Yievinyii Naga
President, Hiekha + NagaNext Education Services
The first time I left Nagaland, I thought I was only going out to study and build a future. I did not realize I was also stepping into a place where my identity would be questioned in ways I had never experienced before. Suddenly my name felt unfamiliar to others, my features drew attention, and my culture became something people looked at with curiosity and sometimes ignorance. In those moments, I was not just a student anymore. I was a Naga trying to exist in a space that did not understand me.
There is a quiet pressure that comes when you are far from home. It does not shout at you. It whispers. It tells you to adjust, to blend in, to become more acceptable. I remember trying to change small things about myself, the way I spoke, the way I expressed where I came from, even the way I carried my own story. At first, it felt like survival. But slowly, it began to feel like loss.
The hardest part is not always discrimination. Sometimes it is the loneliness of being surrounded by people and still feeling unseen. Sometimes it is laughing along with jokes that quietly hurt because you do not want to be the difficult one. Sometimes it is choosing silence when you should have spoken, simply because you are tired of explaining yourself.
I have lived through those moments, and they change you. They force you to either shrink or stand. For a while, I was shrinking. I thought that was the only way to move forward. But somewhere along the journey, I realized that every time I tried to hide my identity, I was giving away a part of myself that I could never replace.
Being Naga is not just about geography. It is about memory, values, and strength. It is the way we are raised to respect, to endure, to stand for one another. It is the stories of our parents, the struggles of our people, and the quiet resilience that runs deep within us. These are not things we should ever feel the need to hide.
What saved me was finding my own people again, even outside the state. In small rooms and shared spaces, in simple meals and familiar conversations, I found a sense of belonging that reminded me who I was. In those moments, I understood that identity does not disappear when you leave home. It only fades when you stop holding onto it.
But holding onto it requires courage. There are times when you will have to speak up, when you will have to correct assumptions, when you will have to carry yourself with dignity even when others fail to show it. It is not always easy, but it is necessary. Because if we do not represent ourselves truthfully, the world will define us incorrectly.
At the same time, stepping outside Nagaland has taught me that protecting identity does not mean closing yourself off. I have learned from different cultures, grown through new environments, and built connections that have shaped me. Growth is important, but it should never come at the cost of forgetting where you come from.
Every Naga student who leaves home carries more than just personal dreams. We carry a story, a culture, and a responsibility. The way we live, speak, and stand shapes how others see our people. That is why identity is not something we protect only for ourselves. We protect it for those who came before us and for those who will come after.
Looking back, I understand that leaving Nagaland was not just about chasing opportunity. It was about learning to stand firm in who I am, even when the world around me tried to make me feel otherwise.
No matter where life takes us, we should never feel the need to become less of ourselves to be accepted. Our identity is not something to adjust according to the world. It is something we carry with pride, quietly but firmly, wherever we go.
Hiekha + NagaNext Educational Initiatives: Two young educators reimagining education with roots in Naga heritage and eyes on the future
Readers Can Reach Out to hiekhacoachingcentrekohima@gmail.com
