What are you?

The question that makes most

Mixed race people’s skin crawl.

It makes them roll their eyes almost as hard

As any question about college.

What are you?

For me,

This question does not warrant any eye rolling

Or any exasperated exhales

Or even an ounce of annoyance.

What are you?

This question allows me to be….

Well me.

I wish I could wear my race like a t-shirt

Or write it on my forehead

so that everyone could see that I Am

Black.

That I Am

White

And that I Am

Colombian .

What are you?

I wish people didn’t have to follow my honest response with a

“but you don’t look black?”

Or a

“but I’ve seen your parents and neither of them are black?”

What are you?

I wish people didn’t have this idea that all mixed people

Should look like they started out as white as a marshmallow

To then be roasted to a perfect golden caramel color.

What are you?

I wish people could believe me when I say my dad is black,

Without me having to pull out a picture of his parents

Who embody what black is “supposed” to look like.

What are you?

I wish people knew that when the White Spaniards

Conquered most of South America it wasn’t just their diseases they brought

They brought their pale white skin to then

pass onto future generations who would be born in Colombia

What are you?

I wish I could smash the doubt that crosses peoples mind

Or I could stop them from refusing who I am because they don’t see it.

Because for me, it’s not the question that makes my skin crawl

It’s what comes after.