This is a quote from an article by a Liberian living in the US who wants to go back. He's talking about explaining life here in the US to his brothers and sisters who want to come:
"It is a dull life, I try to tell them. You do the same thing over and over and again, and even if you are tired of it, you have to do it repeatedly because your survival hinges upon it." (article here)
I know that feeling, these last three years. This is one reason I love living around the world. Things are different every day. I know that is an extremely privileged perspective. After a conversation with two friends about racial classifications on the US Census today, I am feeling acutely aware of the privilege of my skin color and birthplace. I realized that I don't know what it is like even to walk through the halls of this law school with any skin color, any accent but my own.
I had this conversation with two friends about racial privilege and then another friend (white) and I started talking about how we have the old version of the US passport, which contains an actual picture stuck under the lamination instead of the new computerized image. My lamination has been coming apart since I got it, so it looks like my picture could have been replaced with a new one. I often get asked about it at immigration coming into the US, the cowboy immigration officers saying, "What happened here?". I told her that, when I get the questions, I have to consciously put on Middle America and say in my most Midwestern of accents, "Yeah, it's been doing that since I got it." But the truth is that I can get away with having a disintegrating passport. I look the part. I sound the part. No one questions my nationality, not even the immigration guys at Kennedy airport when I hand them a passport whose photo is on the verge of falling out. No one questions my right to be here. And that is a huge privilege. There are a lot of people in this world who are denied a nationality or the right to return to their own country. Others can't go back even if they would be allowed to cross the border.
I know that I have this privilege, even as regards traveling. I can go to so many places. I have that freedom. I know that if I had to get up and haul water and pound cassava and wash clothes and dig in the field and make dinner and then go to sleep and get up only to do it all over again, I would be just as bored in Liberia as I am getting up and going to class and coming home and cooking and studying and going to sleep and getting up only to do it all over again. All I can say is that in Africa, at least, I see the sun rise sometimes, instead of hiding it behind the tall buildings.
I am now only (sigh) eighteen paper pages from the end of this one boredom, at least.
"It is a dull life, I try to tell them. You do the same thing over and over and again, and even if you are tired of it, you have to do it repeatedly because your survival hinges upon it." (article here)
I know that feeling, these last three years. This is one reason I love living around the world. Things are different every day. I know that is an extremely privileged perspective. After a conversation with two friends about racial classifications on the US Census today, I am feeling acutely aware of the privilege of my skin color and birthplace. I realized that I don't know what it is like even to walk through the halls of this law school with any skin color, any accent but my own.
I had this conversation with two friends about racial privilege and then another friend (white) and I started talking about how we have the old version of the US passport, which contains an actual picture stuck under the lamination instead of the new computerized image. My lamination has been coming apart since I got it, so it looks like my picture could have been replaced with a new one. I often get asked about it at immigration coming into the US, the cowboy immigration officers saying, "What happened here?". I told her that, when I get the questions, I have to consciously put on Middle America and say in my most Midwestern of accents, "Yeah, it's been doing that since I got it." But the truth is that I can get away with having a disintegrating passport. I look the part. I sound the part. No one questions my nationality, not even the immigration guys at Kennedy airport when I hand them a passport whose photo is on the verge of falling out. No one questions my right to be here. And that is a huge privilege. There are a lot of people in this world who are denied a nationality or the right to return to their own country. Others can't go back even if they would be allowed to cross the border.
I know that I have this privilege, even as regards traveling. I can go to so many places. I have that freedom. I know that if I had to get up and haul water and pound cassava and wash clothes and dig in the field and make dinner and then go to sleep and get up only to do it all over again, I would be just as bored in Liberia as I am getting up and going to class and coming home and cooking and studying and going to sleep and getting up only to do it all over again. All I can say is that in Africa, at least, I see the sun rise sometimes, instead of hiding it behind the tall buildings.
I am now only (sigh) eighteen paper pages from the end of this one boredom, at least.
1 comment:
"Things are different every day." That's it. Life never seemed dull to me when I lived abroad. I enjoyed being the odd-one-out.
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