In the context of ethnocentrism, paradigms that entrap cultural stigmas and perceptions of a particular culture render the in-between moot. One’s identity can fall through the cracks of a set precedent of assumed behavior and assimilation in a systemic society. In my experience, being in-between creates a sense of displacement, leaving no place for refuge. Even though each culture’s parameters can be constrictive, imposing their own definitions of identity, they still offer a sense of belonging that the in-between lacks. Each aspect of myself can be dismissed by others’ perceptions. In this day and age, I find myself existing outside of others’ perceptions and opinions, while completely and utterly feeling “other.” Existing on the margins of two racial identities, where does my existence fall? And where can I seek comfort other than within myself?
Growing up I often felt the quiet feeling of nothing. As we live in a country whose foundations are inextricably linked to race, these margins often dictate and set guidelines on how to behave, where to belong, what we deserve and what we can accomplish. It is baked within our consciousness and goes beyond the individual actor. But beyond this constrictive narrative, cultures born out of community serve as a place of solace, of understanding and invoke the feeling of belonging; of home. Where do the people who fall in between these margins go? I did not have many stories or depictions of mixed raced people growing up, no validations for how my existence looks or feels. No guidebook on how to navigate the intimate racism that stems from my own family, on both sides. We are taught that to be mixed is to be weak and watered down. Inauthentic, “only half,” and alienated from our two extremes of the spectrum. We are accepted and chosen for our exotic qualities and ambiguous looks. We have the “best of both worlds,” yet why do both my worlds not accept me? We are taught that to live in between worlds is to not exist at all. I was taught that I was not enough of myself.
Expanding on these questions of existence, I have frequently thought of my place within the context of America, and specifically where I am from, Texas. Navigating through spaces often resurrects pain out of deep-seated wounds that exist despite the temporal and emotional space created between me and the scars inflicted over the years. Simply knowing the pain, and knowing the origins does not do anything to heal it, and I have come to know through trying desperately to gain validation that this does little to alleviate it either. Because within these behaviors, I am still trying to gain clarity and understanding through other’s perceptions.
Moreover, simply intellectualizing my experience and seeking endless forms of knowledge on histories, identity theories and social stipulations further enhances my language to express, but disconnects me from my wounds. While these explanations and word formations can affirm and make my thoughts concise and graspable to myself, I find myself paradoxically distanced from my emotional wounds beneath the surface. I can liken this feeling to trying to describe a dream to someone else; the more you try to depict to others, the further away it feels and we lose the memory of it. But the pain of not belonging fully drives me avenues that maybe, I simply would not think of if I wasn’t biracial. It is precisely the feeling of falling through the chasm of uncertainty and cultural alienation that makes me delve deeper into further exploration of our collective diaspora. I want to know extensively about the world around me, and it is by comprehending further beyond intellectual curiosity within these paradigms already set that an insatiable yearning for belonging born from my intrinsic anguish of adriftness fuels the feeling of chasing an out of reach answer.
Because, I must find this answer within myself. And maybe it’s not an answer at all, but a journey. So, beneath all of the syntax, context, psychological perspective research and history, I still feel the way I do. And maybe it is not my sole responsibility to change the world around me, or try to change the inherent feelings within myself but still I have the burning desire to do so. To strive to create an environment where one can from inception feel as if they have a concrete place in the world, and not only that but a voice equal to those around them. Within this turmoil inside of myself, I desperately want to create a world in which no one precedent rules all. Instead of conforming, or molding myself accordingly. Because inherently, there is no place to conform comfortably. I am a cultural nomad.