The beauty of being mixed race. An ode to Black History Month and celebrating the two cultures that make me whole.
I’m quite vocal on Twitter about diversity, issues specifically relating to women of colour & the general lack of knowledge when it comes to brown or black skin. Im only really learning about black history and black culture now – which may come as a surprise to you, bearing in mind I’m half black lol. But I’ve made a conscious decision this year to find who I am and slowly become her. Ignorance and poor education has left me falling short to the truth behind black history and the plight that my ancestors faced. Growing up without much influence from my father (he’s Vincentian) I have often lacked information and understanding about that half of me – my Caribbean heritage.
As a child I obviously knew about Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks & Malcom X, but more recently I am learning about (through social media and books) other incredible people, horrific stories and generally the horrowing truth about the suffering of black people, but more importantly their strength.
So I wanted to share with you guys today, a lighthearted, honest and reflective piece about why I personally love being mixed race.
Its the roast potatoes and the jerk chicken. Its the smoothness of Billy Ocean and the sadness of Ed Sheeran. Its the way my beige skin can change to caramel, in a matter of hours when the sun hits it. Its the smell of coconut oil and the smell of fish and chips. Its crystal clear waters and the pebbles of Brighton beach. Its solid mac n cheese, because I don’t like it in any other form. Its rum, its tea, its everything in between. Its the freckles on my face and the curls upon my head. Its palm trees and fallen leaves. Its my Mum saying BAFF and not BA’R’TH (she’s Northern) & its hot pepper sauce on practically everything. Its beaded curtains and all purpose seasoning. Its opening the tub of ice cream, only to find chicken and rice LOL. Its being made to watch Cricket when Blue Peter is on. Its my button nose and my coarse pubic hair. Its being the victim of racism, but also understanding light skin privilege. Its mango, sweet mango. Its cainrows & the pain of brushing out your tangles. Its strength and resiliance, its black power and black pride. Its the curves of my thighs and my deep brown eyes.
Its the freedom to just be me..
Me in both parts.
Me in all parts.