My own race has for some time been sort of a funny thing to me, in my life. My father hated me because I looked like my mother. He'd call me india de mierda, which roughly translates to shitty indian, I suppose kids in my school did a version of it too while I was in primary school, because whenever I would bring food to share from home they would accuse it of being dirty (mind you, my mother cooked really basic Argentinian food, the same as them and has been a madwoman about cleaning since before my birth). But I was an autistic kid so it wasn't really the only reason I was bullied, and my skin was brown, of course, and there must have been some racial element to it. Other than that, I was just any other kid, who could do as much or as little as any other.
The first time in my life in which I gave any serious thought to it, the first time I truly felt othered because of it, was when I was working in the US, I was eighteen, fresh out of highschool, I spoke really good English and I was a camp counselor. I remember the black girls I befriended would tell me I definitely had some black in me because of my nose, I would say I dunno, maybe, I do have some Brazilian ancestors way down, but my mom's dad was guaraní if that helps you, they would bring up another and another of my features to justify claiming I must have at least a drop of black in my blood. I had never thought of positive phrenology but if such a thing could exist they were happily using it. The white girls I'd befriend would say I was exotic, I had never really thought about myself as exotic, I had never been called that at home, in Formosa, where half of my family lives, there must be a hundred thousand girls who look exactly like me.
I went to Walmart this one time, since we were quite far from any city, it was the highest diversion we had to amuse ourselves on our free days, and suddenly I felt watched and uncomfortable, I'm really bad at noticing when people are watching me, and when I would turn nobody was looking, and I'm not normally one to think about being perceived, or feel as though I'm being pursued. But I felt off, and I kept turning around, I didn't know why, perhaps it really was in my head, but I felt like I wanted to leave despite being one of the ones who was happiest to go browse the giant supermarket with my group. I ended up getting out before anyone else, feeling overwhelmed without really getting why, since I love window shopping, I love comparing prices and discounts, I remember thinking it was not my day, so I guessed it would be best if I took a breather. So I put on some music (Soda Stereo, in Spanish) on my phone to calm myself down and started whisper-singing it, the way I do when I want to get back into my body when I feel bad, roughly two or three minutes later a policeman arrived and started questioning me about drugs. Now you must put yourself in my shoes, I was then a staunchly middle class good girl™, top marks at school, never went out, never went to parties, never drank alcohol and the only drugs I had seen in my life were my meds. Please remember, eighteen and autistic. I had also never seen a policeman up close and never seen one fingering his gun at every micro movement I made. I was already feeling tired and overwhelmed and now scared, and why did he keep touching his gun. And why was he so angry at me? Then my friend, who was Uruguayan but super duper white and spoke with a US accent came out of nowhere (apparently looking for me) and diffused the situation. With my heart in my mouth, I learnt the words "racially profiled" outside of reading about them in Tumblr, without understanding how it could happen to me.
I often think about it. I had never been called a "person of colour" in Argentina, no one had dissected my features to figure out where the white gave into the non-white and to figure out what percentage of it I was, I had never thought of myself particularly as anything. Like, obviously I always knew my skin was brown, lighter in winter, darker in summer, never did I fool myself into thinking the colour was any ther than it was, but I never thought about it. I just was.
Sometimes the pointless examination finds me, I give it a half hearted attempt, until I realise it doesn't matter, I'm home in Argentina, so it really doesn't matter, why question myself? So i let it go.
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