“Unease with a Face of Certainty: A Personal Rhetorical History of My Imposter Syndrome”
by Sherwin Kawahakui Ranchez Sales | Xchanges 15.1, Spring 2020
Conclusion
As emerging scholars, we may not know how to approach situations that speak to our cultural experiences, and for some (not all), we can find comfort in the familiar—at least until we can fully understand the struggles we face, and how to create space so that those unfamiliar spaces feel more and more our own. Mentorship, therefore, in any capacity is particularly important as it can reassure individuals who feel out of place.
The opportunities for mentorship in our field should increase. However, how would we do this without furthering the burden that these potential mentors already carry? Yes, as graduate students, we know who some of these scholars are; we are assigned to read them, after all. Approaching and talking with them are different matters. For some of us, it is simply more difficult than marching right up to them and introducing ourselves.
The caucuses provide a good starting point for those new scholars who flourish more in smaller group settings. My brief experience with the Conference on College Composition and Communication’s Asian/Asian American Caucus (AAAC) has been extremely helpful, and what I found meaningful were the stories and personal histories that were shared. I think the field can benefit from learning from the rhetorical history of scholars who are willing to share. While meeting scholars is a worthwhile experience, I also believe learning about scholars’ journeys (especially those that may identify with a marginalized community) can influence upcoming academics.
I return to one of Yosso’s (2005) forms of capital through community cultural wealth: “aspirational capital” (p. 77). She describes it as “the ability to maintain hopes and dreams for the future, even in the face of real and perceived barriers” (p. 77). For some, those barriers take the form of not having boots that have stepped foot on that road to graduate education. For some of us, we take the boots that were given and continue to tread, finding others who have taken it upon themselves to continue that “culture of possibility” (Yosso, 2005, p. 78).
At an AAAC sponsored session, I sit at yet another circle. But something is different here. We share stories of feeling like a foreigner in places where we shouldn’t. We question what it means to be “Asian Pacific American.” How it is fluid, not fixed. How we all sit in a rhetorical history that shouldn’t ignore the past. I open my mouth to speak at what feels like a good time. My voice still shakes. I’m still nervous—but promising nods guide me, and I feel a little stronger. A little less of a fool.