Misplacements
Är du hemhjälp? asked my old-lady-with-dog neighbor as I came into our building. The so-feared moment came in the less expected of all places: the place where I live. At first I thought she meant if I were home. So I said yes, I am finally home after a long day of people reminding me that I am not quite there, that my real home is far away from here and that I shouldn't be so confident about my chances in this country. Or, as my friend says, since I (we) don't have the Made in Sweden stamp, we shouldn't expect too much trust from those who do have it. Those who really know how it should be done in Sweden. But soon, I understood what the old lady meant and just managed to say: no, I live here. After crying like a baby for one hour, a question came to my mind: Why it hurts so badly? Why it is so annoying that somebody assumes that me, the A student, the big producer, the anti-racist, is just a cleaner? I felt shame. Shame of being ash...