Episode 2 - Crazy girl "of color"

Welcome back! I trust that you've all survived winter storm Hercules. They should have called it Boreas or Chione. (A little nerd humour for you.)

I've decided to start with something close to home today. (More figurative 'home' than literal.)

I'm brown. You may have already gotten that from the name of my blog or my picture. The first thing you probably see when you meet me is that I am brown. That used to bother me. "Why can't you see me as a person? Why do you define me that way? I am more than just the colour of my skin!" That is correct. But I have decided not to let it get to me so much anymore. We are a visual people. Colour plays a huge part in our lives. I taught English to Kindergarteners in Taiwan, cute little 2 and 3 year olds who were still only starting to learn Chinese. One of the easiest ways to teach them, considering the language barrier, was through colour. Red is danger. Green is go. Blue team vs Orange team. Using colour makes it easier to classify things. Make them identifiable, without labeling them, per se. So, when I say that I'm brown I feel like I take ownership of the classification that is cast upon me anyway.

Something that I've noticed since moving here (to the USA), is that Americans use euphemisms for almost everything, especially racial labels, under the guise of being PC or politically correct. It bothers me because I have overcome a lot of racial prejudice, first growing up in South Africa and then living in Dubai and Taiwan (which are both stories for another day!). I just thought that things would be different once I came to the Land of the Free. Every person who has grown up in SA has experienced racial discrimination at some level at some point in their lives. Even if we didn't experience the stifling grip of Apartheid first hand, the effects were (and are) still rippling through. Something that has helped us a little to heal and grow into the smiling, happy people we are today, is that South Africans can laugh at themselves pretty easily. Not so with Americans, I'm afraid. Yes, America has had a rough and tragic history of its own. It seems to me like White America still feels guilty for what their ancestors did many, many moons ago, and this can only be reconciled by rewriting history and/or using overly-polite terms when talking to or about "people of color".

Oh man! That term drives me crazy! And it is constantly used to describe me, and any other person in the US who is not white. So, basically, everyone else. It was changed from 'minority' to sound more inclusive and less derogatory, but isn't that term still pointing out the racial disparities prevalent today? How is that different from the label of "Non-White" given to everyone who wasn't a White South African during Apartheid? Now before the hate-mail begins, I'm just trying to point out that sometimes we can try too hard to be polite and politically correct, but it isn't necessarily a positive thing.

When I was in SA, we had 4 classifications for race: Black, White, Coloured and Indian. If I say that here when talking about South Africa, people start to look a little nervous. Like, "you can't say that out loud." Why can't I? Coloured (in SA) refers to a specific ethnic group of people of complex mixed origins, who are neither Black nor White. Now, if I had said 'colored' (without the u) that would be a different story. Or would it? I've been doing some reading and found it interesting that while White America may be concerned by the word 'colored', Black America doesn't seem to mind it too much. I mean, the NAACP, which is the "National Association for the Advancement of Colored People", has not made a move to change their name.

So, I said Black America and I hope not to offend, but seeing as I have already opened up this Pandora's box of "my thoughts on racial terms in the US" let's just keep going, shall we? I have trouble calling a black person here African-American. I recently read a Facebook post that was going around that shared Bill Cosby's thoughts on the same subject and it turns out that he and I are in agreement. We don't say European-American for white people and I certainly wish that they didn't say Asian-American for anyone who has roots in any country east of India, either. I find myself talking about this quite often of late, and it appears that my black American friends don't call themselves African-American either. They have never been to Africa, do not speak an African language and have no idea of any of the African customs. I do. I am, literally, more African than they are.

If you ask me what I am, I say that I am South African. I never say I'm Indian unless I'm asked what my background is. And then I explain that five generations of my family have lived in SA and that there are many Indians in SA (the second largest population after India), but we are South African. If it is the place I was born and the only place I call home, why call myself anything else? Why claim to be from some place I have never been and know nothing about? Just to make it easy for somebody else?

Dear readers, I don't pretend to have all the answers. Writing this post has actually given me a lot more to ruminate upon. What I do know is that it doesn't really matter what other people call you to try and classify you - you decide what you're comfortable with. You need to take ownership of who you are and don't allow other people's labels to define you.

Trust me. Go out there and own it! You'll be all the happier for it.

-G

** Disclaimer - this post is made up primarily of the author's thoughts, feelings and opinions towards the above subject. It is not meant to offend or insult. It is, however, meant to create awareness and provoke discussion. Please feel free to share your thoughts, provided that they are not offensive or derogatory. **

Pilot

January 1st, 2014. Happy New Year! 

I've wanted to start a blog for the longest time, but haven't had the courage to... until now. Well, to be honest, I had to get over how much the word 'blog' bothered me. I'm old-fashioned and really like the English language and all its intricacies. I call myself a word-nerd. I prefer spelling words out completely in text messages and tweets (there's another word I'm wrapping my head around). I was that annoying kid in the class who over-eagerly raised her hand to spell out words when asked and who got 10 out of 10 for her spelling and dictation tests. But here I am, attempting to maintain my love for writing in this modern day and age of the Interweb. I will embrace this new-fangled mode of communication, goshdarnit. And with any luck, you and I will both get something out of this. I, like every other blog (hey, didn't cringe this time) writer out there, am hoping to share my thoughts electronically and impart my vast knowledge of life, love and other stuff with as many readers as I can. 

I've traveled extensively over the past decade and a half and have learned so much about myself and the world. I always thought it would be cool if I could write about it. Maybe even publish a book one day. But my fear of putting myself out there always stopped me. Until now. Life is simply far too short. There is just no time to be fearful. I'd also always known, from the time I was a little girl, what I wanted to do with my life. I have always wanted to act. But until last year, I never actively pursued my passion. I have spent a lot of time doing other things, making excuses and running away from my true path instead of running towards it. Not this year. 2014 is the year I finally start this blog. Hey and even if no-one reads it, I can pat myself on the back for having done it! But then that got me thinking about so much more, like the Gregorian calendar and religion and the duality of what it means to be me.

If you've read my bio, you'll know that I'm Muslim. And the Islamic New Year started in November. The current Islamic year is 1435 AH. (FYI - The 1st Islamic year began in 622 AD, during which the prophet Muhammad -peace be upon him- migrated from Mecca to Medina. This was known as the Hijra, hence the Latin AH for anno Hegirae.) What got me thinking about this, is how much significance we give to the Gregorian calendar and celebrating New Year's Eve. It becomes a time for reflection as we look back at all that we achieved in the past year and all that we hope to do and achieve in the new year. We write out our New Year's resolutions and promise ourselves that this year, we may actually keep them. But, at the end of 1434, I didn't do that. Why didn't I start writing and posting this on the 1st of Muharram 1435? 

For a long time, I found it hard to talk about religion, especially my own. I thought it such a difficult topic to discuss without offending or insulting someone. That was me projecting my own fears of being offended. (I have only recently figured out that without open discussion about our beliefs, how else will we learn from and about each other?) Perhaps, that is why 1435 passed by so quietly for me. It was an internal, more spiritual celebration whereas the Gregorian new year is part of a different aspect of my life that is more out there and public. 

I usually feel this way - like I'm living a dual life. There's the me who lives in this modern, Western world celebrating 2014 and the fresh new year and all the possibilities it may bring to my acting and modelling career. Then there's me, the somewhat reserved Muslim girl who is in 1435, trying to remain true to myself and my beliefs, while still accepting all that 2014 has to offer. 

I'm going to attempt to make sense of this life of G right here, and I invite you to come along if you'd like. If you do decide to join me on this journey, and would like to leave a comment, please be nice and/or constructive. There's enough negativity in the world already. 

Happy 1st of January, 2014 and 29th of Safar, 1435. I hope that this is the year you get to conquer some of your fears!

-G