Personal Narrative: Race And Ethnic Identity

Throughout my life, I have struggled with accepting my cultural identity. My parents were born and raised in India, but I was born here, in the United States, and hence, born an American citizen.

My pre-adolescent years were spent in a community thick with diversity. My friendships were as diverse as the environment in which I lived. It never struck me that racial and ethnic ideals separated people in society. However, upon moving to a predominately white upper-class community I began to question such racial and ethnic ideas. From my adolescent years through today I began noticing that certain people are viewed differently for reasons relating to race and ethnicity. As a result, the most recent community I grew up in has kept me sheltered from aspects of society. As a product of a community where majorities existed, I found myself unexposed to the full understanding of race and ethnicity. Prior to the class I had never fully dealt with issues of race or ethnicity, as a result I wondered why they would be of any importance in my life.

Truth to be told: I don’t particularly pay attention to national events or issues. My family is also incapable of comprehending national issues, especially my parents who do not have any level of proficiency in English. My family lives in a world where we go with the flow, but there are issues that I contemplate whether or not I should be involved in, particularly race inequality. Considering the amount of tension between policemen and African-American around the nation, the race to equal treatment is still ongoing.

Too black for the White kids, yet somehow too white for the Black kids, oh the perils of a cappuccino mixed race kid. But it’s true. My life since I was young, at least younger than my eighteen year old self, has been about which group do I most fit in with. Between the four school changes over the course of twelve years, all in white suburban towns I’ve molded myself into an array of characters.

I am a 17 year old Hispanic female who was born in Denver, Co. I now live in the northern part of Denver. I attend an Apostolic church and participate in many of their activities.

I woke up thinking this is the day, the day that I would have to try my best. On October 21, 2017 in Rapid City, South Dakota the day of my biggest cross-country race had come. It was state. I felt very thrilled and nervous that the day had come.

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

Starting on my mother’s side of the family, I will start with her mother background. My great grandmother, was black, and as far as we know he parents were black as well. However, my great-great grandmother, the mother of my great grandfather was Panamanian and my great-great grandfathers, the father of my great grandfather had a Panamanian mom and a Spanish Indian and Jamaican father. My great grandfather however called himself a British subject, he was born in Panama however lived in the British west indies. My great grandfather followed his aunt to Boston because allegedly his mother died giving birth to a younger sibling and his father remarried and the step mother and my great grandfather were unable to get along. Therefore, my grandmother would be considered

Growing up, I always felt like an outsider. I yearned for a sense of belonging, but I would always have to bring myself to a constant realization about the implication of my existence—I was black and white, not one or the other, but both. The continual task of “checking one box” on surveys and papers didn’t really help the situation either. Being the product of an African-American father and an Irish-American mother made me appreciate and understand all the variations of race and culture in the spectrum, but it also left me in this murky-gray area with no sense of direction—a feeling that most multiracial

My first recollection of race was daycare. I remember seeing many different skin and eye colors but didn’t understand how they were so much more different than me. I recall asking my mother why I didn’t have green eyes and how my skin color was different. She explained everyone is made differently that’s what makes them unique. My first recollection of racism was in third grade. The nurse came to the classroom to check the classroom for lice. Myself and a few other classmates weren’t checked properly because she didn’t want to touch our hair. Instead of bringing us out individually she called us by a group which made me feel different. Also, I was told it’s impossible to get lice because of the hair products used.

While looking for studies for this literature review, it was found that there are not many peer reviewed journals on narrative identity and race. There were only about 150 studies that have the same basis as this study and this illustrates that this topic is still a relatively new idea and needs more research to break ground on narrative identity and race identity. In a similar research study, oral and written race narratives were collected from 80 self-identified Black and Multiracial students at a historically Black university using the Guided Race Autobiography and the Race Autobiographical Memory Questionnaire (Mangum 2011). Race narratives (N = 447) were coded for narrative structure, race thematic content, and emotional tone, while descriptive

Race has shaped our world greatly, as we have slowly learned that just because someone’s skin is darker does not mean they are any less of a person. For example, Rosa Parks was one of the first black people to stand up for themselves. Black people were told to sit at the back of the bus but Rosa did not follow these rules. She was asked to move but she did not give up her seat, that was closer to the front. She taught us that just because she is black does not mean she deserves less respect. Another example is, Hate Crimes.in 1989 a law was passed that added the black community to hate crimes, which means that if someone hurt them because of the colour of their skin there will be severe consequences. This was passed to show that the government

Racial Inequality Situation : A black man in jail thinking about the unfair society I had a pencil the year I came to jail It wore out in a week from writing Penning down my thoughts for all I can Crying in the jail cell counting the bars I sat down on the cold floor with many scars I was all alone No family, no friends, separated from home

Someone else may not come to terms with their racial identity through the exact stages that I have but, I have gone through most of the stages and that has helped to shape who I am right now. Although I am still going through the last couple stages, these realizations are helping me fully come to terms with being a Mexican American in a mainly white dominated society. The day I met my biological father was the day I learned that I was Mexican.

Two years ago I joined a no-cut rowing club. At the time I was not what you would call athletic. I took up the sport because I thought it resembled rowing a whitewater river raft. I couldn't have been more wrong in my life.