My Journey In Blackness

If you're not somewhat awake right now, then I suggest that you take a good look in the mirror and ask yourself, why? The live murder of George Floyd has sent out an electric shock to many individuals, causing us to wake-up from the ways in which we have been functioning, for decades. We all have our stories of how we were shaped into who we are, today. Many have been blinded by their privilege; benefiting from its glory, others aware of their privilege, but unsure as to what it means; some are born into an oppressive system, others assimilate to the injustices in their societies, most likely causing a variety of continuous external and internal battles, and there are those that are completely lost; struggling with their racial/and or ethnic identity. I can sit here and list all of the possible examples of the ways in which individuals have been living their lives, but those aren't my stories to tell. One thing is certain, amongst the uncertainty, and that is that we all have a voice and the means to share our stories, weather it is to try and be understood, seek clarity and hope, educate, document or simply be heard, whatever the case may be, this is the time to use our voices.

I'll start by admitting that I have been very fortunate in life. I have been blessed with a loving and caring family, I've always had a place to call home with food on the table, and I've had the opportunity to seek and complete higher education. At the end of the day, I go to bed feeling supported, loved and safe, despite what the world may throw at me. However, I am a Black Dominican-American woman, an Afro-Latina. I realize, now, that I have been trying to figure out what that means for a very long time. The first time that I felt like an 'other' was when I was 5-years old. I noticed that the prettiest girl in class had a much lighter complexion than mine, and bright hazel eyes. Till this day, I remember her name. All the boys liked her, and I couldn't help but wish that I were as pretty as she was. At the same time, I also noticed that my only friend, who was Dominican, also had dark skin. I internalized this knowledge and kept it moving.

Growing up, I had to keep flattening my nose, so it 'wouldn't grow wider.' My curls eventually became 'too much,' so my hair was relaxed, and I got to the point that if I saw one strand of baby hair act up, I would literally freak out and request a blow-out. I saw very little of myself in television and in books that it became very clear that I was the anomaly in the equation. So, like many Black girls at the time, I became obsessed with making sure that I conformed as best as I could to societies euro-centric beauty norms. Let me tell you, it's very exhausting when you don't have many of those features and it's practically impossible to fit those norms; thick thighs and big booties did not become a thing, until recently.

It wasn't until I moved to New Jersey, from New York City, that I truly became aware of race and ethnicity. In New Jersey, I started understanding what was 'privilege.' Though you could be black and very fortunate, you could never be black and privileged. My first day of high school was also the first day that I ever stepped foot into a room full of white individuals. I felt very uncomfortable and bizarre. I internalized that feeling and kept it moving. This period of my life helped me embrace my Latinidad, but also taught me to always be alert, cautious, and uncomfortable in white spaces. That has not changed, till this day. In high school, I learned that to be white, or to be a Latina with euro-centric features, meant to have the upper hand. Nonetheless, high school taught me determination and relentlessness. Ironically and unconsciously, I learned that I would always have to work twice as hard and prove people wrong.

In college I became alive. I understood that I was Black, and it was freeing. Though sometimes it did pain me, and I wished that I wasn't. Let me explain, for those who might be confused. In New York, I understood that I was an 'other,' along with many of my classmates. It all made sense, in a way. In high school, I started to understand what it meant to be Dominican. It was fun. I spoke Spanish outside of my home, even more than usual. I embraced my culture and everything that it offered. I absolutely loved being Dominican and everything it represented, even if it meant that society deemed me 'different,' if you asked me, it was better than not having that sazón in my life. Then when I got to college, it became clear that I was not only Dominican, but that I was also Black. I felt drawn towards Black culture and everything that it was offering me. I felt a welcoming that I didn't feel in the Latinx community. I felt pretty again. Being Black and Latinx just didn't seem to be a 'thing.' There were many times that I felt less than and/or like something was off, when I was around the Latinx community, but again it was something that I just continued to internalize. Ultimately, I ended up creating my own world. I joined a Latinx based Sorority, where I was able to embrace my culture, and share those Latinx vibes, but spent most of my time in the Black community, where I felt more myself.

After I graduated, ironically, the Black Latinx culture started to rise. I started to see a bigger Black presence in the Latinx community that I honestly, didn't know existed. It just goes to show how deep in our own bubbles we can be. When I found out that there were Black Colombians, Ecuadorians and Mexicans, I was in complete shock! Were they hiding?! (I'll admit that I mainly stuck to French history for most of my academic life.) It was something beautiful to learn, though. I started embracing my Blackness, even more. I stopped relaxing my hair; I started accepting my body and started getting angry. This meant that more people wanted to: touch my hair, ask me where I was from, question why I was "darker than most Dominicans," and some even went as far as double-checking with me that I wasn't from Haiti, the list is insufferable. I started paying more attention to the looks I would get in white spaces, and I also paid more attention to how I was treated by other Dominicans. This time I didn't internalize it, I just kept opening my eyes and kept it moving.

In the wake of the George Floyd's murder, and the uprising of the Black Lives Matter movement, everything that I have internalized, throughout the years, has awoken inside of me. It has been years of struggling with who I am and how I look; years of always trying twice as hard, and I am officially tired. I am tired of being belittled here, there and everywhere. If you're Black, well then you're a problem. If you're Latinx, well you're also a problem. If you're a woman, oh no, now, you're a nuisance. If you're born in America, you simply just don't belong; if you go back to your home country, you also don't belong. Where does it end? When/where does acceptance begin? It's exhausting always being on alert, always feeling uncomfortable, always watching if you're being 'appropriate,' always feeling like you are out of place.

This is where it starts. It starts with sharing our stories. We have to start listening to one another. Start understanding our paths and what has led us to where we are, today. We must work together, in order to pave the way and create a better future for those coming after us. My fellow white folks, (Latinx folks included) this does not mean apologize to your Black friends or to sympathize with their journey, it simply means to join our fight, in spreading awareness, and in building something better. Also, share your stories too; have those difficult conversations and find the common ground, but don't stay silent because that's when you're complicit. Don't be afraid of taking action because that's also remaining complicit. Action can mean many things; do your research. There's no excuse. The time is now.

My Journey With Books