No Longer Associated

A long time ago when I was estranged from my adoptive parents and had no clue about my heritage, the friends in my circle became my family or so I thought. I wanted to belong or fit in so badly that I was easily coerced into listing myself as an African American on one occasion.

The minor faux pas created such a horrendous backlash and lasting repercussions that I have spent the past 25 years detangling myself. Apparently in my ancestry, there is some unspoken rule that frowns on denying one’s heritage. This mistake of mine ultimately created a domino effect in Florida that turned into an avalanche.

The African American Community wanted half of my family’s fortune and felt that they were entitled to the same privileges that I have. They believed I was participating in cultural appropriation. Apparently in America there is some unspoken pact that defines that if one partakes in anything concerning the Black American race they have to be compensated or they feel they can label you as they please.

Where I thought I was just being friendly in a non-chalant way there was so much meaning going on in their realm which ultimately created catastrophe in my life. I have spent the past several years unwinding and extricating myself from many bonds and attachments.

In a perfect world it would not have been a bad thing if the people I consorted with were genuine. I soon found out I was being used to fulfill certain political agendas. When they accomplished their feat most vanished. So in the grand scheme of things, they were not real friends anyway.

They were on a fact-finding mission concerning me. They earnestly tried to decipher my family dynamics, wealth and whatever else they were curious about. The love relationships I embarked on would never have worked out because I was not one of them. It has taken me all this while to realize heritage, legacy and culture matters.

My Central American culture makes it quite clear that my legacy and ancestry is so important that I did myself an injustice by consorting with groups I had no understanding about. Central Americans are funny in that manner. When you come from a significant background it is counterproductive to play yourself differently than the character you were born to be.

My tan confuses me at times and makes me think I am neutral. In the grand scheme of things, I am complex and so is the heritage I come from. Therefore, as I have carefully weeded out all the haters, and the persons who came into my life under cruel disguises with cruel intentions, I find it necessary to say I am no longer associated with the African American culture or Black American groups.

It is strange how you can make one mistake and it follows you throughout your entire life. Looking back, I was just a mascot for them. As long as I played the game of being a “hot mess” they found me enthralling and fun. But that is as far as I would progress in life with them. In my blog I previously detailed the moment when I tried to fit in at the bidding of a friend.

I thought it was a harmless gesture, but it ended up costing me the best parts of my life. To me, it was synonymous to calling older people I knew for a long-time auntie and uncle except the sentiment was not there. It has been an arduous lesson to have learned but I have finally put everything in perspective and moved on.

As my Nepalese soothsayer once told me, “They will never like you.” That is fine with me. What really upsets me is when they try to harm or bully me because of my Victorian ways. Once I am under their microscopic views, they find out that I am vastly different than they are, and this is usually when the fur begins to fly. At this point, I am just me. I am who God says I am, and I am who I know myself to be, and that is #whitejewmaican. I am not trying to fit anywhere except with myself.