Melanin Says Who I am

When I got to college, I think I was black.

A majority of my friends were African or African American. I know how to cornrow hair, how often you need to relax African American hair, how much hair lotion you need to put on, how to put a bandana on properly when your hair is not working out for you that day, what hair and body routines you need to take to avoid ashy skin and nappy hair. I even had cornrows in my head on Graduation day. And I know it is cheesy, but my nickname given to me by one of my friends in middle school (hence the cheesiness) was "BlackShoes" (my general nickname is Noshu, pronounced No-shoe). I shopped with black people, listened to "black people music," spoke like black people, hung out with black people, and mainly lived near black people. And I never really noticed anything weird about it.

During freshman year, I was eating dinner in the cafeteria with my friends on a regular day, having a good time, when a new person comes to join us at our already crowded table, and comments on how I was "the only non-black person" at the table. I had not noticed. I am apparently not "black," I am "Asian."

I do not think that the designation, "Asian," fits me well. In my mind, "Asian," means someone who plays the piano or violin, has perfectly straight hair, perfect yellow skin, has very strict parents, and has all "A's." Who I am does not match that description. I do not feel Asian, and yet, for all official forms, I check the box: "Asian or Pacific Islander."

Race is confusing! It is a social construct that I cannot surpass simply due to the way I was born. How I look has certain implications for how I should behave, never mind how I actually might be, or desire to be.

What if I was born "white" or "black" or "hispanic"? I know I would obviously look different, but what kind of person would I be? Would I still be me? And now the more existential question: Who is "me?"

My Vocab Crimes

At 12:38 am, these are the sort of things that come to my head.

My pen was not working, and couldn't find any paper that I could randomly use to vigorously compel the pen to work, so I scribbled on my arm. The pen on my arm reminded me of the week in high school when I decided to learn new SAT words by writing out the words on my arm along with their meanings. 

Of course, being the somewhat slow and innocent student I was, I definitely could not predict what would happen the next day at school. 

The best part of the day was when I had to go take a spanish test at the testing center for my spanish class. Imagine what my teacher must be thinking as she sees me leaving the classroom for the testing center: oh there goes my A student, and oh wait, there are words all over her hand. Is she attempting to cheat? If she is, could she really not figure out a better method than to write with black ink in large letters all over her arms? 

Well, obviously she stopped me, along with the testing center official. 

Of course, I decided against this particular vocabulary learning method- but I can't say that the method was useless. I will never forget the meaning of googolplex nor shoehorn. Although I cannot imagine them being of that much benefit to daily life, except for random flash memories of a fond moment when a teacher questioned my ethics due to my desire to learn. 

Now that I think about it, getting in trouble for trying to be good, happens to me a lot. 

In eighth grade, I almost got sent to SAC for- let me let you guess: learning vocabulary! 

We all had vocabulary flash cards for all the vocab terms for class, and that specific day, we were to have a major exam on all the terms right after lunch. So of course, being the studious, and procrastinating student I was, I took the flash cards to lunch, and planned on reviewing during lunch. 

I think friends always love messing with you when you have the most work- it is a unique form of high I think. But either way, one of my friends, who was sitting across from me, decided to take some of my flash cards while I was not looking and hide them under the table. Panic quickly rose when I realized that some cards were missing, and I forgot everything else except those cards, got very loud, and ran to the other side of the wide table trying to find my cards. 

All the while, because of my missing card predicament, I missed that the assistant principal was being very unsuccessful with keeping the crowd quiet and had declared that the next person to get up from their seat would be sent to SAC. Due to my luck, I was naturally the next student to get up right after the declaration. 

I think the entire school enjoyed this event. My teacher, whose test I was studying for, came up to the front of the enormous cafeteria where I was told to go sit for the rest of the lunch period, and basically laughed at the irony of the situation. Well, thank goodness another assistant principal knew me, and saved me from the SAC disaster. But my friends and teacher definitely said loudly and in unison, "how was SAC," when I returned to the classroom. 

I was definitely save from SAC then, but SAC was definitely a required checkpoint in my life. I actually did get sent to SAC, but it was during my senior year. 

And this crime and punishment were because I called my mom right after taking my AP Physics College Board test. I needed to call my mom immediately after getting done with the test because she always took forever to come pick me up. The main issue was that I used the phone while I was in the testing room. The situation is ironic because I was a food away from the door, and that all the students were actually done and talking to each other in the room. For my illegal cell phone usage, my phone was confiscated, I had to pay $10 to get it back, needed my mom to come to school with me the next say, sign on my referral paper while she watched the assistant principal at the school laughing at me getting in trouble. Not only that, I also was sent to SAC for an entire day, which meant being escorted to the testing center and lab by the hall monitor, and getting to eat at a separate special table. That might have been my favorite day in high school, especially because of all the people laughing at me. I might have laughed the most.