As an Indian girl, I'm usually the shortest person in the room in Europe. Back home, being 5 feet “tall” (152cm), I'm maybe on the lower rung of average height. Here, I'm tiny. When I first moved, people would often tease me as such. But how small I am didn't strike me until I saw this picture-
In the beige coat, in the front row- I am standing here, along with everyone else!
So, what are my constant struggles being so tiny here?
1. People are surprised
They just can't help themselves. I taught a number of students online and could meet them only a year later due to Covid. I was greeted with many, "Omg you're so small!" and "I didn't know you were so short!” before even asking how I was.
2. I sit awkwardly
Whether it’s a couch or chair, it’s usually designed for someone with at least 3 more vertical inches than me. As a result, I usually park myself rather awkwardly. If I want to avoid my feet dangling off the floor, I need two pillows behind my back. And if I want to rest my back properly, I need to sit with my feet up.
3. The “aromas”
Being short ensures that I’m always downstream to other people’s breaths. And what lovely “aromas” people exude… Coffee and eggs, with a hint of beer. Garlic, meat, and cigarettes, with a hint of beer. Onions, sausages, and mayonnaise, with – you guessed it- a hint of beer. If you ever forgot what you had for lunch and need to find out, just ask me.
4. Whatchu lookin’ at?
Not to mention, people are usually looking down at me. Whether we’re standing or sitting, I’m at least a head shorter, so everyone is literally, physically, always looking down at me. I have to work extra hard at being imposing to be taken seriously sometimes because of how physically non-intimidating I am.
5. Can’t reach anything
Lastly, being short means that I cannot reach anything above arm’s reach. I would often have “tall person tasks” for people visiting me- clipping on curtains, fixing light bulbs, etc. At supermarkets, I often ask people to hand me a jar from the top shelf. Sometimes, if no one is around, I end up buying an alternative product (the latest being Cashmere Peach toilet paper instead of Camomile).
Life is hard, sometimes. So next time you see a teeny one like me, pop a breath mint and give them a hand with whatever they need.
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