One of the ill-mannered questions I’m usually bothered with when conversing with a beige-skinned stranger for about five minutes (or less) is “What are you?” or “Where are you REALLY from?”

Without exaggeration, I’ve been asked these exhaustingly annoying and loaded questions since 2000 A.D. by beige-skinned persons who are bizarrely obsessed with figuring out how my phenotype came about.

Instead of offering my usual response (e.g., I don’t answer these meaningless questions, I’m from Planet Earth, I hold dual citizenship from Heaven and my mother’s birth canal, etc.), I’ve opted to update my script as follows:

I’m a three-in-one U.S. citizen, TCK and immigrant.

I am fluent in three languages. However, you’d never suspect that when I speak standard American English, as I erased my Parisian accent at a young age.

My legal name is of Persian, Arabic and French origins.

Geographically, I am American.

Genetically, I am African, European and Arab.

Culturally, I am not American but rather Afro-European, which is challenging for many to grasp, regardless of their constructed nationality or ethnicity.

I was born in New York City, but raised in my parents’ homeland.

My parents and I are not indigenous to our homeland, courtesy of the Transatlantic Chattel Enslavement. (Imagine my shock when all of my DNA tests did not pull up the country I grew up in, which doubled as the country I considered my home.) So, I do—and do not—identify with their country of origin.

Depending on what American city I find myself in, some strangers regard me as “black,” “mixed” or an immigrant, while most incorrectly assume that I identify as an ethnoracialized Black American or African American.

If I’m in France, some might assume I’m an African, European or American national.

In my parents’ homeland, some see me as an American national, while others regard me as one of their own, because I speak both of my native tongues fluently, I’m a modest dresser and I enjoy eating meals prepared in my homeland.

Lastly, as a nerd who is phenotype-conscious, I do not self-racialize (never have…never will), although I am race-aware to appease race-obsessed American nationals who rely on biological fiction to feel better about themselves.

In the end, I’m an image-bearer and a brown-skinned human-woman with a fragile nervous system who is “from” a mortal egg and a mortal sperm.

Nothing special.  

P.S. These days, few hue-mans are aware of where I grew up. The primary reason I rarely share this info? My country of origin is attached to a profoundly traumatic memory. And, not everyone wants to address the where-are-you-from question when their memories of home are auto-loaded with scenes of deaths en masse.

REFLECTION

FEATURED

Bloomberg | What You’re Really Asking When You Ask ‘Where Are You From?’ by Tanvi Misra

TED | Don’t Ask Where I’m From, Ask Where I’m a Local by Taiye Selasi

RECOMMENDED READING

Real Life | Where Are You Really From by Zara Rahman

The Atlantic | On Being Asked, ‘Where Are You From?’ by Conor Friedersdorf

The Atlantic | Is It Racist to Ask People Where They’re From? by Uri Friendman

RECOMMENDED VIEWING

TED | The Politics of Fiction by Elif Shafak

TED | The Danger of a Single Story by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie