I am in a classroom, or perhaps at a party, but it doesn’t actually matter. What matters is that I am speaking, and maybe what I’m saying is funny or profound but even meaningless words will bring eyes and thoughts around to the body producing them. After I am done speaking, another voice starts. “As HE said…” The “HE” rings loudly in only my ears though, and to everyone else in the room my passing and my failing go by so quietly as to be unnoticed.
Continue readingI don’t think my hands have stopped trembling since move-in day. I’ve always had hand tremors, yet the neuroscientist my concerned mother urged me to visit assured me that it’s merely one of many cases she has seen of physiological tremors. Surprisingly, it’s a phenomenon that is surprisingly very common and one that isn’t dangerous. True, while this isn’t a condition that severely interferes with my life in the day-to-day, it’s often a channel through which emotions manifest in my body. This is where my problem begins.
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It’s May 2020 and the “Register for the Fall 2020 Semester!” emails keep on coming. I cannot think of a single thing I’d like to do LESS than signing up for another semester of pandemic ridden classes. Learning through a screen for me, holds no accountability. I don’t have to show up and look the teacher in the face if I hadn’t completed an assignment on time. Oh, my essay is due tomorrow? If I delete the reminder email, is the essay really still due tomorrow?
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Okay I’m sorry for the title…. but you know good and well you know what I’m talking about! I’ve experienced the same stereotypical comments and micro-aggressions since I was young: I’m smelly, i’m loud, and I’m aggressive because I’m African. I was always ashamed to be African because of how people made me feel. Fortunately thew woman I’ve molded into today is proud of her ethnicity and proud to be be Nigerian. I remember the first day of Kindergarten, everyone went in a circle and said their names to the class. Everyone except for me of course, I whispered by name into my teacher’s ear. I didn’t want the Olivia’s and Veronica’s and Phil’s to know that I my name was Ogechi. For some reason it was embarrassing. So many Africans if you haven’t noticed give you a reluctant look when you ask them what their last name is. My name had been laughed at too many times to say it with pride. I had been called names like “African Booty Scratcher”. I was ashamed to talk about the food I ate or even bring it to school. Not because I was raised this way, but because this was how everyone made me feel. People at my school often bullied me and made jokes about my country’s language. Something that is interesting to me is that back then, I was barely offended by it. If someone however were to say certain things like that to me now, I’d very upset and I would make it known. I think this is because I thought I deserved it. I thought it was bad to be African. But something else that I’ve noticed is that it’s not a bad thing anymore. A lot of people admire African culture so much now. They sing the songs, the wear the clothing it’s like a bandwagon. It’s always odd to think about because this was the same thing I got laughed at for. However, it’s not even the fact that people like my culture that has helped me to realize what a blessing it is to be African. I’ve grown to realize that I’ve always loved by culture deep down, and was just scared to express it. I think this is such a vivid example of racial embodiment because the way I was treated and the way people told me I should be treated really influenced how I thought about myself and made me neglect my culture. I’m glad I grew out of the phase of wanting to be Americanized so bad… it’s not that great anyway. I couldn’t imagine not being African. I love it, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Perception is reality. But is it really? Every day, we decide how we want to be perceived. Through our clothing choices, the way we do our hair, if we decide to wear makeup, even who we are hanging out with, all shape how we are perceived. With this, every day we are gazed at by outside people. We have no idea what they are thinking, if they are even thinking about us, or if they even noticed us, but when we see someone look in our direction, we immediately begin to think about what they might be thinking of us. We wonder how we are perceived to others and we jump to conclusions of their thoughts. But isn’t what we believe they are thinking about us actually how we think about ourselves? We come up with these ideas in our heads of how we are perceived to others but unless we are explicitly told, these are just ideas. They are actually just what we think about ourselves. It is our own thoughts coming up with our perception.
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I sit here trying to scour through my mind for anything substantial that my brain can focus on. I was trying to find a meaningful topic relating to my identity and phenomenology. But the truth is I am exhausted. I know I am not alone- many that read this may work and do school fulltime as well, and you know how draining the two can be. Most of the times when I am exhausted, I just want to distance myself from my body and mind. I can go days navigating the world, accomplishing the academic and work goals that I am expected to meet, without feeling fully conscious or present in my own mind. I lose massive chunks of my life to the draining monotony of exhaustion, depression, and the unconsciousness that follows.
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Ever wake up in the morning, and go throughout your day and have nothing go wrong? You just had an amazing day; however, something seems off to you. You can’t seem to put you finger on it, but it’s bothering for some reason you’re just not satisfied with what you have. That it just one example of the many, many, MANY ways we go through life unsatisfied with what we have. No individual is exempt from these feelings of wanting more. Everyone has their own wants and needs, for me body dysphoria is something that I believe I battle.
Continue reading“She’s beautiful because she’s fair.”
The words were almost convincing after seeing a commercial of a woman applying cream to her face and miraculously turning many shades lighter. Her brown skin had been edited to a pale white and suddenly she was beautiful. Suddenly, she was fair and lovely.
I was only a child when I saw the ‘Fair and Lovely’ cosmetic product advertised on South Asian TV channels and plastered on the walls of South Asian grocery stores. The product claims to lighten your skin and in turn, enhance your beauty. Of course, anyone with common sense knows it’s impossible to rid yourself of the melanin in your skin with a fragrant cream. But after all these years, the product continues to be purchased. As an adult I never thought I’d be classified beautiful just for the color of my skin—and the idea disgusts me completely.
Continue readingGrowing up in a Nigerian household is not for the weak at all. I remember always being one of the biggest and tallest out of all my cousins, and I was reminded of that on a daily basis. “Oh, do you think you should be eating that?” or “Nne, you are getting too fat, why don’t you start fasting?” All of this told to an eight year-old girl, who still doesn’t know her body. Or even to the point where there were days I would cry for the harsh words that use to be thrown at my face left, and right at every Nigerian function, and be told ” You know you’re too big (or fat) to be crying like this!”, and that’s usually followed by more scolding and laughter by the adults. It got to the point where I would cover my body fully, no matter if was raining and humid or 100 degree weather, I shielded by body from the world. Thing this is I thought once I get older my body will way better, and I would finally experience joy when looking at my body. But boy was I wrong.
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Unruly Bodies 