I am black. I always have been and I always will be. I’m proud of it. But I didn’t really “identify” as black for a while, because everyone else was, and as the saying goes, “When everyone is, no one is.” I was surrounded by black people, in my home environment, in my school environment, in my church environment, in any environment. I wasn’t a black person, I was just a person. That doesn’t mean I didn’t recognize and appreciate the richness of my ethnic history and lineage, it just means it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. When I went out, my race didn’t factor into the decisions I made, when I applied for things, I checked off “black” without even thinking. Now that I’m not surrounded by so many others like me, I really am a black man now.
Of course I know what comes with being black outside of Jamaica. I’ve been approached multiple times because someone thought I was an employee at a McDonald’s, or a Target. Never at anywhere that paid their workers more than minimum wage though… I knew to stay silent and avoid eye contact whenever police were around. I know when to make my hair look short and “neat,” regardless of what it actually looks like. But in all of this, I always knew there were so many around me who knew, and who understood why we did what we did.
But the black experience isn’t just avoiding cops and personal restraint. It’s the parties, the cuisine, the inside jokes, even being able to just throw “certain words” (maybe just one certain word ;)) around whenever we feel like it. It’s the common cultural dictionary of songs you have to know, show you have to had watched, food you have to like, dances you have to know. It’s the shared experiences of Saturday morning cleaning and having a cleanly shaven head or bantu knots when we were kids. It’s just the thing. I can’t explain it, but anyone who looks like me will know what I mean.
I’ve never been a “minority” before. I never thought twice about seeing someone who looked like me. But since coming to Hong Kong, my eyes widen when I see another black person on the streets. There’s nothing like the knowing head nod that we share, the silent acknowledgement of our shared identity in a world where no one looks like us. Of course I have an amazing community of black students on campus, though. We have been through so much together and we share those common elements of the black experience, and relate to each other in a way no one else can. It’s dope, to be frank. But outside of campus, more often than not, it’s me against the world. Of course I’ve been watched by security guards. Of course I’ve sat down next to someone, and seen them whisk themselves away before I even lean back. Of course I get the stares sometimes, but I’m fine with it. I know people like me are one in a thousand here, and that’s what I signed up for. I find it fun to look around the train, or in the store, and see that I’m the only one who looks like me.
Even on campus, being the only, or one of a few black people per class is something I’m used to now. The realization kicks in every once in a while, when I look around I imagine how easy it would be to find me if someone took a picture in that exact moment. I’d be lying if I say that it’s a novelty all the time though.
Sometimes, only those with a common ethnic background as us can really get how we feel. there are some things that only we understand. Sometimes I miss not being a sore thumb in the handfuls of people wherever I go. Sometimes being so obvious is tiring. There are days when I want to just blend in, but because of how i look, I just can’t. Sometimes I just want to rap the entire song. Every. Single. Word.
It’s funny how the word “black” can be so scary for people to say. I always found one instance so funny, when one of my friends was trying not to say “black,” but it was clear they were having some difficulty finding words to say. I simply stopped them and said, “Are you trying to say black?” Their face looked a bit flustered but I couldn’t stop laughing. It’s just a word. No need to fear saying it.
But I was sitting in a meeting a few days ago when I found myself a bit frustrated. I looked and there was only one other black person present. I found myself questioning whether it was right to even be frustrated, but I think my feelings were valid. There will always be certain types of people who remind us of home, and it’s not wrong to want to be around them. I’ve given up on finding other Jamaicans, for the most part, but sometimes I want to be around those who give me a connection to the home that I’m so far away from. Don’t get me wrong though, I love being in a place that is as diverse as the one that I’m in. The amalgamation of various cultures, yet the similarities we all have of being teenagers, is an interesting paradox of people being so vastly different, yet so alike. I love being able to interact and learn about people who have had such different experiences. My LPC family, I love you guys.
I know that this is probably how it’s going to be from now on. In university, and beyond, I will always have to recognize that I am a black man, instead of just, a man. The first thing people notice about me has become the first thing I notice about myself. While a lot of the time, I relish the uniqueness, other times I want to blend into the crowd. Being a “sore thumb” has such a negative connotation, now that I think about it. I’d like to think of it more as being an Adidas in a world full of Nikes.
