immediately opened the door and barged into my room, surveying my suitcase and checking if everything was ready. After an approving nod, she heads back — but then stops. She picks up a drawing on the floor and raises an eyebrow at me.

"What is this drawing? Throw it away," she said, handing it over to me.

"Mummy it's a drawing from my friends in India. I need it," I protested, taking the drawing from her. It was a cute drawing filled with messages and notes. One of the only things I have right now that remind me of my friends.

"Diya," Mummy exhaled loudly. "You are not in India. Plus, we need more space for our things. We're moving into a smaller apartment, remember? We won't have space for drawings and scribbles." She snatched the picture out of my hands and placed it on my suitcase. "Go to bed. You have been thinking too much about this." She finished, flicking off the lights as she left. Through the moonlight of my window I took the drawing and read each message.

Stay strong and believe in yourself. Always be determined, even if it makes you look stubborn.

We will miss your writing about Lalitha's Thorn, always remember us and visit us someday :)

I folded the piece of paper and kept it under my suitcase so my mom would notice. I felt like such a dumb idiot. After living here for two years, India is still looming in my mind. Hope is like a rollercoaster. Decreasing, and increasing, as life is as confusing as it can be. All I can hope is for life to magically become better in my new school. In my new town, Oendis. But magic isn't real.