This essay is dedicated to anyone who starts a sentence with “I know this is probably stupid, but can you explain.” because I’m always apologizing for no reason when I have questions. But thanks to my support group, I’ve learnt I can ask the weirdest questions and they’ll always answer with love and kindness (and a little bit of scolding!) Whatever it is that you feel you don’t know, don’t let it weigh you down. It’s ok to not know, to ask, to learn and discover no matter how old you are. 

In 1995, my class teacher asked me to stand up and solve a math problem she wrote on the blackboard. I was nine years old, and I sat in the second-last bench. I stood up, terrified and mumbled. There is something about being called on – the air freezes, time stops, and suddenly everything disappears. I shook my head. I didn’t know. 

In an instant, I felt her hand on my face. She slapped me. So hard that her fingerprints raised a rash on my skin. 

If she had talked to me, she might have learned I was nearsighted. I couldn’t see the board. I couldn’t see follow the lessons. But after the incident, I became too scared, and too ashamed, to ask questions. 

I don’t blame my teacher. Things were the way they were. Adults fail children all the time. In the years I have been in and out of classrooms, I have probably seen it all. The way gifted students are doted on, the way kids with learning difficulties are bullied, the insults and jeers and relentless harassment that is passed off as teaching in good faith. Kindness is undervalued. 

I remember one morning, decades after that incident, I told a close friend about the shame and humiliation I felt when I’m confronted with math problems. We were driving to dinner. “I probably sound like an idiot,” I said, “but can you explain decimals to me?”

He pulled to a stop and turned to me. “You can ask me anything you want,” he said, “there is no shame in not knowing something.”

And just like that, a childhood scar healed. 

I think of this all the time now. I think of it often when I go online, scroll through my timeline and see people yelling at each other. I think of it when I watch the news or listen to interviews. I think of it when I see that familiar all-knowing look of smugness on people’s faces. 

Yes, it is a terrible time. There is willful ignorance, an illusion of knowledge. There is a perverse tendency to manipulate, recreate and challenge reality. There is chaos and confusion. 

Still, I wish people didn’t forget there is joy in not knowing. That there is joy in wanting to know, in the humility of asking a question, and then sitting with the wonder of discovery. 

What a dreary life it would be if all we had were answers. 

Meera Vijayann is an essayist and writer living in the Greater Seattle area, USA. Her reportage and essays have appeared in the Guardian, Forbes, Catapult, Entropy, Folks magazine, and others. She's currently working on a series of essays that explore womanhood and mental health. Hasrat is proud to promote Meera’s thought-provoking piece of work.