"You Work Twice as Hard for Half as Much": When Process Stagnation Fails International Students

Aamna cried on her first day at Pepe's.

She has a master's degree in robotics engineering. Her father built printing empires from scratch—was the first in his state to import industrial-grade color printing machines. Her family has maids. Two of them. She came to the UK with £30,000 in tuition debt and a future that seemed limitless.

On her first shift, washing dishes in a chicken shop, she couldn't stop the tears.

"I didn't come here for this," she whispered to herself. "I didn't come here for this."

Neither did Ashwitt. He has an MBA—the pinnacle of business education. His parents run construction companies with massive cranes. He has business teachers he still calls friends, mentors who treat him as an equal because his intellect matches theirs.

He also cried on his first day at Pepe's.

This is the story of what I discovered when I sat down with them over homemade dal and rice—a forensic investigation into why the UK's brightest international minds are crying in chicken shops.

The Corporate Leader Paradox

Here's what nobody tells you about international students from India: many come from families that would be considered upper-middle class—even wealthy—by UK standards. But something happens when they cross the border.

"How many maids do you have?" I asked them during our conversation.

"Four," said one intern I'd been mentoring.

"Two," said Aamna.

"Two," said Ashwitt.

These are not people who needed to come to the UK to escape poverty. They came to solidify corporate status, to get the certificate that would take businesses their parents built and make them global. They came as the next generation of leaders.

And then they applied for entry-level jobs washing dishes.

The £30,000 Question

An MBA is not nothing. It's the highest business qualification you can get. It's the thing that opens boardroom doors. It's expertise.

So why did Ashwitt think he needed to do "many more courses" to be valuable?

"I was thinking about that I will study, do very much courses and all," he explained when I asked what he expected when he came to the UK.

I stopped him. "An MBA is enough. It's a fucking MBA. It's a huge achievement. You can make so much happen by just throwing those initials on a letter to someone. You don't need to have 20 Google courses on top of it."

This is what I mean when I say they work twice as hard for half as much.

They've already DONE the hard work. They have the credentials. They come from families who built empires. But somehow, they've convinced themselves they need to do MORE—to be MORE—just to deserve the same opportunities white British students get handed.

The Independence Trap

Here's where it gets even more insidious.

These students come to the UK to FIND independence. Their parents sent them here as an investment—send them to find their autonomy, to become global professionals, to build on what the family has already created.

But the moment they land, they punish themselves.

"I don't ask my parents for money," Aamna explained. "Even when I'm having problems, I don't ask. We're supposed to be independent now."

I had to stop her. "Getting here wasn't the sign of independence. Sending you here was to FIND independence. You came to find it. You didn't arrive with it."

Think about this logic: your parents invest 30 lakhs so you can find professional success. You arrive. You struggle. You work at Pepe's. You cry. But you won't ask them for help because you think needing help means you've failed.

You haven't failed. You're punishing yourself for not achieving something you were never supposed to achieve alone.

The Maid Revelation

This conversation took a turn I didn't expect when we started talking about maids.

"In India, I've never cleaned my own home," Aamna admitted. "We have people who do that."

"Do you feel like a maid?" I asked when they described their jobs at Pepe's.

"Yes," she said immediately.

This is critical to understand: when you grow up with maids, your autonomy isn't tied to doing dishes. Doing dishes is what SERVANTS do. So when you come to the UK without your maids, and suddenly you're washing dishes for minimum wage, your brain doesn't process this as "normal work."

Your brain processes this as: "I have become the servant."

It's not about being spoiled. It's about cultural programming. Their self-worth got tangled up with servitude because the ONLY people they've seen do these tasks are servants.

The White Supremacy Machine

Then we got to the most uncomfortable truth.

"Who treats you worse?" I asked them. "White customers or customers of color?"

"White people are the nicest," Aamna said without hesitation.

I let that sit for a moment. Then I asked: "Do you not find it ironic that white supremacy was manufactured by white people, but those who were made to feel less are all at each other's throats while white people are just like, 'Hi, Stacy?'"

This is the genius of systemic racism: it doesn't require white people to actively oppress you. It creates a hierarchy where people of color police EACH OTHER.

Indian customers at Pepe's treat Indian workers worse than white customers do. Why? Because the system has taught everyone—including people of color—that white is superior. So when a brown person serves another brown person, the customer thinks: "I'm better than you because I'M not the one behind the counter."

Meanwhile, white customers are "nice" because they've never been broken by racism. They're walking around feeling first-class while everyone else fights for scraps of dignity.

Minimizing Racism by Default

"Some of my friends did get jobs," Aamna offered when I asked about discrimination in hiring.

"Out of how many?" I asked.

Silence.

"Seven hundred," she finally admitted.

"How many got hired?"

"Three."

Three out of 700. And she called them "some of my friends."

This is what I mean by minimizing racism by default. When 99.6% failure rate becomes "some people made it," you've normalized oppression.

Rejection as Protection

But here's where the conversation shifted from diagnosis to prescription.

"What if," I suggested, "your rejections aren't failure? What if they're protection?"

I drew them a podium—like the Olympics. Third place, second place, first place.

"Third place is your master's degree. You think first place is the job. But it's not. Second place is your rejections. Because whoever your God is—whether it's the Universe, Allah, Ganesh—they're laughing at you going: 'Give them more failures. Give them more rejections. Because we're not letting them, after all this hard work and all their genius, take second place when they're destined for first.'"

Aamna went home that night. Had a shower. Started thinking.

And then she opened ChatGPT and started asking: "How can I apply robotics to the food industry?"

Within hours, she'd designed a sensor system to track chicken inventory in real-time, alerting staff when supplies run low. She took her robotics expertise and merged it with her Pepe's experience.

THIS is why she needed to be at Pepe's. Not to degrade herself. Not to fail. But to gather the PRACTICAL INTELLIGENCE that would let her revolutionize an entire industry.

The 999 Times Rule

"How do you manage to think like this?" Aamna asked me. "Every single second?"

Here's my answer: I allow myself to.

If I don't like something, I don't agree with it. When someone tells me something can't be done, I say: "Why not?"

I don't accept an answer I don't like. If I want to throw a plate at the wall, and you say I can't, I won't stop asking until I find a way to throw that plate at the wall.

Think about Steve Jobs. A hundred years ago, if he'd told people: "I'm going to make a black square. I'm going to call it after a piece of fruit. An apple. And you're going to see people's faces on it from anywhere in the world"—they would have laughed in his face.

But he told a select few who said: "Okay, what do we need to do?"

And they nurtured that idea. Because if you don't nurture a new idea, it gets killed. An idea is a life, and it has to be protected at all costs.

The £30,000 You Deserve

Let me be very clear about something.

You paid £30,000 for your education. In India, that's 30 LAKHS. That's not pocket change. That's a significant portion of your family's wealth, invested in YOU.

You gave the university 30 lakhs, and you won't even ask a question in class?

Let me tell you something about the UK education system: it doesn't run on British students. It runs on internationals. You ARE the system.

That teacher wouldn't have a job if you didn't enroll. Lucky for her, your parents were very smart because without your parents, she wouldn't have a role.

You have RIGHTS under UK law. The Equality Act 2010, Sections 20 and 21, gives you the right to reasonable adjustments based on your ethnicity and national origin.

If you don't understand something because of a language barrier, you can ask for materials in Hindi. You can ask for clarification. You can demand that the education you PAID FOR is delivered in a way you can actually absorb.

Stop treating yourself like you're lucky to be here. You're not lucky. You're a CUSTOMER who paid 30 lakhs.

Who You Really Are

Let me tell you something Ashwitt didn't realize about himself.

He's friends with all his teachers from India. Still calls them. Hangs out with them. Goes shopping with his business studies teacher.

"Why do you think that is?" I asked him.

He didn't know.

"Would Einstein sit in a coffee shop with a thug and talk about intelligence?" I asked. "Or would he sit with another fellow expert?"

Silence.

"That's why you spend time with your teachers. You're on that level. You're not lower. You're gravitating towards the same esteem."

The same is true for Aamna. She's friends with her manager at Pepe's—who also has a master's in robotics engineering. She gravitates toward people at her intellectual level.

This isn't luck. This is who you ARE.

You're built to be at the top. That's why you struggle to have friends who aren't at that caliber. It's not the same level.

What Happens Next

Here's what I want you to understand: you don't need more courses. You don't need more credentials. You don't need to work harder.

You need to STOP DEGRADING YOURSELF.

Your parents didn't send you to the UK to work at Pepe's permanently. They sent you to find your corporate identity. To take what they built and make it GLOBAL.

So here's what you do:

1. Stop applying for entry-level roles. You're not entry-level. You have a master's degree and a linear of well-established family business. Apply for consultancy roles. Apply for positions where you can say: "I can make your business operate smoother."

2. Use your Pepe's experience as MARKET RESEARCH. Aamna didn't fail by working at Pepe's. She gathered intelligence. Now she knows exactly what the food industry needs: automation, sensors, efficiency improvements. That's not failure. That's a case study for her robotics consultancy.

3. Demand reasonable adjustments. Under the Equality Act, you have rights. If a teacher's accent is incomprehensible, ask for written materials. If you need clarification in Hindi, ask for it. You paid 30 lakhs. Get your money's worth.

4. Stop punishing yourself for needing support. Your parents invested in your journey to independence. That journey includes asking for help. Financial support isn't failure—it's fuel.

5. Celebrate every day. You completed your degree. That celebration hasn't stopped. Your capability didn't move. The opportunity didn't end. The only thing that changed was your perception.

The Door Was Always There

At the end of our conversation, I told them something simple:

"It's almost like there's the door, but you were going against the wall. Just move over a little bit to the left. There you go."

The door to your future has always been there. You've just been walking into the wrong wall because everyone told you that's where doors are supposed to be.

Stop applying for entry-level roles you're overqualified for. Stop degrading yourself to prove independence. Stop minimizing racism because "some people made it."

You work twice as hard for half as much.

It's time to demand FULL PAYMENT for your FULL EFFORT.

Your parents built empires. You inherited their assets—not just financial ones, but reputational ones, intellectual ones, strategic ones.

The UK economy would throw a visa at your parents because of what they've built. So why are you acting like you're lucky to wash dishes?

You're not lucky to be here. The UK is lucky to have you.

Now act like it.