English | Seychellois/Irish
There is a lot of dismissal of race (and to a lesser extent heritage) discussions within my family, facilitated by us being White assumed, especially my generation of ‘the Grandchildren’. I grew up with the implicit belief that I should keep my heritage as secret or at least on the low-down as possible, because of course, Whiteness was the pinnacle of success, beauty and acceptance in this country, so why would I give up the privilege of being assumed it? Despite spending my teenage years pretending to be White, I was always drawn to learning about other cultures because it felt validating to know there was a breadth of experiences and ways of life out there. So I ended up studying Geography, and then International Development, at university. Working through my anger, but undeniable connection to, colonialism through uni work allowed me to recognise and finally to celebrate my own mixed heritage. This was all against a backdrop of my Grandad’s health deteriorating, and I spent a lot of time trying to learn more about his experiences of colonialism, migration and racism but he was often too sick or disillusioned to tell anything other than his same go-to tales that I’d heard since childhood. Then, last January, he passed away. As someone who had just reconnected with their Seychellois heritage, what did it mean that my Seychellois family member was gone? I’ve answered that question by committing even harder to representing my background and being loud and proud about it.
One of the last times I cried is something I think about a lot is how I have a lot of hidden identities; I’m mixed but I don’t always look it, I’m disabled but I don’t always look it. This is a real double edged sword. I get all the privileges of Whiteness and able-bodiedness, but I live with a constant sense of dissonance where people make incorrect assumptions about who I am. This creates a weird limbo I live in where I can feel like I’m never enough of one thing or another, not enough to be seen for who I am, to reflect the true internal life I’m living. I cried because I was having a difficult time with my disability (ME) and was frustrated by the world around me assuming I’m capable of constant activity and productivity.
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