I TOLD MY STORY!

If you ask me what’s the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life, I’d say, “Which one? I’ve done so many cool things!” But if you said, “Come on, be serious now,” I’d tell you: the day I told my story. That was the day I felt the bravest, coolest, and most inspired.

It all started when one of my close friends invited me to the TOUCH Network storytelling event. I was like, “Cool, let’s go.” I didn’t have any expectations, good or bad, except that I knew we’d see some farm animals since the event was taking place on a farm. So we went.

It was a storytelling event, as advertised, but not just random storytelling. Four people talked about struggles they had overcome in life, how they did it, and what we could take from it. It was basically like TED Talks, but with fewer spotlights and more human touch.

If you know me, you know I’m all about human connection, deep conversations, and touchy subjects. So I was so happy when I realized what was going on. I had the most beautiful two hours and left very emotional and inspired.

Before the event closed, they invited all the speakers to the stage to give them a pin badge that said “I told my story.” That’s when it hit me. They had just shared probably the biggest story of their life — the most vulnerable one, the one that shaped their personality and made them who they are. I wanted to do that. I wanted to tell my story. I wanted to wear that pin badge on my chest with pride.

Because how many times do you get the opportunity to talk to a bunch of strangers about the biggest hurdle of your life? Once? Twice? And how many times do you actually take that chance?

I’m not gonna lie. It was scary as hell, even just considering it. But since I’ve always done things that scared me, I thought: why chicken out now? So I decided to send an email to the organiser with a snapshot of my story.

And get this: the next event’s date was literally the day before I was leaving the UK for good. The event was in the evening, and the next morning I was supposed to go to the airport. What are the odds? This was definitely the universe telling me I had to do it. Because even if I blew it (I don’t even know how you could blow a storytelling event, but still), I was leaving the next day, leaving no trace behind.

There’s a certain beauty in leaving a country for good. It’s painful as hell, especially if you’re saying goodbye to loved ones. But there’s also beauty and excitement in leaving knowing that you’re gracefully closing one chapter, you finished what you were meant to do there, and now you’re moving on. It’s proof of courage. You were brave enough to move to a brand-new country, and now you’re leaving with so many memories and probably a version 2.0 of yourself. I definitely went through a metamorphosis and outgrew the UK when I left. But that’s a story for another time. Back to my storytelling event.

After sending that email, I waited with a mix of emotions. The organiser was very sweet and didn’t leave me hanging. We met for coffee a few days later to work out the details. The conversation went really well. She basically made me tell her my story and shared a bit of her own, which was just as impressive. Then we decided I’d go forward with the event.

She asked if I wanted to practice my speech for her. I said I’d probably be fine, considering all the conferences I had done during my PhD. And also—hello—this is my life! I’ve lived with this story. How could I not tell it to others? Of course, I’d be okay. She ended the meeting saying she felt very positive about my upcoming talk, but reminded me I could always back out if it felt too overwhelming, since this is such an emotionally loaded experience. It was comforting to hear that, even though I didn’t feel pressured at the time.

Weeks went by. My focus was on other things. I went to Italy. I welcomed my family to the UK. I had my graduation. I packed, packed, and packed some more. Then suddenly, it was three days before my talk, four days before my departure from the UK. I was obviously dealing with a lot of crises at once — from trying to fit six years into a few suitcases, to mentally preparing myself to say goodbye to people who meant the world to me. Honestly, I don’t miss those last few days. God knows how much I cried.

But I was also aware my talk was coming up, and I hadn’t actually prepared it. I didn’t practice or memorise anything. I just wrote a few pages that I planned to read. That seemed like the only way, since I hadn’t left enough time for proper preparation.

The big day came. I had invited my best friend and my boyfriend at the time. They already knew the details of my story, and I wanted to see their encouraging and loving faces during my speech.

We went to the venue — the same coffee shop where I had first met the organiser. I’d been there many times, but it felt extremely weird knowing it was my last time. Even weirder realising it was my last time at any coffee shop in the UK. I felt sad, happy, and nervous all at once.

I volunteered to go first, because that was the only way I could actually listen to the other speakers with a clear mind. I was introduced, and went up on stage. There was a microphone. There were so many strangers, yet friendly faces, looking at me. I held my pages, shaking, trying to read the lines.

Then I stopped myself. What am I doing? I don’t need these pages. I never did. This was my life story. I’d have to lose my memory to not be able to tell it. So I put the pages aside and just started speaking.

I told them my story — the story of how I became an academic after being a stutterer. The story of how I spent 29 years of my life in constant worry and shame. The story of how I overcame it, and how I couldn’t be prouder of myself.

The more I spoke, the more confident I felt. I saw people nodding, some even tearing up. I almost cried a few times myself. But I also managed to crack a few jokes. It was the dictionary definition of an emotional roller-coaster. It was definitely the best experience of my life.

After my speech, we listened to the other three speakers. Some people came up to congratulate me, to share how much they felt aligned or understood. One particular man, a grandfather, asked me for advice about his granddaughter, who stutters. I also went to talk to the other speakers, touched by each one of their stories.

It truly was a magical night. People were especially interested when they heard it was my last day in the UK and I was moving to Singapore. That opened up so many conversations. Some hugs. I was truly emotional when I left. Even more emotional when I got home, knowing what was waiting for me the next morning.

Stuttering is something I’ll carry my whole life. Not the stuttering itself, maybe, but the emotions, memories, the miserable and the proud moments that come with it. That night, I inspired maybe 30 people. I had inspired about that many once before in a Quaker meeting, when I randomly stood up and shared my story in a few words.

I hope one day I can inspire many more. This is one of the reasons I am writing my book, eh?