Out of the Comfort Zone

By Kaya Livnat

I guess some kids just come out as extroverts and outgoing. I never understood that. In fact, I was the complete opposite. I was extremely shy. I didn’t like to talk to people, especially adults, and I used to cry when someone looked at me. Eventually I grew out of it, becoming more comfortable speaking in public spaces, but it took time and work. 

A really important turning point for me and my anxiety was when my family went on a vacation to Myanmar. Myanmar is the largest country in Southeast Asia. The country itself is really different from the United States, with so many different cultures and backgrounds. I loved traveling and seeing new places, so I was really excited to visit this new and exciting place. We traveled around the country, experiencing the mix of food and art, touring beautiful villages and shopping in the market where the mix of spices and food made the air smell wonderful. We visited golden temples with intricate designs and learned about their origins and history. We took a cooking class and learned how to make a dish traditionally from Myanmar (or so I assume, I don’t actually remember what we made, but it was fun!) There was only one slight problem. 

The first time someone asked to take a picture with me, I was very confused. The lady seemed very excited and kept smiling at me. I was seven or eight years old and not quite past my shyness, so I didn’t answer. She stepped next to me and took a selfie, and I smiled awkwardly at the camera. After she was done she smiled and thanked me, and left. I was confused and staring after her, not sure what just happened. 

Later I asked my mom why the lady wanted to take my picture. 

“It’s because we’re tourists. People here rarely have visitors,” she replied. 

“But why would they want to take pictures of me? Why can’t they take pictures of you or Dad?”

“Because you're the youngest here. People like you,” she said. I shrugged and just hoped it wouldn’t happen again. 

Unfortunately, it happened several more times over the days, and I was decidedly not thrilled. I really did try to put up with it, and I did for a while. Everyone wanted to touch me, and were especially interested in my blonde hair. The locals were fascinated by me. One time a lady came up to me and asked for a photo with her son. We sat down on the sidewalk curve and the woman pressed her son's hand in mind. The boy was just a toddler, and he was squirming and crying, obviously as unhappy as I was. The grainy hard cement on the sidewalk cut into my skin, and the boy's sweaty hand fidgeted in mine. Still, I tried not to show it and attempted a smile (it came out more like a grimace) as six strangers surrounded me taking pictures. 

Everyone was laughing, but I was not happy. I felt really uncomfortable and was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. 

This happened very often, and it scared me a little. One day my family and I were walking down a busy street and I was trailing a bit after them. As usual, the street was filled with the sound of cars, motorcycles, yelling stall-owners, bartering customers, conversations of passing locals, and the lingering smell of gasoline. My eyes were glued to the sidewalk floor as I tried not to step on any cracks. Suddenly I felt a hand on my wrist. I thought it was my brother so I started shaking it off. 

“Tai, let go of my ha-” 

When I looked behind me I realized it wasn’t my brother that had grabbed me. It was a young woman. She was pretty with really dark brown hair; it looked almost black. She was smiling at me. I noticed that she was missing one of her two front teeth before ripping away from her. I ran back to my parents as fast as I could, half tripping and stumbling over cracks in the sidewalk. The woman hadn’t tried to harm me, she just wanted a photo, but I was startled and ran away. I was a little shaken after that incident, and grew to dislike the photos even more.

We spent about half of our trip in Myanmar on a boat traveling down a river. On the way we visited many different places, but the most memorable for me was a small village. We walked around, our guide showing us how they made pots and dishes out of clay. We visited a shop where a woman made rugs and watched as she weaved the threads with deft fingers through the machine, making beautiful patterns. The guide showed us how he mixed different plants to get different colors and even chose me to help him. 

The village was dusty, and by the time we returned to the boat my legs were covered in light orange dirt and I was wearing a wide smile. A few people had asked for pictures, but that time it hadn't bothered me as much because I had so much fun. 

Upon returning to the city and moving out of the boat we traveled a lot and visited many beautiful places. Myanmar was a Buddhist country, so we visited many Buddhist temples. We even went to one on Christmas morning (much to us kids' annoyance). The temple was beautiful. I remember that I was wearing my new red dress with embroidery on the sides in orange and yellow. Three, maybe four people stopped us to take my picture, and my mood darkened. Finally, I snapped. I’ve had enough! Taking pictures with people was really scary, and I hated all this extra attention. 

Finally, my mom sat down with me and explained the reason behind everyone's behavior. 

“Why is this happening to me?!” I cried. “Tai and Jaz don’t take as many pictures!”

My mom hugged me, and finally explained. 

“The reason why everyone wants to touch you and take pictures of you is because you are probably one of the few white kids they’ve ever seen. Everyone here has brown skin and dark hair, and you have light skin and blonde hair. You're the youngest person in our group, that’s why they want to take pictures with you. 

“Even though I know you don’t like taking pictures with other people, the way you act will impact how they think of Americans. So when someone asks for your picture you have to show respect and be polite, even though you’re uncomfortable with it. For a long time Myanmar was a closed country.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means that not many people traveled here. For many of the locals, you are the first white child they’ve seen.”

I thought about it for a while, before reaching a decision. 

“Okay,” I said quietly. 

After that whenever someone approached me I would agree to photos. Once we had finished I would smile at them and sometimes, when I was feeling a little brave, I would thank them back. It still bothered mehaving to talk with strangers, but all I had to do was smile at the cameras.

Looking back, I understand my frustration completely. As a seven year old with strangers coming up to me and touching me and taking photos without any explanations was strange and frightening, especially since I was so shy. I had never experienced anything like that before and I think it was a big part of what pushed me out of my comfort zone. I was basically required to put myself out there. Even though I probably didn’t understand everything my mother had said, I understood that it was important to be respectful and kind, and that was the important part.