I’m Blackity, Black, and I’m Black yall. When it comes to my racial identity, I prefer to identify as Black. Because of something called the African Diaspora, I’m not privileged enough to know my full ancestral background and the land in which my family lineage comes from. I’m Black and that’s the only way I know how to identify. There was never one clear moment where I truly became aware that I was Black. However, thinking back on the times when I was younger, I always had Black baby dolls or I begged to be Princess Jasmine because she was the brownest princess I knew of at the moment. Around second grade, schools stressed how important Barack Obama’s election was for us as young Black students. And every year, since I could remember, Black History Month has always been apart of my life. There was never a time I had to question whether or not I was Black. It was only until I got old enough to understand certain issues, that I really started asking questions and having in-depth conversations about race.
I started to really learn about the things that Black people, just like me, had to go through. Everyone knows history and everyone knows the story. Our ancestors were taken from their land and were spread all over the world. Knowing that information, it led me to wonder and dream about where I possibly can be from. I have to miss out on knowing key parts of myself because our ancestors were taken and stripped of their native cultures and languages. It’s like you know there is this greater story but there are pages missing from the book. Society paints this picture and writes this story making you believe that you will only end up one way as a Black person. They try to make you believe you’re inferior to everyone else, so it’s your duty to go against that and write your own story.
When growing up and living as a Black person, you have to go through everyday fighting against those stereotypes to prove you are way more than that. Because of who I am and who my ancestors were, I have not been given the choice to ignore or forget those struggles. I remember being either seven or eight watching a show on Nickelodeon. There were four main cast members and only one of them was Black. My young curious mind asked, “why is there only one Black person?” That is when an aunt of mine informed me of something called the token Black person. I always learned about Black history and heard various issues about race in America but I was young and didn’t fully become aware. It wasn’t until fifth grade when the killing of Trayvon Martin happened. This was a situation that fully opened my eyes and made me realize there is a racial issue in America and society. Since then, my innocence about race has been taken and I’m pretty sure every Black person has a situation that made them realize the overall controversy pertaining to race. Having that consciousness creates a constant feeling of anger, sadness, and hopefulness. I’m suffering because I’m angry. I’m angry because we have to go through this and people are ignorant of that fact. I become sad for the younger generation of Black girls and boys because they will have to go through the exact same thing if things don’t change. Lastly, I become hopeful because I know my ancestors were strong. If they can live through it, I’m led to believe that I can live through it too.
Being aware of my racial identity allows me to know that there is a reason that I am here. If my ancestors weren’t strong and if they didn’t continue to fight then the lineage would’ve stopped with them and there wouldn’t be me. It’s helpful to know that I come from something so powerful. Throughout history, I can find that there were people that look like me that accomplished and became something I want to be. There are certain moments when I’m surrounded by other black people and we’re all being unapologetically Black. Those are the moments where I feel safest and feel at home. Then there was the time where I decided to cut my hair and go fully natural. I feel that was the moment where I felt one hundred percent sure of who I am. I previously was getting perms to fit the standard of having straight hair, with the subconscious notion that Black hair is hard to deal with. Thus, putting a negative connotation on our hair and its texture. Not realizing the strength and beauty of our hair. Not knowing that there was a time where they forced us to cut our hair to try and strip us of our identity. Not knowing that our hair is versatile and magical. I was stripping the strength, magic, and identity of myself. But once I cut my hair and began my natural hair journey, I felt free. The idea of identity became very clear. I am Black but I am also unapologetically strong, beautiful, and magical.
As Black people, we constantly are going through a cycle of awakening and self-awareness. Trying to maneuver through society and the limitations that are put on us. But as a people, it is our duty to continue to pass the legacy of greatness along and also break the cycle of unawareness of ourselves and our identity. And it is important to know that Black is beautiful. Black is strong.
The Reflection Room 