Biases

African Booty Scratcher
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African Booty Scratcher

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.

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perception

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’m Just Tired

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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Just Never Satisfied

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.

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Fair and Lonely

“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.

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“You Too Big For That!”

Growing 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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Mom, It’s Not a Phase
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Mom, It’s Not a Phase

This is going to be another gay story. If you don’t want to hear the self expression and journey of a queer, nonbinary human, please skip to the end where I reflect back on how I’ve made it in life and all is well in the world.

I knew I was attracted to men and women when I was 12 years old. I didn’t know much about being LGBT, but I just knew that I had crushes on girls and boys. Being in 6th grade, I liked to think I was the gay pioneer of my class. In a way, I was, as I was the first person to come out publicly in my grade. Of course, that means I was the target of bullying. I had to keep my eyes on the locker when changing in the dressing room, as every girl thought I was attracted to them. I didn’t have the voice to express that that wasn’t even remotely how attraction works. This also made me an oddity to boys as they knew I wasn’t a man but, because I like girls, I couldn’t possibly be a “proper” female. During this time, I developed the twisted idea that I couldn’t love a girl if I was feminine. I started to dress in men’s clothing and imaged myself in the body of a man. I had no concept of gender fluidity, only that there was men and there was women.

Over the course of my three years in middle school, more and more people began to come out of the closet. By the time I reached high school, it wasn’t strange to be gay anymore. Around then, I figured out that it wasn’t just men and women I fell for, but all different kinds of people. It didn’t matter to me what your gender was, what your genitals were, or what you looked like. In the shortest of terms, I changed my label to pansexual. People didn’t entirely know what this meant either, only that it was outside the normal. My gender expression developed as well. I learned that it was okay to be masculine and feminine, and it did not mean you were any less of a person because if it.

Three months ago, I changed my pronouns to they/them. It doesn’t feel right to be referred to as female, but I definitely know I’m not a man. It’s okay for me to be feminine and it’s okay for me to be masculine. It is okay for me to be both and express myself outwardly that way. For another time in my life, people are learning to figure me out. And while it has gone well so far, there have been bumps in the road. So, I suppose, all is not well in the world and I’ve not quite made it in life just yet. But I’m working on it.

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Green like envy and the grass on the other side

Green Eyed Monster, image from buzzfeed.com

It’s so easy to imagine how much better it would be to be everything you’re not. My milk carton description would probably go something like 5’3” asian woman with light brown hair. I’ve never faced any sexism or racism that could be considered significantly life altering and yet I can’t shake how often I’m reminded of my physically ascribed identities. I’m a mixed kid that never knew what box to check when race was asked on forms but people sure seem to be confident about what I am. Working in customer service I’ve been summoned as the white, lightskin, korean, thai, hawaiian, iranian, and latino girl. All incorrect assumptions but no biggie right? What’s concerning is how singular their focus was, categorization is ingrained in all of us, and there’s so many other things I could’ve been identified by. 

Back to the point, being comfortable in our own skin and how this affects what we choose to do in it. Just browsing the UnrulyBodies page it is clear that many of us feel limited by our bodies or uncomfortable with whatever assumptions come with them. My size and sex obviously affect my physical strength and I have a bad habit of signing up for things that require that. I recently was trying to decide if I wanted to get certified as a firefighter and it wasn’t in question if I could pass but whether I should do it at all. A firefighter friend convinced me doubt not my abilities was going to hold me back and that I should go for it. Wholesome! With new found excitement I told a family member the news and quickly the conversation took a bad turn. He said that it didn’t matter if I could do the job well, I could get hired as a career firefighter because I was female and a minority. 

I’ve had to defend anything I’ve accomplished so many times and it’s incredibly idiotic for both parties participating. The guy I’m arguing with envies my ability to steal a position from the hypothetical equally qualified man/white candidate he identifies with. In response I’d much rather be a man who can earn real respect and nobody would dare consider his only role was to increase diversity. Their argument is that I’m the one who is benefiting so why am I mad at him for pointing out the injustice of the situation. This fueled resentment and the suspicion that everyone believed I was the token female that didn’t deserve the space they take up. I held onto so much hatred that I’ve said some unjustifiably mean things to people and that wasn’t okay. I was ashamed and I tried to gain some empathy when I realized that just because their limitations are different to mine doesn’t make them any easier to carry. It felt good to let go, to just exist as I am. If you’ve struggle with this too, remember the grass is always greener on the other side.