Diaspora Dysphoria

Look I write something! I'm actually trying to perform this for the One World show my school has every year. I just auditioned it today, so let's hope for the best <3

Still have to work of some of it, but most of it is here.

Diaspora Dysphoria

I am a child of diaspora.

Last name I have no ties to,

First name my mother heard on Sesame Street,

Names give me no solace.

My mama’s mama was a product of love soured

By a nationwide obsession with race and colour:

A story of a baby too brown

For anyone but her mother to love.

A story that comes back ‘round to me when they say,

‘Psst, t’ick sauce wit’ de nice hair.’

They call me dougla.

By the time I outgrew my obsession with bindis and tikas

And my one true dream to be bollywood dancer,

Classmates told me I was too proper to be black.

They call me dougla.

But ever so often I throw around mulatto

And try and forget the oppression behind it.

Two generations later, I have no ties to coco panyol

Other than passing mention.

The only name I have for this,

The only name I have for me,

Is confused.

At home they say, ‘dougla, what yuh mix wit’?’

But here they say black is black.

‘Are you ashamed?’

Am I ashamed?

Not of the blackness

Or the whiteness

Or the Indian-ness

Or the Syrian-ness

Or the whatever-else-it-have-ness.

Just confused.

Because things like race have always baffled me.

Because race implies someone must win.

Because when I look in the mirror

And I see the roundness of my nose,

The curliness of my hair,

The sharpness of my cheeks

And the brownness of my skin,

I am neither ashamed nor confused;

just euphoric.