Growing up I was naïve and shielded from the hatred and ignorance in the world. I had never experienced racism for myself but I knew of the cruelties of America as well as it’s hateful past. Although I grew up in the South, I never felt that I would experience racism. I grew up in a predominantly Black neighborhood and went to a predominately Black school. But over the course of 3 years I began to realize that that ideology was completely ignorant living in a society where people of color are oppressed through separation and deprivation.

As we were in Performing Arts, me and my teammates had a very heated discussion on the topic of race. One girl made the comment suggesting that I was White and Asian. Based solely on that fact that, at the time, I could not recall any predominantly Black movies or directors and had diverse interests, and implied that I appeared to be White or Asian. A surge of embarrassment and pain went through my body. I wasn’t being heard and their opinions were completely ignorant because I identified as Black. I never saw race, gender, or interests as a way to dislike someone. It was an idea foreign to my mind and body. Being called something that I didn’t identify with made me feel like a deserted graveyard empty of the bodies that were supposed to fill it. But it also confused me because I didn’t understand why it bothered me. I thought I was so secure in who I was. It could be the fact that I trusted my peers because we were all Black and identified deeply with our heritage. I had never felt this feeling before. The feeling of displacement in a community that I called my home. The feeling of constant disapproval from myself and others. The feeling of a deserted town, abandoned for its differences.

Because I didn’t want to cry at school, I cried to my Aunt who consoled me but also basically told me that my feelings weren’t valid. But I was still crippled by anger. Me and my aunt talking inspired me but made me feel similar to a deserted desert. I didn’t feel like anyone cared. No one was there to give me the water or comfort I needed. I felt like I was being excluded by a community that I loved to represent. I felt like I wasn’t Black enough. I became frustrated with the idea of people being stereotyped based on how they looked. I became frustrated with the ignorance and lack of sensitivity people had when approaching the idea of identity whether it was based on race, gender, or age. I began to realize that division was occurring between us. The separation our oppressor encouraged. This separation gave them the control and power.

But over time, I decided to not only not let people define me but to also be an advocate for people and encourage unity among women and people of color. I decided to speak up about body types, race, age, and religion because I felt that someone's interests and appearance is not an invitation to assume what they identified as. I decided to be an advocate for those things to ensure that America and society were not a comfortable place where identity was disrespected. The emptiness and loneliness I held on to during that entire situation fueled my passion to be a human rights activist. I wanted to ensure no one had to feel the embarrassment and confusion I felt about my identity just because someone jokingly questioned mine. What you are is what you choose to identify as, as an individual. I learned that despite what others say my feelings and opinions are always valid, no matter how big or small. Thanks to those ignorant comments, I gained a new voice that was stronger than before.

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