Brown + White = A Bit Confused

It was a typical moment in my husband's side of the family. Several of us were gathered around the dining room table. Remnants of the latest game were scattered in the background; sounds of delightful squeals drifted along the mid-summer breeze; and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen. We started to converse about various topics. No agenda. Just whatever. The participants were diverse: men, women, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, parents, and children. A potpourri of opinions were offered. Encouragement was generously bestowed. And people's diverse views were respected. It was a beautiful and refreshing moment, a moment when the hierarchical structures and gender divisions were erased and people were free to share their thoughts as equals.

I struggle with hierarchies and gender norms establish by society on both the micro and macro level. Sometimes such structures or norms give me a sense of comfort. I often take pride in implicitly figuring out what I am responsible to do and how I am expected to behave. Then I take on the attitude of a chameleon and adapt accordingly. Other times, I am bothered by the assumed roles we place on each other. Why must I as a women, as a wife, as a daughter, as a aunt, as a niece, as a mother do that? On top of all of this, I wrestle with the conflicting voices of my two cultural identities. My "brown" ethic roots promote concepts such as respect for elders, valuing higher education, celebrating extravagantly, and the importance of community. On the other hand, my "white" westernized environment encourages familial equality, freedom of choice, investing in the future, and the importance of the individual. Confusing!

When I was a teenager, I had the lead role in our school's annual musical. One of the solos I performed was entitled, "Who am I?" Much to my chagrin, it became the brunt of jokes after the performance was successfully completed. I would walk in a room and some of the ridiculous boys in my class would soulfully cry out the lyrics. I would sigh and mutter some retort to counteract the abuse.

So, who am I? How do I reconcile the many sides of me with the many expectations of the cultures around me? I am not sure. In the meanwhile, don't mock me. ;)

(By the way, I do love my slightly mixed-up self! And I am delighted that my daughter has joined me on the journey.)

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