Cultural Black Sheep
Everybody goes through moments in life when they feel different. As cliché as it may sound, being different isn’t so unnatural after all, since everyone has unique qualities. For me, being different wasn’t because I had odd interests or hobbies. It was my cultural makeup that put me into a box my entire life.
My first realization was when I was 4-years-old. A Pakistani girl at school only a few years older than me asked me which language I speak at home. She gave me only four choices: Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi or Gujarati. At the time, those were just a mash-up of words I had never heard before. I told her I spoke none of those words, and she replied “Well look at you, you have to speak one!” It dawned on me later that this girl had an idea of me based on my looks that I did not fit. When I look back, I feel like that instance foreshadowed many of the interactions I would continue to have with others moving forward.
Throughout my life, I’ve been bombarded with presumptions about my background. People have asked me when the last time I visited Trinidad was, or tried to impress me with their Hindi skills (which I speak none of). I’ll never forget a cat-caller hitting me up with “What’s up, my beautiful Indian goddess???” The assumptions are the very least of my worries. The main issue for me arises when I try to explain to people what my background is.
When I tell people where I’m from, I often look into a face of confusion. “What is that,” they usually ask. My explanation morphs into an ultimately failed attempt at clearing up the cultural air, because then I’m asked about my race. It’s a question I still don’t completely know the answer to. You can tell someone you’re Chinese or Italian, and while there are different groups people within these countries, I don’t imagine our Western minds question your race. But for me, it usually comes up.
I do try my best to break it down in comprehensive terms. I explain that like Canada, my country of origin is comprised of many cultures to make one. Some of us are made up of more than one ancestral background, while others have a lineage that traces back to only one country. That’s what happens with colonization, things can get messy. Some people get it, and others don’t.
But making people understand wasn’t a priority of mine growing up. What was more important to me was finding a cultural clique that I could relate to; a group that I could share similarities with and connect with on a deeper level. That never happened.
I never spoke the same language, been to the same homeland, or shared the exact experiences as the Sri Lankan kids or Chinese kids did with each other. I remember an Indian friend jokingly telling me, “Get out of here Jess, you’re barely even brown.” The term “brown” is malleable and indefinite, but it was a small moment of exclusion I knew all too well. I never met any kids from the same island as me when I was young, and I’ll admit it was difficult. The only people I shared a cultural connection with were my family.
Things started to change when the notion of being more “exotic” became more celebrated amongst my peers. Some people hate that word while others seek it out within themselves. I’m indifferent to the term, but I will admit that it’s created a new definition of what it means to be different.
Being the black sheep is more and more celebrated in this generation. I’ve been called “a rare breed” before and it doesn’t bother me at all. I no longer feel culturally suppressed by my background and it’s become something I wear with pride.
Everybody goes through moments in life when they feel different. They’re the moments that make me who I am.
