Personal Narrative: My Autobiography Of A White Girl

For this reason, I feel you shouldn’t have to say, “I’m Black” or “I’m White”. It makes mixed people feel like they are not accepted or fit in anywhere, yet you forget that’s how you’ve been treated like that for many years. You never let us be mixed or biracial, making us feel that we can’t be different.Today, in society, they say different is good; but then turn around and talk about it like it’s weird. This why I feel you shouldn’t have to live by your

All throughout time people have been “the other.” Pratt refers to the other as being “Someone who is perceived by the dominant culture as not belonging, as they have been

I'm a student from another school the main school I went to was Potomac State College in West Virginia. It's a predominally white school and it was a couple of African Americans and greater part whites. The sum prejudice I continued at that school was sufficient for me to go to HBCU. I got shot at and called a wide range of names because of the shade of my skin. I wasn't generally glad where I inhabited as well. It was nation situated; the closes store was 1 hour away. It takes a while to go anyplace. It simply wasn't the spot for a city young lady like me.

Leaving high school I was consistently in the majority: I co-captained my basketball team and was always welcome to play. In my Bronx experience overall, I often felt racist, close-minded, and self-centered because of the reactions that I was having internally with this new environment. And even more I felt ashamed for this. I quickly wanted to escape back to Ann Arbor to be back in the majority, but I didn’t want anybody to feel bad for me. I knew that what I was thinking was mostly wrong, but I also felt it was human. Large paradigm shifts in one’s life often come with large sentiments, both good and bad. Also, I felt that my experience in the Bronx became easier and easier as I integrated and adjusted. As the shock to my system eased my feelings eased, too. I eventually began to feel extremely connected to the Bronx, the differing cultures, and even my almost omnipresent

Life was to challenging for a young African American boy like me. My mother always yelling at me, “Jonathan stay inside, you are more safe in here!” People tell me I am different in a bad way. But when I try to enjoy my life, I am told to leave. I can not go to many places, as they have many signs saying, “No Negroes Allowed” Or when I am able to live a normal life, I am separated and put into a certain spot. Life was very challenging, but as life went on and I went to school, I gained more knowledge on what was really happening. The whites were being biased on African Americans. They thought they were better than us, and we were the minorities. This was very unconstitutional of them. I realized that we did not have the equality rights of others.

I identify myself as a seventeen year old African American female. I was raised in Washington D.C. in a 5 family member household. I went to an elementary school with Latino and African American students. My mother is from Sierra Leone in West Africa and my father is from Washington D.C. Growing up i was taught to be proud of my heritage and my dark skin tone. My parents taught me that black is beautiful .Contrary in television ads and TV shows they only portray caucasian females as beautiful and smart and African American females as lower class , unintelligent and urban ghetto. While growing up I’ve learned that black features like having a big nose or big lips were seen as unappealing and badlooking but recently there have been trends

In my own experience, race has never been an issue and hasn’t restricted me in any areas. Being white, however, I may have unknowingly reaped benefits. Due to this, it is sometimes hard to wrap my mind around the obstacles other people run into based on their race. My stance on race has not evolved much from age four to seventeen. However, with information obtained through social media and in-school discussions on the topic, I have come to better understand the views of others on racial issues.

I interviewed an African American male in his 50s. This means he is in the middle adulthood stage of life. One of the biggest challenges that he faces is being black in America. He seemed to have a whole lot to say about this concept and struggle that he faces. Every day, all over the country, criminal activity is happening at a seemingly higher and higher rate. The evil that inhabits the globe can never be ended. There are few people, still, who choose to try. The police, the government, the news teams, all of these groups of people are supposedly dedicated to awareness and driven to push crime down to a minimum by alerting the people and keeping the peace. A self-governing species as they are, humans are prone to error, fallibility, and imperfection,

My family which includes my mother, father and sister all live in a predominately white upper class town. Life was a lot easier for me as I was a part of the upper-class community in the town. Being a part of the upper middle class allowed me to attend an out of state college. On the other hand, many of my friends from school stayed in Massachusetts to attended community college and other in state colleges as it is a less of a financial burden. Many of the student attended my high school and went to those colleges were predominately Hispanic culturally. As they were Latino, I appeared to them as a generic Asian. With this came stereotypes such as the assumption that I was

I have been taken by rival a tribe from my homeland and since sold to outsider white men. I have done no wrongs in my lifetime. I have served an honest life doing my upmost to provide for my family and tribe. Now, I find myself restrained in this horrific place. I am laying in not only my own feces, but the feces of nearly 100 others. I am restrained to the floor of this boat with many others that look very similar to me, yet I cannot understand them. The man to my left will not stop sobbing and speaking in what sounds like gibberish to me. Every so often he gets so enthusiastic with his sorrows that one of the white men comes down and beats him within an inch of his life, he too yelling in a language I do not

“Don’t listen to them,” my grandmother said as she wiped the tears from my face and ran her fingers through my long, black hair. I remember the constant teasing from my peers in elementary school. Growing up in a predominately white neighborhood, my family and I were looked at differently because we were “people of color.” All of the parents who would drop their children off for school in the morning would stare at my father. Growing up, it was incredibly difficult to figure out who I was because I was Mexican and Caucasian with a Puerto Rican step father who raised me since I was three. Thus, his culture heavily influenced me as well. At family parties I was spoken to in English and Spanish with both Mexican and Puerto Rican dialects.

Selina struggled to break out of her handcuffs as she cried out, hoping someone could hear her. The room was pitch black as she began to cry, trying to get out of the chair in any way, hoping the screws would bent or break. She knew it was useless, she wasn't that strong. But she wouldn't let Bruce have what he wanted so easily. She would fight him. Fight his grasp, fight everything, even if it meant letting him do it. She would not enjoy one bit of it. With that in mind, she heard the door open and a blinding light from the stairway before the room was illuminated by the ceiling lights as he flicked the switch on. She blinked away as her eyes began to adjust. Bruce was standing there, holding his black suitcase, as he turned around and closed the door before walking over to her. He laughed as she started to move again, trying to get away from him, as she was locked into place. "Now now, Selina. You know better" he laughs, opening the suitcase as he leans inside, going through random items as he pulls three packaged dildos out.

Being a minority woman in a predominantly white institution has its challenges, however, it has been a great learning experience. Throughout high school my grandmother motivated and pushed me to do my best while explaining how there was so much out there in the world for me, I just had to work for it. Now I understand.

“You are the whitest black girl I know”. Throughout my academic career these words have followed me. From a very early age my parents instilled a drive in me to always do my best and take pride in everything I do, because some people aren’t given the opportunity to do so. As a result, I naturally stood out from others who were not as driven. Growing up, I became ashamed about of my accomplishments and demeanor when nicknames such as “oreo” replaced the name my mother had given me because I didn’t act “black”. According to my peers, I was “dark on the outside and white on the inside.” because I “talked like a white girl” and “tried too hard in class”. I believe these undesirable circumstances have taught me the hard way to love myself.

White, that’s what I notice when I opened my eyes. I searched the area around myself, and the only item I can observe is just a white area. There were no people, buildings, plants, or animals; just a blank canvas world. At first, I didn’t know what to do, until I started to call out to hear if someone is here. I called out three times, and the only sound I can hear is my voice echoing.