Growing up mixed has been nothing less than beautiful. With the soul in our food, comfort of our traditions, and the combination of cultures in this melting pot of morals and values; I couldn't imagine it anything but.
… But, by the power of pigment I apparently don't understand my own make up of colors. Because according to You, I am white. This mixed girl has skin far too fair to be of the black people. And my attitude, far too calm to be of Hispanic descent. Wait, until I get angry then it is OK to identify my fast pace of tongue with my Puerto Rican blood. But in Her eyes, I am a product of many. Recognizing my unique blend she embraces my identity with the mixed race; only because she is just like me.
Then there is He, he who just cannot grasp a clue. On sight of my thick curly hair and this figure of curves he acknowledges my color. But in my skin sees none. Confused and uneducated, his kind ask "so, what are you anyway?" With that high pitched question mark and a twisted face, as if I am of some odd species. And each time, identical to the last, I take a deep breath and a smirk covers my face as I anticipate the "no you're not, you're white" response that's dying to roll off your stern tongue.
So, then what am I?
Acting as if You know best. With no hesitation, telling me of my own ancestry. Judging by my outer shell that it must be obvious what I hold within this fair colored skin.
So go ahead, You tell me, what am I?
Because by my understanding, people like me have not always had the ability to identify freely. Giving the option to choose "other" on documented forms is no way to represent my build of white, black, Hispanic and ... I could go on for days. So, silly me to think that there would be a box for this mixed girl. Because this "other" space is where You throw us “misfits” that you can't quite decide what to do with just yet. And here we are following the trend, without really questioning "Is this where we belong?"
No! So, with this mixed girl being just as much human as any other, I am here to tell You ...
The power of my pigment stands far above that boxed marked "other," that box created by the You, the Her, and the Him. Not at all to say we are the only ones unfairly treated, or to say that we deserve special treatment. But to say more often than others, those that differ from You suffer to be recognized in the same delight. So, this here is to remind you that the power of my “other” is what makes my world beautiful.
It has formed my childhood into this tiny tree growing continuously from various roots. Roots which work together to dig deep in binding a strong foundation for me to embrace and believe in. Roots that have grown into adulthood and given me the courage to stand up to You, to stand up for Me. These roots have empowered this mixed girl with my strengths, values and wide degree of perspectives that I need to view others in the same equality.
So finally, I am here to tell You, the power of my pigment, correction ... the power of Our pigment, whether it be visible to the eye or not, is what makes our world uniquely beautiful.
