After the Z
Churchill. That's what comes next.
If you are at all familiar with a glimmer of european history, that name might ring a bell. Its as white as white can be, transcending back to the almighty Prime Minister Winston Churchill of Great Britain.
In my family, that translates to my father who has the type of skin that's incapable of tanning. Instead, his skin resembles a lobster's complexion if left out in the sun too long.
In me, that combines with my Egyptian side - the "Alexzandria" part. Physically, its made my skin and hair lighter than the rest of my full-blooded Egyptian side.
It makes me a mix of indistinguishable identities.
That has always left a slight sense of confusion lingering in the back of my mind. To some, I look exotic. To others I look like another white sorority girl. I'm still trying to figure out what I see in myself.
Its easy to play down the significance of my mixed ethnicity when I'm surrounded by truly 100 percent diverse individuals. Including my family.
After growing up with a set of lesbian parents - one of which is a first generation, fully Egyptian immigrant - and a biracial couple, my mere olive skin didn't seem to stack up. Its easy for me to think less of my own identity, to feel mainstream.
Of course, diversity shouldn't be compared. It seems like a silly concept. But when you're determining where your identity falls in society, its nice to have bumpers.
As I've found, part of the comparing comes from my surroundings. When I'm physically home at my sorority house, I easily fall within the top five most diverse people. That's out of three hundred (yikes is right).
Yet at school its different. In a convergence interview with a conservative anti-transgender advocate, the woman looks at my team and I in the midst of describing why this particular diverse identity is imanginary and says "Well I don't how ya'll were raised, but..." In the moment I laughed to myself because I would've loved to have told her how and by who I was raised.
Then I looked around at my teammates. Between DJ, Meyeing and Humera, you had full-blooded african-american, asian and middle eastern identities.
There, I was the least diverse.
All in all, it comes down to privilege. As proud as I may be of my Egyptian heritage, I grew up as a Churchill, not an Alexzandria.
My mom pinched pennies to put my brother and I through private school. I was always fed, given the right supplies and never abused in anyway. I grew up white.
So when my friends are egging me on that I'm actually African or I should apply for a diversity award, in the back of my mind I can't help thinking of others who would fall into those categories. And when you compare experiences, there simply is no comparison.
If you are at all familiar with a glimmer of european history, that name might ring a bell. Its as white as white can be, transcending back to the almighty Prime Minister Winston Churchill of Great Britain.
In my family, that translates to my father who has the type of skin that's incapable of tanning. Instead, his skin resembles a lobster's complexion if left out in the sun too long.
In me, that combines with my Egyptian side - the "Alexzandria" part. Physically, its made my skin and hair lighter than the rest of my full-blooded Egyptian side.
It makes me a mix of indistinguishable identities.
That has always left a slight sense of confusion lingering in the back of my mind. To some, I look exotic. To others I look like another white sorority girl. I'm still trying to figure out what I see in myself.
Its easy to play down the significance of my mixed ethnicity when I'm surrounded by truly 100 percent diverse individuals. Including my family.
After growing up with a set of lesbian parents - one of which is a first generation, fully Egyptian immigrant - and a biracial couple, my mere olive skin didn't seem to stack up. Its easy for me to think less of my own identity, to feel mainstream.
Of course, diversity shouldn't be compared. It seems like a silly concept. But when you're determining where your identity falls in society, its nice to have bumpers.
As I've found, part of the comparing comes from my surroundings. When I'm physically home at my sorority house, I easily fall within the top five most diverse people. That's out of three hundred (yikes is right).
Yet at school its different. In a convergence interview with a conservative anti-transgender advocate, the woman looks at my team and I in the midst of describing why this particular diverse identity is imanginary and says "Well I don't how ya'll were raised, but..." In the moment I laughed to myself because I would've loved to have told her how and by who I was raised.
Then I looked around at my teammates. Between DJ, Meyeing and Humera, you had full-blooded african-american, asian and middle eastern identities.
There, I was the least diverse.
All in all, it comes down to privilege. As proud as I may be of my Egyptian heritage, I grew up as a Churchill, not an Alexzandria.
My mom pinched pennies to put my brother and I through private school. I was always fed, given the right supplies and never abused in anyway. I grew up white.
So when my friends are egging me on that I'm actually African or I should apply for a diversity award, in the back of my mind I can't help thinking of others who would fall into those categories. And when you compare experiences, there simply is no comparison.
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