Whether people acknowledge it or not, everyone makes assumptions based on race. For example, when someone sees an Asian student, he or she will often assume the student is studious and smart. The brain automatically categorizes people based on their appearance. However, race is not always apparent from the outside. Toi Derricotte, in her article “Black Notebooks,” writes of her experience as a black woman who passes as white. People often assume she is white and treat her as such. I felt a connection to her struggles because, in many cases, I have been mistaken for someone of Asian origin. While Derricotte is quick to dispel the assumptions by stating she is black, I do not know anything about my paternal gene pool, so I have no way of
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As the woman finally runs out of guesses, Derricotte reveals, to the woman’s surprise, that she is black. This experience causes Derricotte to inwardly wish there was a small way to distinguish herself as black, such as the crosses adorned by Christians (29). In my lifetime, I have often craved the same thing. I wished that there was a way to put a sign around my neck that said “this is who I am!” However, without even knowing who I was, my efforts would prove impossible. It became frustrating at times where I was confronted very publicly about my race. While volunteering with the Japanese Sister Cities group at a children’s literacy fair when I was fifteen, an older woman approached me and asked if I was Japanese. I could not give her a good answer, so she kept on jabbing to see if I was Asian at all. She finally concluded her pestering with, “Well, I was just wondering because you have oriental eyes.” That day I continued to receive questions about whether or not I was the daughter of the Japanese ladies volunteering or if I was related to the exchange student who was also helping. While I was fairly used to people assuming my race was Asian, all those people asking me about my heritage in one day really made me wish I knew, not only so I could tell them, but so that I myself could be proud of who I was. Assuming one’s race based
As the woman finally runs out of guesses, Derricotte reveals, to the woman’s surprise, that she is black. This experience causes Derricotte to inwardly wish there was a small way to distinguish herself as black, such as the crosses adorned by Christians (29). In my lifetime, I have often craved the same thing. I wished that there was a way to put a sign around my neck that said “this is who I am!” However, without even knowing who I was, my efforts would prove impossible. It became frustrating at times where I was confronted very publicly about my race. While volunteering with the Japanese Sister Cities group at a children’s literacy fair when I was fifteen, an older woman approached me and asked if I was Japanese. I could not give her a good answer, so she kept on jabbing to see if I was Asian at all. She finally concluded her pestering with, “Well, I was just wondering because you have oriental eyes.” That day I continued to receive questions about whether or not I was the daughter of the Japanese ladies volunteering or if I was related to the exchange student who was also helping. While I was fairly used to people assuming my race was Asian, all those people asking me about my heritage in one day really made me wish I knew, not only so I could tell them, but so that I myself could be proud of who I was. Assuming one’s race based