chicks, pants, showing it all, dancing


See the Shadows of Innocence and Sanity

a shadow of the day

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chicks, pants, showing it all, dancing
From Nisha.

I do not know who I am anymore.

I am a product of what I like to call Legal Schizophrenia. It is the breakdown of several identities that, basically, create who I am. What everyone sees, more importantly. Truthfully, it is not very basic at all.

I am half black and half white. (Not whole halves, mind you. The black side is ½ black and ½ Blackfoot Indian. The white side is 1/8 Irish, 1/16 French and Scottish, and ¾ English. I am really a mutt.) Now, because I realize both sides will remind me that I do not wholly belong, I tend to have no allegiances at all. My friends consist of loners, societal outcasts and the few popular people who are not as cruel as their reputation would have them be. But my identity....

I am black as far as the law sees. And that is beneficial. I receive scholarships and special treatment in the workplace. I have no reason to argue with that. And, as far as many people will see, I am black. I live in a black neighborhood. My hair is nappy (sorry... um... tightly curly?) and my nose is not classic. I do not sunburn much and I tan easily. My skin tone is more yellow than red and my body shape is atypical of the white race. For all intents and purposes, I look like a light-skinned black child.

This, in turn, gets me derision. Lower standards. Surprise when they find out what I am like beneath the surface. Unless my address and phone number changes, I will not be taken seriously for a high-paying job (considering the payment hierarchy: white man, white woman, black man, black woman. The last two subject to change based on skin tone, intelligence, and the ability to kiss white-corporate-butt), though I may be more than adequately qualified.

I am expected to act a certain way. And, when I do not, I get labeled as white.

And worse.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned against you in the worst way possible. I have made my vow to serve you wholeheartedly and I cannot, in all conscience, tell you that I am living up to that oath. In fact, I doubt that I am anywhere close to that lofty goal.

Each day, dear Lord, I find myself thinking that maybe I am not who I thought I was. Until sophomore year, I had no desire to be anything other than my mother’s daughter, my uncle’s neice... on down the line until there was finally me. And now.... And I know, in your eyes, in the eyes of my parents.... In the eyes of anyone who knows me… I remember reading about the way you view homosexuals. How you destroyed Sodom and Gommorah. How you gave them up to “unnatural appetite....” And I cannot bear to think that a Loving God would destroy his people.

I know that you would not see it the way I do, Lord. I did not care. …Not until this year. This year... when I found out about my friends and Dinah... and began to admire the many beautiful, but flawed boys I have come to know. I do not want to see them lose their lives because they do not fit the norm. I do not want to see them lose their lives because I am beginning to question my own assumptions about myself.

Forgive me, Father.

Forgive me, because despite my begging for forgiveness… I feel no true remorse. I just want to stay this way. The guilt is a pain in its own... it gives my heart a little start that could be a pleasure in itself.

Forgive me when I say that I do not particularly agree with you for the first time in my life and I have never wanted to feel this way. Forgive me when I say that I want to know the other side of the coin without you ringing down your judgment upon me.

I do not know who I am anymore. I do not know on what side I stand. All I know is that I stand.

For once, I stand.


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