On Being a White-Passing Black Person During a Period of Protest

My racial ambiguity means I fit into an interesting friendship niche for a lot of white people. It's relatively obvious that I'm not completely white, so folks get to pat themselves on the back for being "woke" because they're friends with me. However, I'm also white-passing enough that I don't make anyone truly uncomfortable in the way a darker-skinned black person might.

My whole life, I've been assured that this was a positive thing by black people and white people alike because I get to have it both ways. I can be proud of my blackness and claim it as part of my identity, but I can also slip into white circles without causing too much of a stir or bothering anyone.

Perhaps most importantly, I only really have to take what comes with being black when it's convenient for me. The rest of the time, I'm free to keep my mouth shut and just let people think I'm something much less threatening -- Hispanic, maybe, or Meditteranean like my ex-husband assumed I was when he first met me. And for most of my life, that's exactly what I did because it was easier for me and more comfortable for others. Who wants to make trouble for themselves when they don't have to, right?

All of the protests and riots that have been going on lately have officially found me tired of doing that though. I've always been a proud person, but that pride has officially reached a place where it extends to my racial identity as well. Yes, I'm proud to be Irish and Scottish. I'm proud to be German and to have that tiny little bit of South Asian in there too, but I'm realizing I'm just as proud to be black. I'm proud to be a part of the black story because it's my story, and I want others to know it. I especially want other black people to know I'm standing with them.

The Peace and the Stillness of It All

Things slowly appear to be drifting back into "normal" territory as far as all the quarantine measures go. This is although COVID-19 hasn't actually gone anywhere, nor have people stopped contracting it or dying from it. No vaccine has been developed, nor has any concrete plan been put in place to avoid a second wave. It's almost like the government and everyone else more or less decided to shrug and go "oh well". 

That makes me nervous. You'd think it would be making other people nervous too, especially if they work outside their homes or have to interact much with the general public to earn a living. I am exceedingly grateful that I don't have to and, to be honest, this whole pandemic has shown me just how right I've always been to simply be my naturally reclusive self to whatever extent I can. At this point, something about me others have always thought of as a personality flaw might literally mean the difference between life and death.

This has given me some food for thought in regards to how other people's minds work as well. I don't think I realized just how dependent others are on being highly interactive with the rest of society. They apparently count on others for everything, so not being able to go out and consort adds up to a complete disruption in their lives.

For instance, I don't think I realized just how many other people -- especially other women -- don't manage their own grooming routines. I knew I was unusual for insisting on cutting and coloring my own hair, but I don't think I fully realized everyone's also paying people to do their nails (even if they don't wear acrylics), groom their eyebrows, extend their eyelashes, keep their bodies free of unwanted hair, and so much more. No wonder everybody complains about being broke all the time.  

Many Departures

I never feel like I have that much going on in my life until I actually sit down to blog when it's been a while. It really makes me realize the extent to which time flies. My cat died not long after my last post. She was on the older side and hadn't been doing that well for a while, so it wasn't completely unexpected. It managed to be wholly devastating anyway though. 

I'm not the sort of person that supports wallowing in emotions like grief or disappointment -- or at least not to the point where it starts to feel like it's doing you more harm than good -- but I can't lie. This has been really hard for me. I've had many pets over the years, but Ched was just special. She's pretty much the only living being I've ever known that I can honestly say never seemed to feel anything toward me but love. It's done me so much good to know that any living thing could really embrace me unconditionally like that because it's certainly more than I can say for even the best humans in my life.

And as tough as it can be to feel sad for the loss of both big and little souls that touch lives, I've realized there's a positive side to grief. It's your proof that you experienced someone and something worth missing. I've literally had whole-ass family members and so-called good friends exit this planet without eliciting so much as a tear from me, let alone full-force grief, but looking back on those relationships, I'm not surprised. They were never there for me. They never laughed with me or cried with me. They never actually acted like they loved me or cared about being part of my life. And to be honest, the feeling was mutual. 

I know a lot of animals are unconditionally loving and loyal -- one reason I've always preferred them to people -- but Ched was that to an unusual degree. She did nothing but love me, even when I got frustrated, irritated, or downright angry with her. I worry that I wasn't always as nice to her as she deserved, but I'm sure she had to have known how loved she was regardless. I tried to show her as much as I could and to the extent that I know how.