This Night Is Sparkling

My whole life I have been confused by my identity. From the outside, I appear to be purely caucasian. I have dark hair and fair skin. I speak English and French and have been born and raised in Western society. I look Italian, or maybe Spanish, whatever it is, it looks caucasian. Which is why people are always baffled when I tell them I don’t consider myself to be “white”, but rather biracial. “But you have pale skin!” they say. “But you don’t have an accent!” they say. “You look just as white as me!”. I always have to defend my decision, like I am fighting for an identity people don’t believe is mine. You see, beyond my pale skin, I do indeed come from mixed parents.  My father is tall, slender, fair skinned, blue eyed and blonde. He is the Polish poster child. My mother is short, curvy, tanned with dark curly hair and deep brown eyes. She is Arab.  Myself, I inherited my height and dark hair from my mother, and my fair skin from my father. My eyes, that however is where my story lies. They always say the eyes are the window to the soul. In my case there is no truer statement. My eyes are a deep green hazel, a perfect blend between genetics from my father and mothers side. The green and the brown in my eyes reveal my mixed identity. Many wonder, why I choose to identify as mixed. I look white, and receive many of the privileges that are given to members of white ethnicity in our society, so why would I want to give that up to face hardships, or to always have to fight to defend my heritage. The answer is simple, because of my family. While I myself, have endured very little racism, I have had the displeasure of watching my mother, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins, who are either pure Arab, or of a “mixed breed” that looks less caucasian than I, endure countless hateful words and acts towards them. My whole life, I have watched society judge, critique and tear apart one half of my family because they look different, and praise the other because they are fair skinned. I have felt confused, torn and ashamed of my own skin colour, because I felt like it caused me to have to fight to stand up for my family. And then came the war against Muslims. My mother’s side has the current displeasure of being both Arab and Muslim. Two facts they should be proud of, but instead have to attempt to cover in shame, because of the abuse and grief it gives them. All while this is happening, I watch from the sidelines, trying to defend my family, my culture, my heritage, only to be told I’m misplaced, that I don’t know what I’m talking out, that I’m white so it doesn’t affect me. Yet that’s where society is wrong. Just because I don’t “look” non-white, doesn’t mean I’m not. Just because I don’t personally get attacked, doesn’t mean I  don’t get hurt, scared, or angry at the pain my family has to endure. Just because my skin is closer to white than my mother’s doesn’t mean I am unaffected by the pure and unjustified hatred towards Arabs and Muslims that is currently being spread around. But unfortunately, these are all things I have to deal with, being a mixed race child. So please, next time you want to judge me, and say I don’t understand racism because I look white, please just stop. Instead ask me about myself, about my heritage, about my beliefs, and join me in my fight against stigma, racism and hatred. Please listen to how it’s affected me, and please do not judge me for considering myself mixed race. Most of all help me. Help me to live a world where my mother  no longer has to beg me not to tell others I’m Arab. A world where finally, my mother doesn’t have to hide her ethnicity, or hide where she was born. Help me create a world where my mother can say she is Arab and say she is Muslim, without wanting to hide in fear.