My Identity Narrative

What is the American dream? A house on a hill and a boat by the lake? A family of a husband, wife, son, and a daughter? Most people have the luxury of having something similar to that. I grew up without a father ever being in my life. I feel as if I understand the pros and cons of not having a fatherly figure to look up to, but for the most part I do not think it has affected me in a good or bad way. The lessons that I have learned are lessons that I carried into elementary school, middle school, high school, and now college.

What makes up our identity?This question has been asked for a really long time that some have attempted to answer but often look at the wrong things that make up our identity.Some people have thought that what makes up our identity are the different important times in our life.Though what really makes up our identity are the 7 categories of otherness.The 7 categories of otherness are race, sexual orientation, age, religion, able- bodied, gender and finally socio-economic.

One aspect of my identity that has shaped my life experience and the way I see the world is my race. I am an African- American who has Nigerian descent from both parents. Growing up African American is hard for many of us, but we always come together to help each other out. We get judged for our skin color, religion, sexuality, and economic status. When I was younger, I always thought about what other people would say about me and how I looked. Even though it was hard seeing how other races portrayed my race, I have learned to embrace my skin color and not let anybody judge me. The society believes that African Americans are lazy, uneducated, and violent. Things people say about me and my race only make me want to prove myself to them that I am proud of my race and would never change myself for anybody.

As I was scrolling down my pictures on VSCOcam, an editing app that has been my favorite for a few years not, it struck me yet again that one of my themes for this year was authenticity.

followed the trail, and more imprortantly, Nate. I looked around me, tall trees surrounded me and again, I felt like a little girl.

The first time I told my mother I hated her was during my freshman year of high school. That was the year of painful adventures, questioning of sexuality, and a developed bond with drugs. It was the year I met my demons, and they became my confidant. My mother was God’s advocate, and we attended church every Sunday morning, always sitting on the second pew. She said we had to sit close to God so we could soak up all his glory. She would hold me in her arms and stain my cheeks with her lipstick. In her eyes, I was the quintessential golden child. However, when she discovered I was dating another female, everything changed.

It takes a village to raise a child. This quote is everything to me, it’s the truth. If I only had my parents raising me, boy I would be annoying. I would be a carbon copy of them. Yes, we’re all like our parents, but not completely. I know drinking games, I have a dirty humor, I know old music like the back of my hand, and I’ve been cursing since I could talk. This sounds soooooo wrong, but you know what? It’s not. I have been exposed to more of the real world and know how to handle it. I’m not oblivious to certain things in this world that eventually I would have to learn about. To some, my younger childhood may have been slightly vulgar, but without it, I wouldn’t be me. My family, biological and not, are

At the age of 13, my mother moved myself, and my family to the quiet, clean, and quaint, upstate New York. This was difficult for me, as I moved away from all my family who continued to reside in New York City. During this time, I was the perfect of example of Erickson’s Identity VS Identity Confusion stage, as I spent a lot of time hanging out with different peer groups trying to figure out where I fit best (“Through the life stages in counseling”, n.d.). I did not realize how much I desired to fit in until I had gone through my first year of college and noticed I had been bullied a lot. As I began to pick up the pick up the pieces, I decided to love me for whom I truly am and what I have to offer. In this profound epiphany, I decided to continue and

Based on Erikson’s theory and the age group, I am currently in the identity versus identity confusion stage.

The memories in my life constructed me into who I am today. From a young age all my experiences have been merging together to form my strong and unique identity that I take pride in. In my eyes I see my identity and myself as a strong willed and a motivated individual that will stop at nothing to succeed. From what I can interpret my identity revolves around my faith and by the challenges I faced growing up and how I defeated them. Starting with a divorced family, then living with my struggling single mother and my older drug addict brother was a real conflict. Although, my identity wouldn’t be the same without that conflict. In that time period I found my passion that allowed me to stay strong and find myself in the pain which ultimately showed

What makes up an identity? Your friends, family, and culture can all play parts into your identity, but how can you show your identity to someone who isn’t you? By presenting the different sides of you, of course. My project illustrates the amused, serious, playful, and loving parts of me in different areas and situations. I had pictures of me with my friends, family, and some of. It displays my identity in multiple different fashions and therefore deserves an A.

What makes up an identity? A whole lot of things. Your friends, family, and culture can all play parts into your identity, but how can you show your identity to someone who isn’t you? By presenting the different sides of you of course. My project illustrates the fun, serious, playful, and loving parts of me in different areas and situations. It displays my identity in many different fashions and therefore deserves an A.

As a young girl in elementary school I would get the question “what are you?” As a junior in high school, whether in school or in the grocery store, I am still frequently asked that same question. I used to feel embarrassed of my identity when they asked what I was. My usual response was to slightly laugh and tell them I was “mixed.”

Even my close friends say that they don't know me well. I don’t feel sorry about this because it is the product of my efforts to hide my identity. Born half Japanese and half Korean, I have been secretive as to my identity since I have never been welcomed in Korea and in Japan. The Koreans have shunned me for being a descendant of the people who colonized them brutally, while the Japanese distanced themselves from me, saying that I am one of those who keep demanding apologies that they had already done.

I never thought I was different and I never even saw or felt the differences. In my adolescent years, I thought my appearance mirrored my friends who had curly hair, caramel skin, and rolled their r’s when they spoke. In my head, there was no physical line to separate me from the people I grew up with. I am not sure if it was my innocence or the ignorance I had that explained this, but I know now that I was too young and unaware of my environment.