Personal Narrative Analysis

“Hey Raajii, did you take a shower before or after your mom threw African food at you?” My first day of middle school was full of many microaggressions and passive aggressive chuckles. “No, but seriously, do you use that stuff as deodorant or something.” Attending an all white school in Minnesota desensitizes you to that kind of stuff. “Is it true that Ethiopians eat food with their hands like apes?” Little did I know that these seemingly insignificant interactions had a greater impact on my perception of identity than my own parents did. “Raajii, how can you be proud of such a primitive culture?” The truth was that I wasn’t proud. I couldn’t be. I wanted to be something I wasn’t. I wanted to be something that was normal. Something that didn’t soak my clothes and infect everything I touched. I wanted to be part of culture that didn’t stink. …show more content…
It was in kindergarten when my teacher told me to draw picture of myself with my family. Considering my artistic ability didn’t quite reach its full potential at the time, I decided to draw stick figures instead. Although I personally believed that my drawing should have been put on display at a museum, my teacher claimed that I left out one important feature. “Raajii, you’re black,” she said while handing me a brown crayon. It was at that moment I realized something huge. Something that hadn’t crossed my mind before. I was the only one in the room that needed that crayon. I was the only one that was