Well I've got problems - with the blog, with Comcast, with my computer, with my psyche, whatever.
But I want to post about identity. I finished The Garden of Last Days (Dubus' new book) this morning and it did not break my heart. It is brilliant, but it did not break my heart.
It made me think. My thoughts led me to what he said to me yesterday, about remembering my hair. And then I was posting comments and Bubba had used the word "progressive," and I started to think about labels.
I am neither black nor white, American or English or Barbadian or Irish, not totally liberal in my thinking (although I am definitely not a conservative in any way, shape or form) and I'm sick and tired of people judging or making assessments about me because of how I look.
I envy all of you who can say definitively what you are, because I cannot. I envy all of you who can say that someone remembered you because of your good character (or bad character, as the case may be) and not because of your racial makeup.
I wish it were different, but it's not. It's not different anywhere else, either.
This weekend, in addition to the incident yesterday, I was part of another interaction in which I felt I was being assessed and found to be wanting, based on my appearance. I'm not going to go into that one but believe me, it did not make me feel very good.
I'm down in the dumps, not because of the book, but the book contributed to it. I recommend that everyone read it, and House of Sand and Fog (I have not read his other novel, Bluesman) and maybe you'll get some perspective into what it's like to be superficially JUDGED and also what it's like to be the JUDGE.
That's it. Oh, except I wish I had that garden.
Monday, June 9, 2008
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4 comments:
Gillian,
Just for the record, I didn't label anyone - I referred to a label that others imposed on themselves. I also questioned whether their affiliation which such an identity was justified by their actions or inactions.
Sorry, Bubba - Didn't mean to say, or even imply, that you did. It was too much stream of consciousness on my part.
Dearest blogger Jillian,
Sometimes during the course of events we find ourselves using the labels of others to describe ourselves when in fact we are each our own unique brand.
It's all in the marketing, you see.
As a matter of fact, I too have encountered this very thing this weekend. I walked down to Cashman Park, a fine piece of waterfront property, in order to meet my friend and go on great adventures on his sailing boat. While I was eating Nina's Weiner a wag started mocking me behind my back based solely on my clothing, which as you can infer from my fine heritage from Pakistan consisted of loafers, some dockers and the stereotypical pink shirt (which I must confess appears to confuse some of the more shifty-eyed heathen American gays who infest some of Newburyport's establishments).
Such outrages! Do you people not know that pink is the Navy blue of my part of the world and not a signal to engage in man-on-man relations??!? Why does the woman with the soccer balls hidden under her shirt not say hello to me and then cover herself to protect me from my urges?!? There is nothing in the Koran to guide me in such times of tribulation!!!
But this is the price of being different, and one that I will gladly pay in order to preserve my own unique brand.
- Mahatma Kote
Wow, you could be a character in Andre Dubus' new book.
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