What I can’t Deny…

I can’t deny that I am a mixed concoction of African American meets Caucasian persuasion. All of the standard traits one with a mixed heritage like mine possess.

Mixed complexion skin, not ivory or creamy at all, no I would never pass as a white woman. Yet, I am not the chocolate brown that cry’s out “She’s Black!” either. I am in a limbo of lost belonging on a bridge of strange, different... Some say “Exotic”.

Is it? Exotic? Or is that just the kind way of saying you’re weird, but it’s working for you.

"What are you?" I hear this often. My response, laugh out loud and turn it back on them, "What are you?"

Anyone else believe in the notion, 'It's not what you say but how you say it'? The question, what are you, even in the best of smiling intentions just rubs me the wrong way.

I can't deny, I can be a bitch at times. In my mind I yell, "I am a human being, a female human being to be more precise, or have you forgotten what mankind looks like? What are you!? Stupid?"

Oh, my bad… am I over reacting to what was a simple question? One of which I have no definitive answer for. Do I need to define for you “WHAT I AM”?

Grrr... I guess I do. It says right here on most forms – check the box – White, Black, Hispanic, Asian…  Am I wrong if I check both? It is the truth. White AND Black.

Turns out, census says I can only check ONE box. Why? Why do I have to choose? Why do I have to tell you “what I am” when even I am not sure.

Yes, I can’t deny, what I can’t truly define. This tanned, freckled nose, olive tone skin person.

I am caught between two races. Caught between two traditions. Caught between two lifestyles. Someplace in the middle I am.

My roots are mixed… Naturally my hair is kinky at the root, curly down the shaft and straight at the end. You tell me, what am I?

A hot mess is what! So I add a whole lot of product to my hair to maintain the frizz, to manage the thickness and give structure to an otherwise wild kinky mess.

I get comments on the thick complicated shoulder length curls. “Wow, you have a lot of hair!” “Is that natural” “I wish my hair would curl like that”.

Probably not if they knew you can’t run your fingers through it without getting caught up. I could smuggle drugs and contraband in this mane. Good luck running a brush through it when it’s dry, I have ruined several brushes and even more combs in an attempt to fight the curl.

So then I decided to straighten it with 500 degree heating irons and what was shoulder length is now down my back in a straight flowing mane. The reaction? 

“Did you get extensions?” “Is all that your hair?” Why do people feel compelled to ask this? Don’t they realize that is not a compliment? If it weren’t all my hair would I want to discuss that with you?

When I tell you yes, this is all my hair, will you then ask to touch it? Are you that curious or you just want proof? Do you find it hard to believe when my hair is washed and allowed to dry it kinks up about 5-6 inches so when straightened by heat the hair keeps its length? Well, it does. I can’t deny what can’t be defined.

My nose, this odd feature… not quite African wide, not quite pointed French, and yet the bridge hints of a native Indian. Is that exotic? It is like I carry a beautiful, expressive freak show on my shoulders.

Even my eyes are confused. Are they brown? No. Are they green? No. They are what has been defined as “hazel” eyes… Hazel? What is this freakish color? Brown in the center, fading outward to gold, to green to grey. This odd mix between light and dark.

“Are those your real eyes?”

Excuse me? I’m sorry, but who’s else would they be? Of course they are mine! I find myself offended. AGAIN. My God, why me!?! LOL!

I didn’t have this problem in high school. A compliment on my eyes were still a compliment back then before colored lenses became popular. But dammit! Why do people feel compelled to ask this? Why don’t they realize that is not a compliment? If they weren’t mine why would I discuss that with you? I can’t deny what can’t be defined.

My mouth is probably the only ordinary, average placement on my face. Or not… My lips are not thick and African traced like my mothers with the thick bottom lip and evenly matched top and they are not thin slivers of lips either like my fathers side. They are a mix with a full bottom lip and an average top lip.

I can’t deny that I am a woman. In every way I was born unto this world genetically bound by the laws of nature to define me as WOMAN. Hormonally woman, instinctively woman, physically and mentally, I am woman.