V-I-J-A-Y.

It is literally two syllables, yet some people still can’t seem to pronounce it. Having a “hard-to-pronounce” name is one of the many struggles that brown people encounter in America.

The correct way to pronounce it is “Vih-jay,” but no matter how many times I sound it out for people, they always say the same thing. “Vee-jay?”

“It’s Vijay,” I correct them.

“Oh okay, so Veejay?” they’ll ask again.

“Yeah sure,” I’ll say. I can’t really get mad about it, because I let it happen. But, I just don’t understand what is so hard about it.

Every time I’ve started out at a new school I have had to explain to everyone I met that no, “Indian,” is not a language.  Over 200 languages are spoken in India, but “Indian” is not one of them.

Also, by the way, I know I’m brown. People seem to think that I’ve never looked in a mirror before. I’m not sure how many times I’ve heard, “You’re black, right?” but I’ve heard it too many times.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being called black.  It doesn’t offend me; I just don’t understand how someone can make the assumption just because I’m not white.

Another one of the many struggles you would encounter as a brown person in America is explaining to people that you’re not related to every single other brown person that walks the Earth (or cartoon characters).  No, Apu from The Simpsons isn’t my dad, but uncle Aladdin’s carpet does come in handy when my mom can’t give me a ride to school.

Whenever I’m with Ajay, one of my brown friends, people will always come up to us, open up their eyes extremely wide and ask, “Are you guys brothers?”  It’s gotten to the point where we won’t even deny it anymore.  “Yeah, we’re brothers,” we’ll say.

By the way, if you have Mr. Gruber, no, his substitute is not my father, grandfather, uncle, brother, or cousin (I would be proud if he were though).