not brown enough, not white enough

Human nature draws us towards the people who look like us. The people who sound like us and walk like us are usually the most accepting of our sound and walk. During the first grade I noticed that no one walked like me or sounded like me. I realized that the mixed caramel color of my skin would be a barrier for friendship and acceptance. I did not fit in anywhere. The girls that wore the overalls and ruffled shirts would laugh at me for bringing in saffron rice at lunch time. The girls that had skin darker than mine and that were laughed at more than me would speak their language only when I was around. A language I never spoke because if I did my neighbors would crinkle their noses and close their doors and whisper about it together. Without me. The other mixed girl killed herself last summer.

I believe it was 3rd grade when I lied about who I was for the first time. My elementary school had an international day that was supposed to bring our cultures together but in reality all it did was give the girls in overalls a chance to laugh at me with parental supervision. We were asked to each get a plastic bag and decorate it with our nationalities flag and other cultural images. I remember suddenly becoming submerged with embarrassment. As if the teacher had asked us to get in our underwear in front of the class. For me, my nationality was something to feel ashamed of, just as how we are told to feel about our bare bodies. Embarrassed and ashamed of something too intimate and wrong. Giovanna Alfonso was the girl who sat next to me. She proudly decorated her bag with pictures of spaghetti, meatballs and pizza. She arrogantly pasted a huge italian flag in the center. The red, green and white shades blew holes into my brain. We only had 5 minutes left to decorate our bags. 5 minutes left to come up with a lie. 5 minutes left for me to put the final touches on a wall of shame that has been building in my soul for the past 8 years. I quickly drew 3 rectangles of red, green and white onto my bag. The same colors that burned holes into my skull. For the day I would ditch the truth and become Italian, hidden behind those blocks of red, green and white. I smiled at the girls in overalls and when they saw my lie they shrugged their shoulders. Maybe they didn’t care in the first place. Maybe I was white enough for them.

Every morning when I arrived at school we would always do the same thing. Unpack our backpacks and jacket, get out our binders and pencils and hang our stuff inside our cubbies. Our cubbies were usually all the same. Covered in 3D puffy princess stickers, rainbows, glitter and superheros. This was the only time that these students were innocent. They would hide behind a child-like narrative but I knew they all were vicious. They wanted to isolate the people who did not fit in. They wanted to make sure I knew I was not brown enough, nor white enough. There was one specific day that I felt a wall of separation was built between me and the others. Every day after we unpack our bags and jackets we recite the Pledge of Allegiance. We all stand with our hand on our heart and recite something that I think none of us actually knew the meaning of. We stood up with our hands on our hearts, except that day was a little different.

“Siena, if you're a terrorist then why are you standing for the pledge?”

I pledge allegiance

Why would I pledge my allegiance to a country that makes me feel so afraid of who I am.

To the flag

A flag that stands for freedom and yet makes me feel enslaved.

Of the United States of America

Real Americans do not exist. We killed the real Americans years ago to make room for people who can shun and humiliate those who don’t wear red white and blue.

And to the republic

For which it stands

Our flag stands in soil of a stolen land where people enslave the free.

One nation

One united nation where children like me cry every day because their skin isn’t white enough nor brown enough.

Under God

Who stands above God and watches tears stream down innocent childrens faces?

Indivisible

Seperated.

With liberty and justice

With blood and bodies of immigrants.

For all

For all.

#immigrants #child #story #personalessay #persian #america