Flame Free Friday Confession: Confessions of an Oreo

Here's my confession: It's a big one, and something that I'm not proud of, but here it is anyway.

Sometimes I hate being Black.

I hate the hair. It is the bane of my existence. It either needs chemicals, or extensions, or massive amounts of combing and blowdrying and oils to make it look decent. And I hate that I feel that way. Why can't I just go natural? Whenever I contemplate going natural, I get pressure from, of all people, my mother. I can't go natural, I have to look "good". Why isn't the way I look naturally "good" enough?

I hate the assumptions of others. I hate that people think that I have to dress a certain way (Apple Bottom Jeans, lots of bling, Baby Phat baby-tees), and listen to a certain kind of music (hip hop, gospel, and gangsta rap).

I am not like that. I am not like my cousin who is getting her PhD in race and race studies. I am not like my sister who only dates black guys and enjoys Mariah Carey and Chris brown.

I love to sing, but I channel Sarah McLachlan more than. . .honestly, I paused here because I can't think of any black artists besides Janet Jackson and Whitney Houston, who I don't think are popular anymore.

When I was in high school and going through my rebellious phase, I didn't wear low-rise jeans or basketball jersey dresses. I lined my lids with black eyeliner and wore shirts with skulls and cross-bones on them.

I can't play basketball or run track, I am not a good dancer, and even in my post-baby body I am not booty-liscious.

But I am expected to be and do all of these things. I'm not and I can't and I don't even want to. I want to not disappoint people when I don't turn out to be what they expected me to be. I don't want people to be impressed or surprised when I don't use the current slang. I don't want to have to be ashamed that I'm more interested in travelling to Greece than Africa, or that I prefer HGTV to BET.

I just want to be allowed to be myself. I don't want to be called an Oreo. I don't want to be shunned by my own family members because they think I am "white washed". It enrages me that my own people are stereotyping themselves so badly that they are surprised when another Black person isn't exactly like them.

Are all white people the same? Do all white people drink tea and play water polo and summer in St. Barths? No? Then why should all Black people be the same?

I just am who I am. I cannot help what I like, and I will not modify what I do. If that's not Black enough for you, then you're the one with the problem. And frankly, you're invited to twist off my top, dip me in milk, and bite me.