No reservations
After 34 yrs of being on this planet I have just discovered that I have no place of acceptance. 12 yrs here in Portland Oregon, 1yr in Arizona, 13 yrs in California and none of them accepted black people. I have ran into the passive aggressive racist, the I use to be racist, the I'm racist only in conversation, the I make racists joke but i'm not a racist, the I'm a fucking raging racist(who I give all props to. At least they don't hide) and the ever popular," I'm not racist, my good friend is black", and much much more. Contrary to popular belief, and most stereotypes, most of us on this planet is a bit racist, it's just degrees and levels.
When I was a child starting to attend Kindergarten i was a victim of my first attack. Two white girls tried to jump my sister and I on the way home from school but they didn't succeed. It was the first time I heard the word nigger. When we arrived home my sister didn't want to talk about it but I was confused why they didn't like us. I asked my Mom what that word meant and she looked angry. I didn't know if it was at me because I said a bad word or because we were being exposed to something bad. She told me to tell her who said it and she would take care of it. Later that eve I found out what it meant but didn't understand what that really meant. Later in elementary school other encounters occurred and my anger grew large but I dared not tell my mother. I remember clearly on day staring into the mirror looking at my skin trying to figure out why would anyone not like this color. I couldn't figure it out. I thought of chocolate and cookies and all the things that I could think of that were brown but none of them were bad, so what was it that was so bad? That day, I tried to scrub my skin off so that it wouldn't be a problem anymore and got caught by my Mom in the bathroom. She screamed so loud. I told her what I was trying to do and she just cried and cried, thus beginning my love hate relationship with my skin.
Much later in life, during some awkward years, I was attacked by black students because I wasn't black enough to hang out with them. There were things said like, " You talk like you're white. You wanna be white. You act like your white. You dress like your white, " and so on. I played in the orchestra, I was a gymnast and a good student all of which I felt were achievements normal people would desire. . . apparently not. They sent me to the hospital with a black eye, concussion and a split lip thinking that would scare me straight. When I was old enough and ready to date black men would not talk to me. There were so many guys I found attractive but I was black enough to date, the fear of embarrassing them socially was cause enough to not approach me. My first boyfriend was white( at that time I was just interested in anyone who had interest in me) and that started another problem with the black community and unfortunately the rest of my life was no different. Most people who were interested in me were white guys who had a curiosity of what it would be like to kiss a black girl, can you imagine? There is no difference in kissing white, black, Italian or otherwise, lips are lips. I knew nothing of people and the workings of social politeness so I presented myself a just a person. During school you had to have a clique or group which you belonged that defined you, I had none. In college you were allowed to be whomever you chose to be but I was once again no one yet being no one allowed you to walk more freely in college. there were phases and long stints of who am I am what will life had me but that's everyday all the time till your 25; I digress. I listen to music as a whole but for the most part I love rock, and I like it heavy. I wear clothes that suit me from emotion to emotion. Hair, I have none, but my skin is still a beautiful espresso brown, there is no escape. My way is still my own and I own more of it daily however the encounters are becoming more and more great and deceiving. I still run into the occasional black people who thinks i'm sleeping with the enemy, or a white people who shake their heads at my union with my husband(oh yeah he's white and he's awesome). There have been so many encounters I have struggled through, cried about, hated myself for and other colorful adjectives but none of them broke my spirit. I am who I am, but that's isn't enough is it.? I can't travel without people wanting me to leave. I can't attend parties without people wondering who invited the only black girl here and that goes for black parties as well. I find it more disturbing that my own race doesn't want me about because of on character or another. The people who paved the way for black rights would be ashamed of what we have become after all they gave up for us but who would listen to them now?
What am I suppose to do with this affliction? How am I suppose to be an example if my esteem is being broken and rebuilt on a daily? Who am I really inspiring if I can't find a solution to my no reservation invite to the earth? Everyday gives me a reason to live yet everyday I fight to live is that really existing? What kind of life is that; I'll tell you. It's the kind of life that allows you to grow to such a level that not a soul on earth, not a being on this rock and certainly not a rule in the books would be able to define. I set the tone for all those who seek humanity beyond a color, religion, social status and what have you. I may not be rich, I may not have the"rights genes" and I may not be a model human but I strive everyday to become better than my examples. I strive to make my voice heard and my energy linger weather you hate me or love me. . .at least you are thinking of me. I can't say that I am proud of what I use to think of myself, I can't say that I forgive the hatred that has shaped me but I can say that I am a surviver of that hatred. I can say that although it hurts me to know those things, they only make me stronger and present myself better. I am beautiful, I am black but most of all I am human and demand to be treated as such.
When I was a child starting to attend Kindergarten i was a victim of my first attack. Two white girls tried to jump my sister and I on the way home from school but they didn't succeed. It was the first time I heard the word nigger. When we arrived home my sister didn't want to talk about it but I was confused why they didn't like us. I asked my Mom what that word meant and she looked angry. I didn't know if it was at me because I said a bad word or because we were being exposed to something bad. She told me to tell her who said it and she would take care of it. Later that eve I found out what it meant but didn't understand what that really meant. Later in elementary school other encounters occurred and my anger grew large but I dared not tell my mother. I remember clearly on day staring into the mirror looking at my skin trying to figure out why would anyone not like this color. I couldn't figure it out. I thought of chocolate and cookies and all the things that I could think of that were brown but none of them were bad, so what was it that was so bad? That day, I tried to scrub my skin off so that it wouldn't be a problem anymore and got caught by my Mom in the bathroom. She screamed so loud. I told her what I was trying to do and she just cried and cried, thus beginning my love hate relationship with my skin.
Much later in life, during some awkward years, I was attacked by black students because I wasn't black enough to hang out with them. There were things said like, " You talk like you're white. You wanna be white. You act like your white. You dress like your white, " and so on. I played in the orchestra, I was a gymnast and a good student all of which I felt were achievements normal people would desire. . . apparently not. They sent me to the hospital with a black eye, concussion and a split lip thinking that would scare me straight. When I was old enough and ready to date black men would not talk to me. There were so many guys I found attractive but I was black enough to date, the fear of embarrassing them socially was cause enough to not approach me. My first boyfriend was white( at that time I was just interested in anyone who had interest in me) and that started another problem with the black community and unfortunately the rest of my life was no different. Most people who were interested in me were white guys who had a curiosity of what it would be like to kiss a black girl, can you imagine? There is no difference in kissing white, black, Italian or otherwise, lips are lips. I knew nothing of people and the workings of social politeness so I presented myself a just a person. During school you had to have a clique or group which you belonged that defined you, I had none. In college you were allowed to be whomever you chose to be but I was once again no one yet being no one allowed you to walk more freely in college. there were phases and long stints of who am I am what will life had me but that's everyday all the time till your 25; I digress. I listen to music as a whole but for the most part I love rock, and I like it heavy. I wear clothes that suit me from emotion to emotion. Hair, I have none, but my skin is still a beautiful espresso brown, there is no escape. My way is still my own and I own more of it daily however the encounters are becoming more and more great and deceiving. I still run into the occasional black people who thinks i'm sleeping with the enemy, or a white people who shake their heads at my union with my husband(oh yeah he's white and he's awesome). There have been so many encounters I have struggled through, cried about, hated myself for and other colorful adjectives but none of them broke my spirit. I am who I am, but that's isn't enough is it.? I can't travel without people wanting me to leave. I can't attend parties without people wondering who invited the only black girl here and that goes for black parties as well. I find it more disturbing that my own race doesn't want me about because of on character or another. The people who paved the way for black rights would be ashamed of what we have become after all they gave up for us but who would listen to them now?
What am I suppose to do with this affliction? How am I suppose to be an example if my esteem is being broken and rebuilt on a daily? Who am I really inspiring if I can't find a solution to my no reservation invite to the earth? Everyday gives me a reason to live yet everyday I fight to live is that really existing? What kind of life is that; I'll tell you. It's the kind of life that allows you to grow to such a level that not a soul on earth, not a being on this rock and certainly not a rule in the books would be able to define. I set the tone for all those who seek humanity beyond a color, religion, social status and what have you. I may not be rich, I may not have the"rights genes" and I may not be a model human but I strive everyday to become better than my examples. I strive to make my voice heard and my energy linger weather you hate me or love me. . .at least you are thinking of me. I can't say that I am proud of what I use to think of myself, I can't say that I forgive the hatred that has shaped me but I can say that I am a surviver of that hatred. I can say that although it hurts me to know those things, they only make me stronger and present myself better. I am beautiful, I am black but most of all I am human and demand to be treated as such.
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