I’ve gone years trying to erase my heritage, to hide it from the eyes of my white peers, because all my life I’ve been taught white is beautiful, white is better, white is right.
I disrespected my own mother, not letting her speak to my friends when she came to visit at school, out of fear they’d ridicule her accent. I told her I hated the lunches she made for me, when I actually really loved them only because my white peers would scrunch up their noses at the unfamiliar smell.
I tried for years to hide my culture, never stepping out of the house in traditional garb unless it was absolutely dire, unless a white gaze wouldn’t touch me, staring at the foreignness. I’d never let my mother oil my hair out of fear that the remaining shine would make my white peers think my hair was as dirty as my brown skin.
I’ve gone years avoiding the sun, never letting it tan my skin, because the lighter I was, the better. Lighter was beautiful. Lighter was white. White was right.
I’ve gone years wishing I could clean my tongue of the language of my people, that my accent sounded just like my white peers, that they never knew I spoke a second language.
Years later I’m finally accepting my culture, my traditions, my heritage. Years later I’m finally on the path to loving my brown skin, not caring if I tan, eating whatever the hell I want for lunch, reviving the language dying upon my tongue, and accepting that my culture is my own, and it’s different, and that it’s something to be proud of and not something to hide.
Only to have that culture I’ve struggled and finally managed to love so dearly be thrown back in my face after being used and reused, it’s meaning lost on the white skin of it’s abusers.
Only to be told that my own culture looks better on that white skin anyway.
Only to be reminded that no matter how hard I try, my skin will always be dirty next to the clean white of my peers.
On being told that mehendi looked better on white skin than it did on mine. (via spoopylokis)
i want to cry because i relate to every single word
i tried convinving my friends that i was white and that was really tough and i never invited them over cus our house looked so very moroccan and i didn’t want them meeting my dad cus he does not look white at all and also his broken english and obvious accent would give it away
i was embarrassed to go to school after coming back from morocco after eid, i remember hiding my henna covered hands from people, i wore gloves all day at one point
my friends who i had known for 5 years didn’t even know i was moroccan. i remember they came to my house unexpectadly one day and they ended up meeting my dad cus he answered the door. “Is your dad English? he doesn’t sound English.” they said and i would try to avoid the question
oh if my dad was playing moroccan music in his car i would make him turn it off before he got to my school, i yelled at my dad for talking to me in darija in public, ect
i went to such great lengths to hide my cultural identity from people out of fear of being ridiculed and seen as an outcast
i can’t believe i felt like this. i don’t want any other brown kids feeling like this cus it fucking sucked it was horrible
teach your babies to love themselves and their culture.