“Even on my best day, I was not the reticent saint that everyone now claimed I was,” writes Malala Yousafzai . The 28-year-old Nobel laureate, who was suddenly thrust into the spotlight at age 15 after being shot by a Taliban assassin in Pakistan in 2012, dismantles her own halo in her new memoir ‘Finding My Way ’.
She talks to Sharmila Ganesan Ram about trying marijuana, seeking therapy, and yes, watching Hindi serials.
You’ve told your story before, most notably in ‘I am Malala ’. What prompted the new memoir?
A week after the attack, I woke up from my coma in a trauma centre in Birmingham. I was 15 and everyone wanted to tell me who I was. An inspiration. A hero. An activist. As my story began to travel around the world, people began to describe someone I did not recognise — a serious and shy girl, a wallflower forced to speak out when the Taliban took away her books.
They made me into a virtuous and dutiful heroine. The absurdity made me laugh. Growing up in Mingora , I was a troublemaker. I’d gossip with friends. I’d watch John Cena , my favourite wrestler on TV and try his moves on my little brothers. Back then, I wanted to be a car mechanic. I loved solving puzzles and fixing things. I missed the old Malala and wanted to make sense of my story. This book is about finding my way.
You write about experiencing your first flashback of the attack while in college. What triggered it?
I don’t remember what happened on the day the Taliban shot me. All I remember is my last day of school and then suddenly waking up in the UK. I had the first flashback of the attack seven years later, completely unexpectedly.
I tried a bong in college, and that’s when things took a dark and sharp turn. My mind was suddenly back in that moment. I lay awake the whole night — shaking, shivering, wanting to scream. I thought if I closed my eyes, I would die. The panic attacks continued for days.
What role did therapy play in your recovery?
One of my friends, Sofia, suggested I see a therapist. I was sceptical. I told her nobody would understand what I was going through. She told me a lot of students at college were seeing therapists, including her. When I eventually went, I was hoping my therapist, Evelyn , would give me medication to fix all the problems.
But I realised therapy takes time. It helps you process what you’re going through and acknowledge the emotions. It made me realise that I had PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and anxiety. I was annoyed at myself — how could this happen so many years later?
But Evelyn said, “This is not your fault, you should not blame yourself”. So, then I started more regular sessions. I’m sharing my story because I hope it can help somebody else. When I was struggling, I wished I had heard more about it so that I would’ve asked for help sooner. We need to normalise conversations around mental health.
How did Oxford change you?
The Malala who graduated from college was very different from the Malala who entered. I did not want to repeat the high school experience in the UK, where I made just one friend — Alice. So, at university, I signed up for every society, and every activity — Pakistan Society, Hindu Society, South Asian Society, Indian Society. I wanted to be at Eid, Diwali, and Holi.
The South Asian circle is very strong; when all of us are out of our countries, this common heritage connects us all. We would talk about random topics — astrology, gossip about everybody’s crush, or complain about our essay deadlines. That old Malala who was buried somewhere inside me started to appear. I felt like I found myself.
You write candidly about advising friends on relationships while never having dated. How did you become the ‘relationship guru’?
Yes, I used to advise my friends on their relationships. I’d tell them: “If a boy is not replying to a text for three days, and all he says is ‘okay’, it means that he’s not really worth the time.” They would sometimes be surprised and ask, “How do you know so much about it?” I’d say, “Maybe I’m more of a coach than a player. And a coach does not have to be on the field.”
Some of what I knew about relationship dynamics came from watching Bollywood movies and Indian TV dramas, especially ‘ Kasautii Zindagi Kay ’. We were obsessed with that show.
In a particularly vulnerable journal entry, you wrote: “I felt too ugly to love”.
My initial way of coping with what happened was to avoid love or marriage and focus on my activism and my work. But in the end, we’re all human. When I saw Asser (Asser Malik, cricket executive from Lahore who is now Malala’s husband), I immediately fell in love with him.
He was handsome, charming, funny, and caring.
You recently visited the school you helped set up in Pakistan’s Shangla . What surprised you the most?
I initially funded it with the Nobel Peace Prize money that both Kailash Satyarthi and I won together in 2014. My dream was to set up a school in my parents’ village because there was no high school for girls, and I wanted to ensure that change begins at home.
When I went back at the beginning of this year, the trees, the rivers, the mountains looked the same. But what was different was this incredible school with hundreds of girls studying there.
This is the first year we have had more than 30 girls graduate from high school.
They are already challenging stereotypes and applying to universities. Some of them are getting into computer science and teaching. What was a complete surprise was the mental health office. I was not expecting that in the middle of the mountains in the north of Pakistan. I am happy that these things are now normalised.
She talks to Sharmila Ganesan Ram about trying marijuana, seeking therapy, and yes, watching Hindi serials.
You’ve told your story before, most notably in ‘I am Malala ’. What prompted the new memoir?
A week after the attack, I woke up from my coma in a trauma centre in Birmingham. I was 15 and everyone wanted to tell me who I was. An inspiration. A hero. An activist. As my story began to travel around the world, people began to describe someone I did not recognise — a serious and shy girl, a wallflower forced to speak out when the Taliban took away her books.
They made me into a virtuous and dutiful heroine. The absurdity made me laugh. Growing up in Mingora , I was a troublemaker. I’d gossip with friends. I’d watch John Cena , my favourite wrestler on TV and try his moves on my little brothers. Back then, I wanted to be a car mechanic. I loved solving puzzles and fixing things. I missed the old Malala and wanted to make sense of my story. This book is about finding my way.
You write about experiencing your first flashback of the attack while in college. What triggered it?
I don’t remember what happened on the day the Taliban shot me. All I remember is my last day of school and then suddenly waking up in the UK. I had the first flashback of the attack seven years later, completely unexpectedly.
I tried a bong in college, and that’s when things took a dark and sharp turn. My mind was suddenly back in that moment. I lay awake the whole night — shaking, shivering, wanting to scream. I thought if I closed my eyes, I would die. The panic attacks continued for days.
What role did therapy play in your recovery?
One of my friends, Sofia, suggested I see a therapist. I was sceptical. I told her nobody would understand what I was going through. She told me a lot of students at college were seeing therapists, including her. When I eventually went, I was hoping my therapist, Evelyn , would give me medication to fix all the problems.
But I realised therapy takes time. It helps you process what you’re going through and acknowledge the emotions. It made me realise that I had PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and anxiety. I was annoyed at myself — how could this happen so many years later?
But Evelyn said, “This is not your fault, you should not blame yourself”. So, then I started more regular sessions. I’m sharing my story because I hope it can help somebody else. When I was struggling, I wished I had heard more about it so that I would’ve asked for help sooner. We need to normalise conversations around mental health.
How did Oxford change you?
The Malala who graduated from college was very different from the Malala who entered. I did not want to repeat the high school experience in the UK, where I made just one friend — Alice. So, at university, I signed up for every society, and every activity — Pakistan Society, Hindu Society, South Asian Society, Indian Society. I wanted to be at Eid, Diwali, and Holi.
The South Asian circle is very strong; when all of us are out of our countries, this common heritage connects us all. We would talk about random topics — astrology, gossip about everybody’s crush, or complain about our essay deadlines. That old Malala who was buried somewhere inside me started to appear. I felt like I found myself.
You write candidly about advising friends on relationships while never having dated. How did you become the ‘relationship guru’?
Yes, I used to advise my friends on their relationships. I’d tell them: “If a boy is not replying to a text for three days, and all he says is ‘okay’, it means that he’s not really worth the time.” They would sometimes be surprised and ask, “How do you know so much about it?” I’d say, “Maybe I’m more of a coach than a player. And a coach does not have to be on the field.”
Some of what I knew about relationship dynamics came from watching Bollywood movies and Indian TV dramas, especially ‘ Kasautii Zindagi Kay ’. We were obsessed with that show.
In a particularly vulnerable journal entry, you wrote: “I felt too ugly to love”.
My initial way of coping with what happened was to avoid love or marriage and focus on my activism and my work. But in the end, we’re all human. When I saw Asser (Asser Malik, cricket executive from Lahore who is now Malala’s husband), I immediately fell in love with him.
He was handsome, charming, funny, and caring.
You recently visited the school you helped set up in Pakistan’s Shangla . What surprised you the most?
I initially funded it with the Nobel Peace Prize money that both Kailash Satyarthi and I won together in 2014. My dream was to set up a school in my parents’ village because there was no high school for girls, and I wanted to ensure that change begins at home.
When I went back at the beginning of this year, the trees, the rivers, the mountains looked the same. But what was different was this incredible school with hundreds of girls studying there.
This is the first year we have had more than 30 girls graduate from high school.
They are already challenging stereotypes and applying to universities. Some of them are getting into computer science and teaching. What was a complete surprise was the mental health office. I was not expecting that in the middle of the mountains in the north of Pakistan. I am happy that these things are now normalised.
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