Every morning I wake up to a stream of notifications from social media. It usually goes something along the lines of: a friend tagged me in a post on Facebook. A classmate liked my picture on Instagram. Someone I follow on Twitter is engaged in a Twitter feud about politics. I follow the thread and read what they have to say, but I almost never comment. Typically, it is not my story to tell.
Shortly after the election, the government tried to defund Planned Parenthood, a non-profit organization that provides reproductive health services. Planned Parenthood plays a critical role in our community by providing affordable medical care, educating the community on various health issues and advocating for health care for all. If it were to be defunded, disadvantaged women would struggle to get the services they need. As a woman, I am angry. But it is not my story to tell.
One night at dinner, someone brought up the topic of African American hair, and her fascination surrounding my friends' culture. While everyone at the table knew she was coming from a place of genuine curiosity, my friends, many of whom are women of color, felt offended. My friend went on a long rant afterwards, going on and on about that person's ignorance. As she stopped, she noticed I fell silent. I, too, felt the discomfort. But it is not my story to tell.
Last Sunday morning, as Noah was driving Elijah, La'Dericka, Joanna and I back to campus from church, we drove by a protest against the newest executive order on the streets of Boston. I could tell you about the injustice associated with the ban that applies to seven Muslim-majority countries from entering the United States and how it is against the foundation America was built on. This executive order shocks me. But it is not my story to tell.
All of those are examples of stories and topics I care about. But there is a difference between being someone who is directly affected and someone who is an ally. On most days, I fall under the latter. It is not in my domain to tell someone else's story, someone else's struggle and someone else's pain. I can support them and use my privilege to fight with them, but I cannot tell their story as my own.
As for my own story – my story is less complex than most. I am lucky my story does not revolve around the color of my skin; despite being a person of color, my racial identity does not negatively impact my life. It is a tale of self-discovery, self-acceptance and a search for a sense of belonging. It blends together the darkness of depression and the pursuit of happiness. It ties in my Chinese heritage to my Christian identity.
That is my story, and it is mine to tell.
