I walked into the familiar room where many tutorials had taken place before. It was a modest space in a beautiful building on an art campus I hold incredibly dear to my heart.
There was nothing remarkable about it—just a few chairs and a small desk, around which we would sit and discuss themes from the week’s readings and lectures.
I remember our tutor, her name, her laugh, and the look she gave me when I answered a question she posed to the group. I can’t recall the question or the topic, but I remember that look, and the moment of utter discomfort that came with it.
I felt singled out—not by her, not by anyone else, but by myself. In that instant, I caught a glimpse of a side of me that was defiant and closed off. I realised how differently I was interpreting the topic compared to my peers, and not in a way that felt like insight. It felt like exposure.
Embarrassment hit hard, knocking me off a pedestal my upbringing had quietly built beneath me. It was the first time I had been confronted with the gap between the world I came from and the world I was stepping into. That day became the beginning of years of unlearning, relearning, and doing my best to navigate life with more honesty than comfort.
In hindsight, that room—those people, that cultural climate—was exactly where I needed to be, even as it stripped away layers I thought were essential to who I was.
Growth often begins in moments when we feel most exposed, most out of place.
And if I’ve learned anything since then, it’s this: the places that make us most uncomfortable are often the ones that remake us entirely.
