Day 16
When I moved to St. Louis and started learning more about race, I became obsessed with consuming the stories of other black people. My whole world became about listening to and amplifying the stories of black folks and other people of color. I started a storytelling and photography project, where I would interview folks whose stories had inspired me. Activists, artists, writers. I wanted to hear everything they had to say. And I bought all of the books, too. My focus was not just contemporary. I wanted it to be historical. I wanted to be well-read when it came to all of our stories. Everything that it meant to be black.
I realize, in retrospect, that I was centering every story but my own. I never thought that what I had to say about race was important enough to write about at length. Or to consider. I was never quite black enough. But also not Filipino enough. Instead, I would write pages of notes and spend hours transcribing interviews with other people talking about race. And then, at the end, I’d write a few notes on what it was like to talk to them, and how important it was to amplify their story.
I never thought that it was important to amplify my own, too; despite the lifelong inclination and desire I had to do so. My therapist reminded me, recently, that only I can tell my own story. Only I can excavate my inner world with sincerity and honesty, and create a story that feels like my own. I’ve come to realize how vital this is in work around race. Not just for black folks. Or people of color. But for all of us.
I believe it has been vital and transformative for me to center my own story when it comes to thinking about race. For myself. Not necessarily to share or to publicize; but just to know. It’s a story only I can tell. And to pretend that race has had no impact on it would be a disservice to me, when in reality maybe nothing has had a bigger impact on how I experience what it is to be human. I think it is a gift to self to understand our life story through this lens. I don’t know that freedom is truly possible without a deep excavation of these circumstances - this racialized world we find ourselves in - and the role they’ve played in each of our lives.
Whenever we find ourselves in one of these historical moments - a Black person has been murdered - I am often asked by non-Black folks what they should read. They want me to recommend a narrative or some research that will make all of this make sense. I am coming to believe that there is no better starting point than the mirror. That anyone can read my story and be moved for a moment, but if you haven't learned the nuances of your own, the resonance will be short lived. But to commit to sitting with yourself and excavating your interior world? To give yourself the gift of knowing your own story? That, I think, is how we all ultimately get free.
A Practice for Today:
Write a timeline with race at the center. Make note of your birth. Your family. The town you grew up in. What is your first memory of being conscious of race? What was it like in school? What have been some pivotal moments in your consideration of race?
When you have finished creating a timeline, choose one event to explore more deeply. What were the circumstances of that event? What are some gaps that you would like to fill in? Who could help you with that? What about that event was impactful for you?
