Stereotypes: A Short Story

Racial stereotypes have always been a serious issue in society. The stereotypes impact many aspects of our life. We more or less get carried away by our perceptions toward race, and judge people in a certain frame unconsciously, as Omi set forth in In Living Color: Race and American Culture. Taken by Hilary Swift, this photo presents an African American woman, waiting for a bus that can take her to the Kitchen of Love, a food pantry that located in Philadelphia aiming to feed people suffering from hunger, where she volunteers. It happens in dawn so it’s still dark outside. The surroundings give us an idea that it should take place in a black neighborhood (Stolberg “Black Voters, Aghast at Trump, Find a Place of Food and Comfort”). The woman is staring at the direction where the bus is coming, with a smile on her face. As a photojournalistic image, this photo is aiming to portrait a kind and helpful African American woman, however, does this photo really “positively” portrait an African American woman?

The danger of a single story is that they let the powerful downgrade the weaker because they create stereotypes, they can hurt the people, and no one gets represented from the culture.

She had a healthy body, she was intelligent. She had an “abundant sexual drive and possessed strong arms and back,” (2, 8-9). She was herself blind to her own positive qualities as she was too busy trying to please others with her looks, “she went to and fro apologizing,” (2, 10). She apologized to everyone for her imperfections. The imagery of, “Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs” (2, 11), portrays the indifference society felt towards her. She wanted to be appreciated, but she was only seen her for her looks and not her inner self. She had learned from the time she was a child her imperfections made her not good enough or socially

“That’s why they were only taking a few things at a time; they weren 't really coming for ivory and paintings. They wanted me!” Even when she wasn’t in her room she was always afraid of something. “I always dreaded that my parents would divorce. It was my third biggest fear, right next to the fear that one of them would get abducted by heartmen on the road to Sugar Beach, or my first fear, that I would get sucked into the lagoon by neegee.” Out of all three fears only one seemed to happen. Her parents relationship finally came to an end after a lot of fighting, disagreement, and cheating. “Daddy, I hold your foot, don’t leave us. Daddy, please, I beg you” she cried that day. From then on, except the servants and cook, “it was only women at Sugar Beach.” Even after dealing with something so hard in her life that wasn’t even what affected her the most.

The single story is about how a people stereotypes one another based on what they learned through books, media, people, and other sources. For example, Chimamnda announced how she viewed Mexicans as immigrants and them trying to get through the borders, but the moment she stepped foot into Mexico the perspective she got from other sources changed everything. She was ashamed of herself because when she visit the view was completely different because what she saw was happiness, love, and fun. The single story is an image that is created based upon information that was given, but not on your own perspective. In other words, it is the truth to the reality. For example, when people hear of Niagara everyone think of land, poor, Africa, homeless,

Lux stands there motionless. Mallory and Anastasia run over embracing her. Walking her over to the couch to sit down.

The past was best left in the past. Forgotten and ignored, buried in oblivion, and omitted from the present. That’s how one survives. That’s how one gets from day to day without breaking down in a puddle of mush. It didn’t work to face the problem, to confront it head on with the conception that you could overcome. That was just a fantasy, like fairy tale stories it was unrealistic. I learned the way to survive is by stuffing the invasion of feelings that surface when the bloodcurdling past threatens to suffocate you. If PHDs were awarded for perfecting this talent I would be first on the list to receive one. At least I thought so, at least up until this point it was my greatest ally and friend. But looking into the mirror now trying to focus

“Elders, this is a scan of Katherine Ayla Regan’s brain when she arrived here yesterday. I’d like you to note the unusual activity in the parietal lobe. She tapped the screen, and the parietal lobe became greater. Kat looked at the screen confused. A weird pink light was pulsing across the lobe.

As I claimed the faded, chipped three blue steps of the bus, when I looked up I saw my fellow class mates, or as I called them Idiots of the World. There was three people in a one set, making them look like rats in a small cage squealing uncontrollably to be released. They kept turning over the papers, now wet and ripped, to their friends. They must have split up to find answers, or they were hopping the other got the answers they didn't bother to even attempt to get.

Lately the news cycle has been dominated by extreme violence, one of the main protagonists in these news is race. Particularly black people being assassinated. This trend even though poignant, is not new to us, as citizens of the twenty-first century. The world is beautiful, but also a dangerous place, we have famines, plagues and wars. The world changes all the time and this can be scary. People deal with these fears in different ways; some chose to adapt, some futilely fight to conserve the illusion of the present. Some chose to extend their hand to help their brothers through times of crisis, some, out of fear, chose to close the door when those who need help knock. Fear evolves into hate, and hate gives birth to the wort side of humanity. We are our worst when we hate, the world has seen the birth of hate groups, such as The KKK, Nazi Party, ISIS, Extreme Black Separatists movements etc. A Kraken, is the beast that represent these hate groups, they are all different tentacles coming from the same head: Hate. And the tentacles, hate groups, the only one thing that separates one tentacle from another is who they bind and kill. The Neo Nazis are one example of fear channeled through hate, Neo Nazis believe that the Arian (white) race is superior to all other races. Moreover they believe that it is their duty to maintain the Arian race pure

A barrier to my personal engagement in culturally competent practice with Muslims is that I am still trying to figure out how to rationalize my negative thoughts and fears that I hold towards this group. In addition, I am still learning and growing personally in my cultural development. When still trying to learn and grow personally, being competent can be difficult, because I am not yet competent within myself. Before I can assist anyone else in attaining their personal values, beliefs, whether related to cultural ties or not, I need to be aware of my own values and beliefs that lie within my faith and cultural background; I need to become more culturally aware of myself. (Lum, 2011).

My story begins with short lived relationship, that left my mother pregnant. Other family members decided that she was not fit to be a parent, because she was not finically stable, emotionally stable, had a lot of bad habits, and had many unstable relationships. They also deemed my father as being unfit to parent because they did not know him well enough, was finically not stable, was part of a gang, had many bad habits and, though I believe my family will not admit it, is Hmong. Leading me to be raised by my grandmother and great aunt, both Caucasian. This led to 18+ years of an identity crisis. Although I present as Asian, my actions do not fit the stereotypes of “Asians” or “Whites”. Never did I know who to be, as I grew up as being one

When I was only a little girl, I had been told that true beauty came from within. Yet as I grew up, I noticed that looks mattered. From their attractiveness, race, age, or gender, anyone’s image was always up for scrutiny. Under those circumstances, I grew up thinking that if people were to judge me based on my appearance, that I should judge them the same way. Though, as I became older, I at some point learned that how a person looked wasn’t always in their range of control. A person simply isn’t born with the choice of picking what they look like, nor are they born with the choice of having a genetic disorder or disease. In that case, I believe that nobody should be defined purely based on what they look like.

Technically, you know that it’s a week like any other: seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours, 10080 minutes, and a shit ton of seconds. But then again, if it really was like any other week, you wouldn’t be lying in your bed, incredibly awake, at three AM.

As I walked out of my nine-story apartment complex, I saw an interesting array of faces. Mixed genders, some male, some female, all very different deep down inside. I study their faces, wondering what it'd be like to walk a day in their shoes. Some people are like open books, you can look at their facial expression and instantly guess what their emotions are, yet others are like locked diaries. You can't tell what they're thinking and you'll probably never know. I shake the thought out of my head as I rummage through my pathetic excuse of a handbag, pulling out my most recent bank statement. Thirty-two cents to my name. How do I live like this? My train of thought is lost as my mind ponders elsewhere. Do you think people can tell I'm a broke