Sometimes I hate being white...

... because I feel like I spent all my time before this current life as someone not white. All of high school my 'click' was the mexican kids, my friends in college where all Asian and Indian (my three choosen roommates- white, fillapino, and black), and now I'm surrounded by my pasty skinned waspy suburban housewifes. I feel like I'm a traitor, or perhaps an imposter. Yet I fit in like a puzzle piece around here in this 50's era neighborhood, and it scares me. I can't defend myself because there's no need to feel guilty about the privilages available and taken by all these privilaged people (myself included), but yet I do. When my brown skinned central american babysitter comes over, I feel like I want to slip back into my brown skinned self- how I used to act around those high school chicanas, but yet I know I can't because the way I live and present myself know- I'm a weta... And then when my old roommate and still one of my closest friends stop by, I know people are mentally pausing for a moment (not necessarily intentionally), because there's a black chick in the neighborhood. How hard it is to be white when I've been told underneath the skin, I'm not. Like when the roomies moved in together and Jakhara and I bonded over the kool aid pitcher (called so because that's what it's used for and smells like- still to this day!), and my ghetto booty shakin music, and so many relatable experiences we both have had. And those times where my friends chided me about being so Asian that I preferred rice to accompany (or to stand in place of) my meals instead of the salad my Asian dinner pal would eat (cultural role reversal). But now, growing up in this white, middle class, suburban-esque neighborhood I feel my cultural roots slipping away where I feel that I can no longer interact with the intimacy I once had with others of 'color'. And yet I still feel someone alienated from those in this neighborhood because honestly there is still touch of racisim or lack of understanding among some. And what will my children grow up to understand when all they are surrounded with are Norman Rockwell pictures- plenty and comfort, while everyone else in the world must suffer largely because of a minority status. Sucks.

Baby crying... must stop now...