My Story #BlackLivesMatter

The day someone told me I looked like my mother, I almost cried. For years, I've always heard that I looked like my father. And when I think about it, I can maybe see it.

My nose.

My height.

And when my dad had hair, we have the same hair line. 

We especially can't forget these baby cheeks!

But when people say I look like my father, I wonder if that's what they see or if it's my beautiful milk chocolate skin that relegates me as black.

And that's why I look like my father.

Black = black, right?

I wonder, did other biracial kids ever think about this? Did they wonder if people thought of them as charity cases when they were with their white parent? That my white parent wasn't mine? 

So often, I would have these thoughts, but have no one to talk to about it.

Being biracial puts you in a spot that you can't get out of. I'm not fully black, but I'm not fully white. I will never know the true experience of either side. On one side, I'm supposed to have privilege and the other is oppressed and lost. I have both and none. 

I can't say when I started to put myself to a lower status than my own mother because of the color of my skin. I do know it was around the time I started to notice people's gazes on us. At some point, I would try to hide my 'blackness' when I was with my mother. I would take care of how I would speak. I would do whatever I could to promote my German half over my black half. 

And is that weird. I don't see my white half as white. But German. I have never labelled myself as "half-caucasian/white", only "half-German". Bi-racial and bi-cultural, that is who I am, but growing up, I couldn't reconcile both sides. 

Believe it or not, when I was younger, before the stares and fumbling attempts at adulting, I took pride in the color of my skin. It was what set me apart from those around me. Goodness, I can remember looking up to my older brother and thinking he was so amazing. And that I could never surpass how cool he was. 

But I had something he didn't have and that was my milk chocolate-y skin color. It was also the one thing that I could see at any time that I wanted without a mirror and have a connection to my father. After all, being an Army brat isn't easy. Sure, you get to travel and meet new people and experience new cultures, but at what cost?

Did you know there was a point in my life that the first time I 'met' my father, I couldn't communicate with him? That I thought he was a stranger? It wasn't because I was a baby and just recently born. But because he was doing his duty for America and hadn't been around those first few years. I spoke German and he spoke English. I can't even imagine what that must've felt like for him to come back and not even be able to speak to his only daughter. 

I am proud of my father and proud of what he's given me. 

I am proud of who I am and the color of my skin. 

But growing up....I was ashamed. My milk chocolate skin was becoming a hindrance and I hated...I hated that I was shunning half of who I am because others thought of me as less. 

It took me years to learn how to accept myself again. 

You know...I wonder why I never spoke to my parents about how I felt? I mean, parents are supposed to fix it all, right? I'm like 99.99% certain my mother is magic and my dad would move heaven and Earth for my brother and me just to ensure our happiness. 

Yet...I said nothing.

I couldn't confide in my awesome older brother, either.

All of my thoughts and emotions, I kept them all to myself. I wonder if that's why I felt so numb when I was younger? Why it took forever to notice my depression and anxiety? 

I was so focused on being perfect and not a burden for my parents and brother, that I forgot about me. 

I can speculate that the reason I never said anything was because at home, skin color wasn't a defining piece. We were simply, mom, dad, older brother, and me. I know my family kept me sheltered. I was the baby of the family, after all. It was like an unspoken rule that we didn't let the outside world come between us. 

The first time I joined the race discussion was in college. Of course, I was confronted by racism every damn day. Just because I didn't know what words to use or how to express my experiences, doesn't negate what was happening around me, with me, inside of me. That first semester in Sociology is what gave me the first tools to express my own experiences. 

While kids younger than me were getting the 'sex talk', I was getting the 'race talk'...at least...the beginning notions of it.

Since then, I've been doing my own readings, joining discussions, and learning to come to an agreeable peace within myself.

But every time I think I found peace or made progress in someone getting it, I see another brother or sister taken away.

I hear that even when doing nothing, we are still targeted, deemed less.

Just the other day, amidst the protests and a day before George Floyd's funeral, I learn of something that leaves me disgusted with certain individuals that I know. Instead of speaking up, instead they hold their silence. 

Must be nice having the option to be silent, but I guess you can still breath. I guess you don't have to keep your hands up or worry that you'll be shot in your own home by the police. I guess someone says your name just fine.

To those who do speak up, thank you. Thank you so, so much. 

To those who want to do more, it's hard to find what you can do. Maybe you're limited financially or you're not the type to protest in front of the capitol. There's always something you can do. Spread the word, educate those around you, show your support when you can. (Twitter thread for #BLM resources)

For me...this is how I can contribute. Let me show you how racism has effected me. Let me tell my story.

#BlackLivesMatter

It's Back! And I'm not Ready. ㅠㅠ

"Adulting? Ugh."

You know what I hate? Job searching.

The process itself is straight forward enough.

1) Look at vacancy/job announcements
2) Submit a resume to the hiring official
3) Go to an interview
4) Get a job

Straight forward, right?

And yes, I do know it's a bit more intricate than just those 4 steps, but that's my point. In and of itself, the whole process, if you were to be selected, can be boiled down to these 4 steps.

However, what makes the process an Everest to traverse is the fact that these 4 steps have SO. MANY. SUB-STEPS.

1 - Look at Vacancy/Job Announcements
Yes, you're looking at job postings, but what on Earth are all these acronyms? Who can understand your acronyms? People who already work for you?

But what about the new talent you want to hire?

These acronyms may mean something to them, but let's be honest, we shouldn't be relying on possibilities. Only certainties. And I am certain that not everyone who looks at these job announcements knows what your alphabet soup means.

Let's also not forget that we have to check if we even qualify for the position. Some of these postings should just say what they're not looking for. It would make the whole process a lot easier.

After wading and filtering through all these job postings, hopefully transcribing the duties correctly sans a Rosetta Stone, and almost 100%, but it's more like a solid 83%, certainty you qualify for the position, you pull out your resume.

2 - Submit resume to hiring official
Oh no, wait.

You can't submit your resume. Not with it looking like that!

You gotta tailor it for the that job or that company of that astrological sign of the cat two countries over who hasn't been born yet.

What?

Exactly.

Since no one really knows what they're doing with their resume; they go to an 'expert' or someone who's more experienced in the job searching life and ask for help.

One person will say, "whatever you do, stick to one page".

Okay, fine.

Another will say, "be detailed, but curt. Just don't leave anything out".

...sure...alright...makes sense?...

And then, my favorite, "just write one full master resume that is completely detailed down to when you take a breath during work, so you can then just make a one-page, detailed, but curt resume for whatever position you're applying for".

...

Oh! Ohhhh! And let's not forget, "oh, you mean you're not [whatever position the person assumes you're applying for or may be better suited for]? Then you have to follow completely different rules!"

*flips a table*

Step 1 already had your questioning the meaning to life, but hey, just in case you were still feeling confident, your resume will be sure to solidify your self-doubt.

But okay, you have your resume as good as it's going to get. And it looks pretty impressive, that you very much. You ask how the company would like for you to submit your resume, and they ask you to rewrite it into their own application system and reiterate everything you just put your blood, sweat, and tears intro.

This step is one of the hardest steps to accomplish. Because whether you qualify for a position or not, you can apply for it regardless. You can always make it to step 2.

However, getting pass step 2 to step 3 requires your step 2 to be executed to the hiring official's liking.

Note: I did not say 'perfect'. Only, to their liking.

Say, you nailed it, and you got a phone call or email saying, "congrats boo-boo, we wanna talk to you!"

(I am well aware no hiring official will contact you in such an unprofessional manner, but clearly this whole post has included a comedic element to it since the beginning, so deal.)

3 - Go to an interview

Oh dear lord.

THE INTERVIEW.

And not the movie with Seth Rogen and James Franco.

I think the hardest part about step 3 is remembering that you've alraedy proved yourself in some way to the hiring official. Be it that you wrote your resume in a way that mattered or something else, something stood out. The official is interested.

They swiped right on you.

You matched.

And oh my god they even contacted you for a date.

Not only are you flipping out that you were selected, you have to pick out an outfit, figure out how you're going to get to the interview, figure out your personal life, and try not to sound full of yourself.

Ugh.

Yes, the interview is about me, but also no.

If you're like me,you're hella nervous and you forget everything. You forget what three words best describe you, where you see yourself in 5 or 10 years, and second guessing if you'd even be good at this job.

Again, you were like 83% sure you qualified and even thought the cat from two countries over wasn't born yet, your guessed Pieces.

Thus, the interview blurs by and you hope you sounded like ah educated professional you know you are. Whatever happens now...it's officially out of your hands.

4 - Get a job
If you made it this far, not having to restart because you didn't hear back or decided the job didn't suit you or the company told you 'mmm, let's just stay friends', then we still ain't finished.

You get the offer, but you have so much flying through your head!

What do?

Do I need to respond now? Do I even want this job? Do I have to relocate if I do? Am I paying for my relocation? What was this position's duties even about? Can I get a raise?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Look, the point I'm trying to make here: I've begun job searching.

Again.

#SaveOurToya

To be Away from it All

How nice it must be to be oblivious.

...to be ignorant.

...to be young.

...to be naive.

I've watched as my students run around, smiles on their faces and mischief sparkling in their eyes. Demands for ice cream and "American" candy, or even that blessed "movie day".

I am so glad they are enjoying life

Meanwhile, as I'm asking them to quiet down and stop negotiating for "American candy that can't be bought in Korea, teacher, as that's cheating", I find myself hating that I'm an adult.

Especially when I wake up to headlines that read children are dying, women's rights have been rolled back by 50 years or that racist attacks have been renewed.

To know that they center around the U.S. President leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Mostly, because I want to throw up.

The presidency is supposed to be the person who looks out for ALL of their constituents. Not just the one's that they like. To ensure the country's safety and to be the face of America to other countries around the world. The President is supposed to be fair and just as they execute and enforce laws. Afterall, it is their fellow American that they are looking out for.

The President should not lead with fear or hate.

And yet...each day I read another headline that leaves me disgusted with the current President.

When I was a child, I never thought during all those days I was sitting in my history classes, that I would have to fight for my rights. (Naivete) Can you believe that? Somehow, history was given to me in ways that made me, a bi-racial half-immigrant/half-American woman, think that I wouldn't have to fight for my rights?

Now, I know better. I know soooooo much better. Not a single one of my identities is safe.

Not.
A.
Single.
One.

But are we surprised that I ended up believing such imaginations? I was taught white winning American history. I was told:

'Yay, women got their right to vote!'
'Yay, blacks got their civil rights!'
'Yay, America has the dream, come live here!'

Yay. Yay. Yay.

You know what history classes aren't telling us?

That despite women getting their right to vote in 1920, that it took until the late 1970s for domestic violence laws to be looked at and seen to be lacking. It took for a wife to suffer through 12 years of brutal spousal violence to set her husband and his bed on fire for there to be change. For even a semblance of our safety to appear.

That despite blacks "getting" their civil rights, we're still seen as instant criminals, no good, something to be rid of. Do you know what it's like to be scared of the police? The police! The people we're told in Elementary Schools would protect us from the bad guys, that if you have a problem you can go to them? What they didn't mention was that we were the bad guys.

That despite America having this 'great' dream and anyone can make it here, being an immigrant means you're "one of them". Other. That you will never belong. That you're "taking" all of the jobs even though you can't get any because your qualifications don't work in America.

It doesn't even end here.

Let's be honest, there isn't even an end in sight!

Young, innocent, oblivious, ignorant me was able to have a nice childhood. Not having to worry about whether a neighbor would call 911 because she was walking in a nice neighborhood (where her parents live). Not having to worry about being underpaid or be seen as a 'mad black women' if showing anything but friendliness at work. Not having to worry about her American-ness being in question since she sounds American and doesn't have an accent.

Despite that time being 'easier', I'm much better off.

At least now, I know what I need to fight for, what I must defend, and what I want for a better future.

#SaveOurToya