Who are you?

“Who are you?” A question so often asked yet finding an answer is a burdensome task.

Identity. As unique to us as we are to our fingerprints, every curved line so strategically placed that it is impossible to replicate.  However, our fingerprints are just mascots of our individuality, where every line represents an experience and every indentation a quality. Identity is something that set us apart from each other, our physical ethnicity and behavioral characteristics are married to make this unique masterpiece. Unfortunately, humankind has made it difficult to coexist amongst each other as bias perceptions dagger in the minds and souls of many, which in turn contributes to discontentment and misperceptions of oneself.  Therefore, when faced with the question “Who are you?” the world tends to slow for a moment and like an echo, the words are reflected to me.

“Ah yes!” Trinidad and Tobago, the twin island regularly advertised by the cliché statement “A melting pot of cultures”, which it is rightfully so because of our cosmopolitan society.  “Here every creed and race find an equal place” the ninth and eleventh line of our very own national anthem.  It’s the part of the manuscript that ascends and elevates into the most pore raising moment, it’s the part where children strain their voices just to sing high enough to stick to the original composure as we are taught from preschool and beyond. Isn’t it strange that line is repeated?  Almost as if while being written, the curse of division was kept in mind.  At some point, we stop straining our voices and instead, most of us find ourselves mumbling the words or completely skipping over them. Is that a sign we have accepted something? That although we try so hard to cover up the racial segregation there’s the never changing brainwashed culture that once your skin is a few shades too dark or the curls in your hair are bit too tight mean you are of a lower grade. That’s just the way it is. Yet we are a nation whenever one of “our” very own makes us proud we celebrate because we feel a sense of connection like family, the love flows through our veins, however, that unity becomes part of a fever dream and the nine-word phrase engraved in our memories is forgotten once election time rolls around.

Equality. Something we all claim to be advocates for, but striving for equality seems a bit ignorant, painting over the fact that not every house nor every child is the same, is illogical on our part.  Maybe equity is more in our reach.  Somehow, we already practice this.  In a country where money does not talk but instead whispers, it only makes sense that opportunities are taken away from those who earned it and instead given to people who purchased it.  How are we expected to grow with this reality?  Taking opportunities from communities where the people will come out on the streets just to support your success.  The same communities that are looked down upon, the areas where people instantly think that you are associated with a certain kind of lifestyle, never giving thought that these communities are filled with love and potential but are viewed as inferior because of their area code.  This may not appear to be that big of a deal, but I just want to be able to put my address on a job application without feeling completely belittled before getting a response.

 Although, I cannot deny all the negatives and experiences that I have experienced, I cannot turn by back on my motherland. She’s all I know. There can be only one. It’s beyond my understanding why are we against each other. An ever-burning blaze that generation after generation has failed to put out.  We are at war with ourselves, yet we are stabbed with the same dagger that we use to fight each other by the rest of the world.  You would think that it reminded us that we all bled the same, yet we still continue with pure ignorance, putting each other down at any given moment. We fill the minds of the most innocent with our ideology then are surprised and disgusted when we are exposed to the flame.

I will be the change. I will be the difference. I will be the girl who shows that we are one.  I will prove that “Voices of the ghetto” can be more than just the stereotypes. I will lead and encourage to claim your space. We, as in my generation will be the ones to extinguish the blaze of senseless war.  So, when asked the question “Who are you?’ I know who I am. I am the “sibling” to Brian Lara, Peter Minshall, Anya Ayoung-Chee, V.S. Naipaul, Dwight Yorke, Machel Mantano, and the list goes on.   We nursed from the bosom of the soul of our mother called Trinidad and Tobago, to bring forth unique cultures and talents that set us apart from the rest of the world.  One day, hopefully we will look at each other and instead of seeing someone else we see our reflection.  When faced the question “Who are you?” I know who I am. The real question is do they care about who I am? Or am I only who they choose to see?