I grew up in Ann Arbor thinking it was the most diverse and open-minded place, and frustrated that it was an echo-chamber. My biggest fight in high school was asking for Diwali to be a school holiday. But coming to the University of Michigan was a wake-up call.
I grew up trying to hide. Hide my culture, hide my skin color, hide my consuming desire to fit in. If I just acted like everyone else, talked like everyone else, dressed like everyone else, then maybe I would be like them.
My life has changed significantly since I last wrote “Why I joined Michigan in Color” — my perspective of the world has shifted and warped with the passing challenges of my time being a freshman, now a sophomore, at a university whose Black population is only
I’ve known I was queer for as long as I can remember, in the sense that means odd or unusual according to the dictionary. It’s taken me some time, and deep introspection, to accept my identity as a queer black woman; six years, to be precise.
The question I’ve always fumbled around my head was “how does a “yellow” person enter the conversation about race in a “Black v white” America?” Common yet subtle experiences have conditioned me to approach this exploration with caution.