I’ve got a bad case of blogging block, and I have figured out why. I never did put that little black square on my Instagram feed. I didn’t and haven’t put anything to support, contradict, or even mention the #blacklivesmatter movement. Honestly I have tayed mute. I never wanted to say the wrong thing. I’m quite, quite ignorant when it comes to racial issues. I might even declare I’m colorblind when it comes to race. That was until I found out that declaring being “colorblind” perpetuates the essence of the problem with racism. (See this article on The Atlantic or this one on Psychology Today. And also see this article that Krystal Bick kindly shared with me.) Of course I do not want to contribute to the problem of racism. So, what do I do? I educate myself, and I speak honestly. Rather than labeling myself I’ll tell the truth: I see humans. I do not see the race of an individual; rather I see a person and these questions come to mind: Where are they from? Where have they been? What is their history? What shapes their individuality?
Honestly, rather than seeing race, I tend to see culture. I’m not trying to make excuses; it’s actually the way I see the world probably because I’ve lived in so many places. It will be a long list, but these are all the places I have called home: French Camp and Stockton, California; Fort Huachuca, Arizona; Spokane, Washington; Seattle, Washington; Florence, Italy; Jicarilla Apache Reservation, Lumberton, New Mexico; Telluride, Colorado; Whitefish, Montana; San Salvador, El Salvador; Jeddah, Saudi Arabia; Caracas, Venezuela; Mumbai, India; Beijing, China; and now Hong Kong. I’ve lived, like with a home and everything, in at least 16 different locations around the world. I am soon approaching the year where more of my life will have been lived overseas than in the United States of America. My mind hasn’t seen all the individuals that have come into my life in terms of race. It just doesn’t. It’s where they are from, like really from. I see their humanness.
Humanness is defined by the condition or quality of being human. We are all individuals with different stories and those stories… I want to know them. Heck, I make friends with the person selling me my avocados in the market the same way I make friends with a colleague. I’m so fascinated by people, and more specifically their culture. I can honestly say I live for it. I’ve made it my life’s longevity to travel, experience, meet, befriend, and teach people from all around the world. I mean sure I take in physical characteristics: Vietnamese look different from Philippino. Black people have lived in every country I have, and I say hello to them just like the Chinese person behind them. Yes, I do see color, but it only serves as an indicator as to where that individual may be from. I mean, I could be with ten Indian citizens and probably be able to tell who’s from Delhi, who’s from Bombay, who’s from Goa, who’s a Catholic, who’s a Sikh, and who’s a Hindu. Oh, and I can also tell when an Indian couple has just been married–and believe me I always congratulate the couple no matter where I am in the world!
Since the onset of all this hatred and protests and even killings, I’ve just been out of sorts. I have a hard time understanding. If anything–and this saddens me, I feel as far away from being American as I ever have in my entire time living overseas. The extreme global distance of the life I’ve lived is now pronouncing itself. It was one thing when I was lost on pop culture references like the Kardashian craze, but now there’s an entire sense of hatred that is extremely unfathomable for me.
I don’t know how to end my thoughts with any solution–and I tend to need to solve problems. I do know that I love people–like all of them. I’ve been working with children of all the colors, and I enjoy each and every one. They have all–even the ones with rude manners who come around in the end–been special to the pathway of my life. So many people have left an impact on me: the cleaning staff who teach me the language where I am a guest; the rickshaw drivers that trick out their ride; the optometrist who gives me the care as if they were his own eyes. The list goes on and on. I love humanity and the culture of all of it. ALL OF IT!
I guess I am colorful. That’s it! I see color for sure, but more than that I see a human I want to get to know better.
*I do realize that the list of my experiences and the way in which think shows my white privilege–which will become yet one more topic I try to tackle at a later date.
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