I Am American

When I was younger, I didn't really think about the fact that I am multi-racial. But an incident this weekend brought all the anger I've been feeling lately about the ignorance and ethnocentrism here in the United States.

I'm multi-racial. My dad is from India and my mom is America, with roots to England, Ireland, and Germany. Notice I saw she is American. She is not English, Irish, or German. She is American. She has heritage in those other countries.

Most people don't think about these kinds of things. You always get that question, being multi-racial: "What are you?"

I am American. I was born in America. I am American. Just because I don't fit the stereotypical blond hair, blue-eyed, white skin American does not mean I am not. If you are white, you don't think about "what you are." You take it for granted that you "look" American.

There should be no such thing as African-American. Or Asian-American. Its American. It's a politically correct way for someone Black, or Squinty-Eyed. And you know what? I'm sick of it. 

I flew home this weekend from a vacation. On the plane this girl turned to me and asked me what country I was from. I told her "the same one as you." My boyfriend says I should have asked her "are you from that southern state where they marry their brothers?"

I'm used to it though. When I was younger, people asked my mom (with me standing right next to her) if I was adopted. My mom has blue hair and bright blond hair. If you were to give us the same skin tone and hair color, we would look identical. People always think that me and my mom are spitting images of each other.

My colleague in high school thought my mom was my tutor.I laugh it off, but it's not fun. It's not fun when people are surprised that I know how to "act" American.

Coincidentally, I was reading The Help on the plane. The movie looked really good and I'm a firm believer that the book is always better. The book was great, and after hearing that girl's comment, I related a little to the black characters in the book. Understood, I can in no way compare my life to theirs. But I understand, a little, what it is like to feel like you are less, or don't belong in your society. If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend reading this book. It's similar to To Kill a Mockingbird, my all-time favorite book. Here is a link: The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Love Me.

Sometimes, when I'm just doing random stuff- folding laundry, driving home from work, making dinner- I feel this intense need to just scream and yell. Like I'm ready to attack anyone who tries to talk to me, like I want someone to piss me off so I can yell. 

It's been happening for years, and it comes and goes and I have never acted upon it. Never.

I couldn't figure out why this was happening; I have a great life and there isn't anything that should make me this upset. There shouldn't be something that just takes a squat down inside me and refuses to leave.

But there is. There is so much wrong in this world that I can't believe. There are people that are just plain idiots. And I never say anything. I don't tell the mother who is letting her kid scream at the airport while she is on her cell phone telling Sheri that "he is so stupid and I can't believe she slept with that man-whore" that not only is she rude, but her kid will probably be rude if that's how she is raising him. 

I don't say anything when my boss says things like "you know how those black people are" when I really want to say that "No I don't, because I'm not a racist like you."

So I don't say anything at the time and rant about it later to my boyfriend. I have this need to always have people like me, even though I'm secretly sending heat missiles behind their back, or flashing them my "stare." 

But there is also many things in this world that make me cry because I can't believe that someone or something is so amazing. I cry at Extreme Home Makeover because there are so many incredible people out there who don't get recognized and who deserve so much more. I stare riveted to the TV during the Olympics because at no other point in time do people from all over the world come together to celebrate the athleticism in all of us. 

So what's this blog for? For me to rant about what drives me crazy, and to share what makes me happy.

Dear World. Be Nice. Love Me.