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?"
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?"
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