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Tears burn in the corners of my eyes. ‘I do. I just – I’m afraid that you guys … that you won’t like me after I tell you the truth of what happened. That you’ll hate me for not being a strong shoulder to rely on.’
‘Did you murder someone?’ David asks, blunt as ever.
‘No.’
‘Then we won’t hate you. Will we disagree with you? Maybe. Will we talk about that? Yeah. And you know what? We may never be friends again. Or we may be friends forever. But we can never know the future, Farah. We can only promise you the present. Right now, we are here for you. We’ve been vulnerable with you because that’s how friendships grow. We hope that you feel safe enough to do the same with us.’
I understand what he’s saying. Trusting them will be like taking a leap of faith in our friendship. Like Anushka said, I don’t owe them my secrets, not unless I want to give them. And if I don’t, I have to accept, to a degree, that I will never be as close as I want to be with The Tragedies.
In the end, it’s my choice to make.
‘OK,’ I say in a small voice. ‘It all started with the LSDCATS audition.’ My heart beats wildly in my chest. This is it. The biggest secret I’ve kept. ‘The director, Henry, said that I didn’t look “classically British”.’ Frustration forms an undertone in my voice. ‘And when he said that – I … was just baffled.’
‘Why?’ Anushka asks, her eyes wide. ‘Weren’t you angry at him for using your skin shade against you?’
‘Because I didn’t think he was being racist towards me.’ The Tragedies look at me in complete disbelief, so I hurry on with my explanation. ‘I rarely get acknowledged for being brown, and I don’t always feel brown. So when Henry said I didn’t look “classically British” I felt like I was overreacting by feeling angry. I thought Henry had picked some random reason to reject me because, in truth, he thought I just wasn’t good enough for the stage.’
The silence that blankets our little circle is so deafening it rings in my ears.
Anushka breaks it first. ‘My skin is darker than a light-skinned person, and I get all the hate of an Asian person. But I don’t feel like one sometimes.’ Her confession confuses me. I’ve never considered Anushka’s complexities. I’ve always boxed her in the opposite category to me – she is darker-skinned, and I am lighter. In that, we face different things. I’ve never thought about how we may cross over. ‘I haven’t been to India in years now. I know more about British customs than Indian ones. Often, I feel like I’m doing a disservice to my culture, my country, my great grandparents, by not being browner.’
‘You’re enough,’ I blurt out.
Anushka gives a smile, sad and sweet. ‘I know I am, and it took me a long time to accept that. And I don’t need you to say it to me. I’ve learned to hold that phrase in my heart for myself.’
‘Anushka’s right,’ Nur adds. ‘I’ve always been clocked as brown, but I’ve not always felt it. I’ve got cousins that are darker-skinned than me, and they face such blatant racism. Mine is more subtle at times.’
My mind flashes with all the little moments I’ve ignored – every Instagram comment that judged me solely on my skin tone, the professor who was awed at my writing ability solely because of where I’d come from, Henry’s words gleaming under a new light.
I open my mouth to voice this before closing it. I don’t want to take away from Nur’s confession with my own problems.
‘Go on,’ Nur says, interrupting my overthinking. ‘You were going to say something.’
‘I’ve been feeling like I’m going crazy,’ I say desperately. ‘I couldn’t tell if what I was facing was – was prejudice or not. I still can’t tell if what Henry said to me was really rooted in hate or if I’m just deluding myself into believing that.’
‘What you faced, Farah, was most definitely prejudice. That’s why microaggressions are so insidious; they make you feel inadequate without actually appearing blatantly racist,’ Ben says gently.
‘But I don’t want to pretend that my skin tone doesn’t give me privileges,’ I explain softly.
‘Then don’t,’ David replies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. ‘Farah, our group was created for every story, for every struggle, and that’s going to look different with every person. We all endure microaggressions to varying degrees. Sometimes, racism against me is blatant – like when I get made fun of for my eye shape. Other times, it’s subtle. It’s when people slow their speech down because they think that my accent means I can’t understand English. That’s a microaggression I deal with all the time.’
‘It’s so wrong,’ I say, my throat aching with the urge to cry. ‘You shouldn’t have had to go through that.’
David shakes his head. ‘None of us should have to experience this. Don’t exclude yourself. You’re just as much a part of this. The existence of your suffering won’t erase or demean or lessen the existence of ours.’
‘And it is wrong that you’re made to feel like you’re not brown enough to be a part of your very own culture,’ Anushka says fiercely. ‘Look, we can’t make you believe you’re enough. None of us can. That’s something you’re going to have to work on. But I can say that if you felt what you were facing was not racist enough to matter, simply because you don’t face exactly what we do, then you’re wrong. Racism, colourism, cultural erasure aren’t straightforward. They’re messy and complex. But one of the ways to detangle the impact is if we talk about it all. If we’re open about it.’
Ben leans forward, elbows on his knees. ‘My racism is never quiet. Never subtle. It always feels blatant. But that doesn’t mean I think yours is any less valid than mine. I think all prejudice is emotionally eroding. It does get easier when I know I have people to turn to. People who won’t compare their experiences with mine. It doesn’t matter how it happens; it matters that it is happening, when it shouldn’t.’
That ball in my throat tightens again, but this time it’s not with sadness but regret. ‘I’m sorry,’ I choke out. ‘I’m sorry that I never said anything.’
Nur loops her arm in mine, pressing her head against my shoulder. ‘It’s OK.’
‘It’s important that you know this is a safe space for you as well,’ Anushka says.
‘And you’re allowed to be angry for yourself too,’ Ben adds. ‘You were so enraged for us, so furious, but you’re allowed to be angry for yourself. For your play. Are you angry?’
I look around at the emotional ruin encasing us, and that bitterness returns. ‘I’m angry.’
