Tag: indian

I am NOT for YOU

Published on by browngirltalksblog2 Comments

Since I started writing this blog, I’ve gotten a lot of mixed reviews.  I have had POC tell me they love what I’m doing, that I’m telling OUR stories and there are others who have had some not so nice things to say.  To them I just want to say that with exception to this post, THIS BLOG ISN’T FOR YOU-these stories, these experiences and this life I write about because I fucken live it, IS NOT FOR YOU.  It’s for POC of all genders and gender identities.  It’s for my friends and family who read these entries and say “shit I went through that too, I thought I was the only one.”  It’s for my nieces who will read these one day and be reminded they are not the only ones feeling out of place in an environment that wasn’t made for them and that there is a way to overcome those feelings of inadequacy if we stick together.  It’s for my parents who read this and are proud that their daughter isn’t afraid to speak her mind.  It’s for my mom who shares this on her Facebook and reminds everyone that her daughter is beautiful and brown with all those Mexican letters!  So I’m sorry non-POC this shit right heeeeerrrrreeeee?  It’s not for you.  (side note: if you don’t get this reference this is definitely NOT for you.)

It’s not for the guys who soon after I started this blog told me that I was “making up my struggle.”  It’s not for the guys that made fun of me at that bar and said the words “Brown Girl Talks” using air quotes and a whiny voice.  I’m not surprised you can’t relate to what I write about, even though it’s true, because you know what?  This is not for you.  It’s not for you to make the name of my blog into a joke and ask if I’m running on “Brown Girl Time.”  It’s not for you when you look down on me from your privilege pedestal and have the nerve to tell me that I’m exaggerating.  It’s not for you who think bringing up my experiences in a drunken conversation is OK.  It’s not for you non-POC who try to compare our experiences to show me it’s not as bad as I’m making it seem.  It’s not for you who think it’s ok to ask me if that’s what was said or if that’s just how I felt.  It’s not for you to read, judge and think you know enough about my WOC experiences to form an opinion one way or the other.  The only thing you accomplish when you guys do that is remind me that I have so much more story telling to do.

I remember coming home that night after the bar incident and feeling like these people I knew were laughing at me and making fun of this blog that I am so proud of.  I remember feeling those familiar fears of inadequacy when I left the bar in a huff because I was fighting back tears of embarrassment because at 29 I felt 12 years old all over again.  And, I remember thinking I’m embarrassing myself I’m taking it down tomorrow.   I didn’t take this down though and BGT lives on, because soon after I realized I don’t care what you have to say because this blog isn’t for you.

This place is not for the guy that told me I should go back to writing about how much I hate white people after commenting on a link he posted on social media.  It’s not for the people that call me a bigot because I call out people who don’t believe that under-represented populations deserve human rights.  It’s not for you who tells me you can point out how I’m  a reverse racist by looking at things that I’ve posted on my blog.  It’s not for people who tell me I should take the high road when someone shits on my gender or race because that’s what you did and look at you now.  This isn’t a I hate white people blog.  This is a crush the systematic oppression, discrimination and patriarchy blog and if you happen not to be an ally for those causes then maybe that’s why you’re feeling offended.  But guess what man?  Then this blog isn’t for you.

This isn’t a place for you to tell me how I should have dealt with my past experiences and why that would have been better in your eyes.  Maybe when you become a person of color you can have an  opinion about how to deal with being the victim of racial oppression but until then, this place is not for you.  Now at this point if you’re a non-POC (and you’re still reading) you might feel like “damn BGT what is for me?  You’re not being very inclusive in this post.”  To that I say, EVERYTHING is for you so please if you feel excluded right now, turn on your TV to any channel and see yourself and your ideas represented in any news or entertainment outlet because those are already all for you.  So unless you plan on being part of the solution on how to crush the above-mentioned systems, this blog is still NOT FOR YOU.

I am not here for your judgment and opinions on how I’ve dealt with situations and why your way might have been better.  I’m not here for what direction you think I need to take with this blog.  I am not here for a non-POC telling me how I should and shouldn’t be living my life as a WOC so if that’s what you’re here for, please hit the “x” at the top of your screen because then, this blog is not for you.  I’ll also direct you to read about your white privilege and how you all of those things are completely out of line but for now just remember, this is not for you.

This post and this blog however is for YOU.  You, the person that is still reading.  You, the person that read this and didn’t roll their eyes.  You, the one who read these posts and said to themselves “who the hell says that?” in response to these stories.  You, the non-POC who identifies and checks your privilege regularly and is part of this message of unity and diversity without belittlement, this IS for you. You’re an ally and for that I thank you because when I write, it’s for people like you too.  But the rest of you who are still reading to see how this ends and think I’m dramatic and should stop snapping my neck when I talk, this blog and this post is STILL NOT FOR YOU.

(shout out to the amazing writer and the founder of Latina Rebels, Prisa Dorcas Mojica Rodriguez  (Click here to check out her FB) who after one of these incidents I saw speak and she reminded me how important it was to tell my story, without her and my BGBF who was with me that night I would have stopped writing so to you both, this IS for you.)

Finding My Roots

Published on by browngirltalksblogLeave a comment

Hey everyone!  So something crazy happened after my first blog post, someone I had never met emailed me and asked me if she could contribute to my blog!  In all fairness, N.S. (not her real name), is a friend of a friend but we have never met and the only things we share are being brown and feeling out of place, especially now.

So here’s something I can relate to and hope you can to.  A little something from fellow brown girl, N.S.

Growing up in a privileged white suburb of Chicago the only thing I wanted was to fit in.  I wanted to feel like I had a place.  But no matter how well I dressed or how much I distanced myself from those the same color as me I was never welcomed into the society I so badly wanted to be a part of.

In middle school I was a victim of bullying.  I’m not talking about healthy teasing that builds character.  I’m talking about the kind of bullying where you wonder if anyone would miss you if you decided not to wake up the next day.  I got it from everyone-boys and girls.  It was about the color of my skin, about my looks or anything else they could come up with.  The power of those comments depleted my self confidence and self esteem.  But towards the end of middle school I realized the only way to put a stop to the bullying was to blend in with the others.  To become a person no one could say anything about.

In high school I put my new approach into use by camouflaging myself.  As many of you probably remember, Abercrombie was once all the rage.  So, it was only natural that a girl with my aspirations also wear the stone washed ultra low rise jeans, button down and puffer vest.  In my mind a non-white girl in A&F would get a lot more white cred than the one wearing Aeropostale.  Abercrombie’s genius marketing strategies played into my insecurities, promising me a different life where I’d frolic around with the pretty popular kids.  I bought into it.  And it never bothered me that their models never looked like me.  I didn’t even think twice when I went as an Abercrombie model for Halloween (long story) and was lectured by my neighbor about their unethical business practices and nearly pornographic poses.  These were my dreams, being a white girl that is.

I took pride in my white washed persona.  I  managed to maintain a secret life, one where I’d attend family functions dressed in cultural garb, speak a different language and eat the traditional food.  On the occasion that we’d have to make a stop at the grocery store on the way to the party or on the way back I was reluctant to get out of the car.  I was afraid of running into someone I knew from school and them catching a glimpse of this “other” person.  I had worked so hard to be like them, I couldn’t afford to ruin the reputation I had so carefully crafted.

I don’t remember when the shift happened, probably after I went off to college and returned home my first summer.  I began being described as “exotic”.  Because “pretty” for some reason wasn’t quite the right fit. Some of the formerly popular white guys even started to talk to me like I was human and with the same level of attention I’d seen them give the perfect blondes in high school.  For four years this is what I had wanted, to be seen as one of them. But when the moment finally came I couldn’t enjoy that victory.  I did not understand what had changed in just one year that made me good enough or safe to talk to. More than anything it made me sad and it is one of the many reasons why I left Chicago and don’t plan to come back.

Though today I live in a diverse city, I am still constantly aware that I am different from most.  Sometimes it’s because of the way someone looks at me or when I notice all of a sudden that I’m the only person of color in a meeting, room or bar.  Even when I date, every time I’m talking to a white guy and he ghosts on me I think to myself  “would it have gone differently if I were a white girl?”  As ridiculous as that thought may seem to others who haven’t experienced it, that is my reality and the reality for many, many others.  Despite this, I have realized that these differences give me my strength.   And though I may still be on a my own journey of self discovery, I am no longer ashamed of my roots, my identity or the color of my skin.  This is who I am and I choose to be me even if it’s not the easier path to be on.

One of the best parts of being a brown girl is comparing your brown girl experiences with friends and in my case (and now N.S.’s) strangers.  I recently developed this feeling that I had a duty to express my feelings and opinions–as if anyone cares what I have to say.  But, some of you do care and quite honestly it has been very therapeutic and apparently it’s helping some of you guys too, which is very cool.  In my opinion, sharing experiences is the best way for people from different walks of life to understand something they personally never had to experience.

Thank you, N.S. for your contribution, to the first of many I hope.  #browngirlsforever

-Brown Girls

 

Want to know more about N.S.?  Follow her on Instagram @ninsingh10

S/O to Rafael Corona for the Artwork up top! Check out more of his great artwork on Instagram @RCGallery

Follow me on Instagram @Brown_Girl_Talks