Personal Narrative: My Experience As A Part Hispanic And Part African-American

Sometimes I feel like I live in two worlds. one world or life is when I was in Puerto Rico where life was effortless and elementary,lots of leisure, and so much more fun. but i also have my world and life here in Boston where is not completely obscured. in boston it is where i am asked to identify myself. it is where people ask me what am i? i have always responded with “ i am puerto rican and black.” that sounds about right my mother is puerto rican and my father is black. most people act like it is strange for me to look and talk the way i do yet not be what they thought. in either world i have never really thought deeply about my ethnic origin because i always said i am puerto rican and black american that is it and nothing more needed to

traveling to have never seen a group of white women before. This discussion concerned me a bit, just as every time you travel abroad does, but I remember reflecting on the conversation after the fact. I made the realization that I had never been the racial minority ever in my life. Yet I still would not be a minority to the same degree as people of color are in our country. I, being a white female, still held privilege, the privilege of being white. This astonished me, I felt guilty for reasons unknown to me, and I felt that I had done something wrong. As I most likely had, by carrying out the micro-aggressions that we are taught at such a young age. I had not asked to be white, it was just genetics. But by being white, I held the privilege

Have you ever been followed around a store? I have realized I'll always be viewed as the bottom notch in American culture, probably in the world. Being a black girl in America makes it hard to ever forget 2014's year of lessons, surprises and series of reality checks.

Left, right, left right left! Eight states - in which you absolutely love or simply just hate- two elementary schools, five middle schools, and three high schools all throughout my childhood. At times I could not actually tell individuals where I’m from or even tell them who I truly was as a person. Having those moments where you never understood why you had to leave those friends that you created such a strong bond with. It doesn’t hit you until years that it’s just not society that emerges throughout life: it’s our allies that develops and matures, as do ourselves, and our tie with those friends (Flinn, J., 2004). I finally understand how moving every eighteen months has influenced my scope on society as a whole. It shows how “sites undergo

As an African-American women living in a modern society realistically I have a disadvantage over the majority. Those circumstances clearly manifest manifest in passive aggressive ways in my daily life. Ultimately, it trickle down to me going that extra mile to gain everyones approval in order to beat the typical stereotypes. This endless cycle allowed certain people to gain power in control. Meanwhile, as I press to prove my worth my value went down. One day I was reflecting on my life, specifically relationships and I realized that the people I tried to

I am Black or African American, however society wants to call it. Sometimes people that because I am a lighter complexion that I have an advantage and that is definitely not the case. Unfortunately, I can remember the first time I was exposed to racism. I was in Wal-Mart with my mother standing in line and to pass time i was reading the cover of the magazines. A Caucasian lady had the nerve to say "that n***** know how to read!" As a child I didn't understand but my mother was irate. That stuck with me for a while, and it doesn't get any better when you go into stores and you are followed because of the color of your skin. At that moment I was old enough to realize what was going on and I walked out the store. I see now what my parents meant

I am jaded. I feel empty on the inside. It’s difficult to even describe my feelings at the moment, especially after the recent events. As I wear this skin, fear and sorrow leaks from the depths of my soul. I feel numb. African American’s are persecuted and mistreated, and I am just supposed to take it? Yes, I am supposed to take it, or become another hashtag. This time, it will say #ANOTHERANGRYBLACKwoman. At work, I hear people talking about the recent homicides of black men, and it angers me. I sometimes wonder if I should speak up about the situations, or justify the actions of the police along with the white men, as the sip their coffee in the morning.

The role that my racial identity has played in shaping my educational and career goals begins with how it has shaped me as a person. Growing up as Half-Somali and Half-White and learning to embrace my biracial identity was one of the biggest struggles I have overcome. Being faced with a severe lack of representation and microaggressions as something that I dealt with my entire life, and still continue to. Now, the difference is how I feel about my racial identity. Before, one of the main aspects I dealt with is not feeling fully accepted by either side of my identity and by society as a whole. My parents separated when I was two, and I have lived with my mother since. This isolated me from my Somali identity completely. Although my mother did

While completing my handout I realized things about myself that I never really thought about. First, I can say that it was very easy to determine the first question. As I know that I am Caucasian. However, I realized that it may not be so easy for my daughter. This is due to the fact her father is multiracial to begin with so I don’t know what racial group she would like to place herself in. Furthermore, one could see that for many Americans that are of a multiracial decent could be confused having to select one particular race or being subjected to writing in their own response.

“Jeez, I need to get into shape,” I thought as the train doors closed. Saying a quick prayer, I scanned for an open seat on the packed train. “Yes,” I whispered to myself, hiking to the only available seat. As I approached, the lady in the next seat over locked eyes with me and quickly placed her bag on the empty seat. “I’m waiting for someone!” she scolded. Nodding, I stumbled to the standing area. I waited and waited for the lady’s friend’s arrival. It never happened; instead, I heard her on the phone talking about “the dirty black girl” who tried to sit next to her.

After a quick glance at the image, the most prominent feature on my slowly-paling face is the black glasses that protrude from my slim face. Next-most prominent is my rather large nose and flowing light-brown hair, that frames my face and hides my ears. Combined, I am the epitome of a suburban Caucasian teen, where my northern European heritage continues to shine through generations of mixed ancestry and Americanization. But, my racial background allows any viewer to develop a myriad of correctly, and sometimes incorrectly, drawn conclusions. The photo allows the viewer to define me by stereotypes ingratiated in society. Knowing no background on this photo, I am surmised by my mundane appearance, clothing, and racial identity as a normal white

My hair is a kinky, knotted, mess. When I was 2 years old I moved to Canada from Jamaica. Being so young I did not experience much of a culture shock. I considered myself simply Canadian, rejecting any hints of the culture of my ancestors. I was so desperate to fit in, I was willing to change myself in anyway, I did not want to be considered Jamaican, Jamaican-Canadian, even the word “black” rubbed me the wrong way. Identified me as something different. I begged my mom to straighten my hair, as to not look different than the other girls, disregarding the beauty, meaning, and power wrapped in the kinks.

I am black but I’m also american, a girl and gay. All those things shouldn’t matter but in this country that matters alot. Everyone has their perspective of what I am but honestly I just want to be identified simply as me. But in this day and age I have to have a bit of background information on the side so I won’t get those awkward question such as. “Are you mixed you look a bit chinese with those almond eyes?” “Oh I love your hair what are you mixed with?” To be quite honest I have no idea but I do know that I’m black no doubt about that and I have a few perks to being black but also a few set backs as well. I think that I’m at the point of internalization-commitment because I see no one for their color but more of their character and how

Everyone in this world is tied to a race that provides information about their lives. Phyllis Katz, a professor in the University of Colorado, mentions that children these days are beginning to notice racial differences and come up with their own interpretation of it. I completely agree with Katz because when I was a child I used to notice racial diversity. Back in Kuwait, we have maids that are from different races that aid us in our households. When I was a child, I noticed that they were not, “like us”. No one informed me or gave me a lesson on different races. I witnessed everything by myself. They looked different than us, which gave out the obvious. My parents in fact did not tell me which group I belonged to. Kuwait is a small country where almost everyone knows each other. That being

Unacceptable asking whether I was white or black? MIXED RACE? Are you mixed with something? I would respond by saying "YES!! With Confusion, " I am standing there staring like what would be your reasons for asking these hurtful questions? Already frustrated and filled with animosity dealing with this type conduct was like being in middle of a river in a canoe with no paddles or car that lost its engine. Evidently asking me all those questions didn't help matters,