How To Be A Black GirlPosted in Articles, Autobiography, Media Archive, United States on 2015-12-28 02:06Z by Steven |
Thought Catalog
2014-12-03
Carmen Molina
Chicago, Illinois
I will always feel a little strange calling myself a black girl.
Whenever I am at a party or somewhere where there are new people to meet, the question that every mixed girl gets asked at least once a week, every week, for all of her life comes up.
“What are you?”
This question doesn’t offend me like it offends others of mixed race. I don’t necessarily see it as ignorant, like others do. The person doing the asking most likely thinks that I am interesting looking and I usually take it as a compliment of sorts.
What is irritating about the question is that I never know quite how to answer it. It always causes anxiety. I stammer my way through what I hope is a passable response, finish with a nervous smile and then immediately ask them where they got their shoes to distract them so that I don’t have to talk about it anymore.
This tactic works almost every time… but every once in a while someone calls my bluff and asks me to explain.
And how can I? It’s very difficult to explain it to a stranger when no one ever really explained it to me.
Here is what I know…
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