Snapshots of a Brown Girl

Photo 1: Graduate School

Did I ever tell you about that time I went to a baby shower and they played this game: identify the person in the baby picture? No?

When I was in grad school, I went to a friend’s shower. It was a small gathering. The host had asked us to bring a baby picture of ourselves. I brought the only one I had in my possession at the time: toddler me on a tricycle. When we arrived, we were instructed to put them on a table by the door. A kind of cute display, I thought to myself, to evoke the spirit of babies and their innocence.

Later, after lunch and before cake, the host announced that we were going to play a game. She asked us to gather around the table where our photos lay. A spread of cute faces with cheeks you wanted to smoosh with your palms. 

“Can you match the person with their baby picture?” she asked us. My body froze and my heart dropped like a stone to the pit of my stomach. I already knew I had lost. 

Everyone there was white.

I didn’t stand a chance of winning the game. Though, even now, I can’t remember how to win the game. I think maybe you had to stump people on which photo was yours.

I called myself out before the tears had a chance to prick my eyes. My throat balling up tight. I swallowed and eeked it out of my mouth.

“Guess mine is pretty easy to pick out.”

I forced myself to laugh it off, even though I wanted to cry.

One of these things is not like the other.

I was reminded again that I didn’t belong.

*

Photo 2: Manhattan

How about the time I was standing on a train platform in Manhattan and someone had asked me for directions. They were trying to figure out if they were on the right platform. I gave them the information they needed. Then they replied, “Oh you speak such good English!”

Do I have to tell you the person was white? Of course not.

But then there was the time a hot dog vendor asked me, “Where are you from?”

“Jersey.”

“Where are you from-from?”

“I said Jersey.”

I knew what he was asking, but at the time, I didn’t see how it mattered. It was none of his business. Looking back, he, a brown immigrant man, was simply looking for connection with someone who looked “othered” like him, someone who was on the margins like him.

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Photo 3: Department Store

How about the time I went to a jewelry counter at Macy’s with my white boyfriend?

We were browsing the display case, looking for earrings. There was some special occasion coming up and I thought it would be nice to have a new pair. 

As we scanned the bright cases full of sparkle and shine –diamond pendants, sapphire rings, gold bangles, silver chains—we moved in opposite directions to cover more territory. Divide and conquer.

The jewelry salesperson returned from helping someone on the other side of the department and took her place behind the counter. She stood smack dab in the middle of where we each were. She looked at me and then at him, paused for a split-second, and then moved to assist him.

I already knew before she even started towards him. I knew which choice she would make. I felt my anger start to simmer. I should be used to this by now. But it still got to me.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“You can ask her,” he said, pointing to me. “She’s the one shopping.”

“Oh,” she said.

The look on her face was hard to read. It was a combination of things. Embarrassed that she got busted for making assumptions. Assumptions that we were not together. Assumptions that a white guy would be with a girl like me. Brown and Asian. Disappointed? Maybe. I can’t say.

She reluctantly walked over to where I was standing.

I had her pull out all sorts of things: earrings to examine, rings to try on, necklaces to model in that oval mirror on top of the display case. A good portion of the glass counter was covered with velvet trays.

“Hmmm… yeah, I’m not really feeling any of these,” I said. And then we left.

Of course, I don’t have to tell you she was white.

*

Racism is inherent everywhere. It’s in our consciousness, lurking in the subconscious. Even among communities of color. If you’re asleep, you don’t even know it’s happening. You deny that it’s happening when folks call you out on it. You fail to see the internalized biases. You get defensive. “I’m not racist,” you say. 

If you’re a person of color who’s asleep, you fail to see the racial self-hate. “I’m not trying to be white. I just like docksiders.” (haha!) Or more sharply: “I’m not trying to be white. I’m just trying to open my eyes more with eyelid surgery.”

There is so much trauma happening on the daily. Big and small. And if it’s left unhealed, it shows up as rage, as violence (towards others or oneself or both), as depression, as anxiety. Let’s do the very personal inner work of healing our deepest hurts so that we can thrive and love as the humans we’re meant to be.

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My program, Heal to Power, helps you, a woman of color, move from exhaustion, insecurity, and emotional hangover to empowered writer with kick-ass resilience. Over the course of 8 weeks, you’ll learn how to release fear and anger, loosen up blocks, and begin to heal your traumas so that your channels of creativity flow freely. Get on the waitlist to be the first notified when registration doors open NEXT WEEK! Questions? Email love@suryagian.com