Gratitude to My Violin Teacher
Each day in academia felt like a battle. The pressure was more than just academic—it was the silent burden of navigating the environment as a Muslim, which quietly weighed me down.
I sought a place to do meaningful work, but the atmosphere was unwelcoming. People made assumptions based on my name and questioned my clothing choices, doubting my identity as a Muslim girl because I did not wear a burqa. Whispers would fade the moment I entered the staffroom.
"That professor who belonged to an upper caste would eagerly bring up terrorism whenever I entered, as if every Muslim had to bear responsibility for crimes committed by extremist groups."
I was always seen as the Other.
Amid this bleak atmosphere, I instinctively turned to the violin. Signing up for lessons was a small, hopeful act to hold onto something meaningful beyond the suffocating academic walls, offering a safe, non-discriminatory space.
On a cold December evening, I attended class with a modestly purchased instrument, feeling clumsy and nervous.
Author's Summary
This story reveals how music became a refuge from prejudice and isolation, offering hope and belonging beyond academic challenges.
Would you like the tone to be more formal or personal?