Shenla describes race as pol roti as the food she eats
That is her race, her food.
Dion describes race as experience as the looks he gets when he walks into a store
That is his race, his experience.
But what is my race?
My race is the way my hair curls.
The way my hair takes maintenance.
The way my hair not only represents my mother but represents me.
My hair is my race.
My race is not based on skin but culture.
About the way I grew up in a country that felt more like home than the one I’m from.
About the way that the second language I learned was from Africa.
About the way I jumped with a Kenyan tribe before I was 7.
My race is my culture.
My race is about the confused glance I get when I tell people where I’m from.
The way that people tell me who they think I am.
The way that I am put into a box of stereotypes the moment I walk into a room.
My race is breaking the opinions of people.
My race is both and neither.
My race is in the small things that make me.
My race is Washington, D.C. born, raised by the world, home to nowhere.
My race is human.