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Facing My Frankenstein at TEDx GeorgetownUQatar

September 1, 2026

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By Aisha Al-Emadi (GU-Q'28)

Aisha Al-Emadi is a Class of 2028 International Politics major from Qatar

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It was February 14, 2026 when the sentence I had been saying for years “thank you for listening to my TED Talk” would become a reality. For months, I prepared my speech, sought feedback from my loved ones, and spent countless hours in Professor Mysti Rudd’s office, where I benefited from her guidance as a Teaching Professor of English Composition and Rhetoric at Georgetown University in Qatar. When the audience started arriving at GU-Q’s iconic auditorium, I hid in one of the dark corners of the venue, rereading my speech as the nerves began to kick in. So, I decided to walk. I went backstage and started pacing, saying anything and everything to my fellow speakers just to calm my nerves. As I was in the middle of my nervous spiral, I left the backstage room and received a call from my mother asking where she could park. I answered her almost mechanically, my mind elsewhere, and then I walked. I walked and walked and walked, circling the massive room until I eventually found myself back in that familiar, comforting corner.

It seemed like only seconds had passed when we were asked to take our seats because the event was about to begin. I found the chair with my name on it, sat down, and, in one last attempt to calm my nerves, replayed my recorded speech through my earphones throughout the first segment of TEDxGeorgetownUQatar (shhhh, don’t tell anyone). For some reason, I had a feeling that I would forget my speech, and weirdly enough, I was completely fine with that happening. My name was called, and I walked onto the stage. I began my speech and spoke about what it felt like to be on the outside of every circle that inhabited the different areas of my life. The words I had memorized were not just escaping my mouth; they were coming from my heart. It was the most vulnerable I had ever been on stage, and that was exactly how I had imagined this experience.

Then came the moment when I displayed a page from my childhood journal, which ended up lighting up the dark room. I read the page, explained its significance, and then looked out at the audience, perhaps for a second too long. The white page displayed on the screen illuminated every face in front of me, and that’s when it happened.

As my eyes moved through the audience, like flipping through the pages of a book. I saw people who had supported me through every phase of my life. Even writing it now brings tears to my eyes. I saw one of the first friends I made in Year 9, when I moved to a new school. I saw my high school friends who have supported me and encouraged me through every endeavor in my life, I saw my best friends from GU-Q, the friends who reviewed my speech with me, and my brother who helped me apply to TedxGUQ. I saw GU-Q alumni who sat down with me and helped me set my priorities when I was applying to Georgetown.

And, most importantly, I saw my mother.

My gaze lingered on her for the longest. It is usually me sitting in the audience, watching her on stage, but now her eyes were on me. She was listening to me speak about the form of therapy, writing, that she had instilled in me. For a moment, I didn’t want it to end. But it had to.

I took a deep breath, intending to continue the speech. My mind. Went. BLANK. BLANK. BLANK. I couldn’t run, cry, disappear, look at notes… I couldn’t do anything. What I could do was prompt myself to think about those hours with Professor Mysti, the hours we spent exchanging ideas and suggestions with each other in order to create the best version of my speech. The recollection of those moments saved me by freezing time until I could remember the remainder of the talk. When I got to my favorite part, taking a mirror out of my abaya pocket and explaining how mirrors never show the truest versions of ourselves, the mirror got stuck and I said “One second”. Yes, that was very unplanned but seeing Dean Safwan Masri and the rest of the audience laughing made it a moment that added so much significance to the speech. 

What I learned from this and told everyone over the next week is: everything can go wrong in the best way possible. Although I planned for perfection, I knew that it wouldn’t be achievable but what happened was perfect for me. The mere fact that people told me how much they could relate to the topic made me feel immensely grateful for the fact that I forgot two pages of my speech. And maybe, just maybe that’s the point of it all. A speech about never feeling seen, even by myself, could never have been delivered perfectly. Forgetting my speech, having trouble with the mirror, feeling extremely vulnerable, those moments were the speech, more than the words I said. Somehow, while talking about not feeling seen, I finally saw myself and those imperfect moments were what made people see me the clearest.

That day, my Frankenstein was myself and the monster I created was the fear of imperfection but, as I said in my speech, running from our monsters is not how we deal with them, rather facing and overcoming them is the best solution.

I now realize that this was more than an opportunity to share my story, it was a reflection of what makes Georgetown University in Qatar feel like home. This community has given me the space to challenge myself, make mistakes, be vulnerable and grow while surrounded by support I cannot imagine finding somewhere else.

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