I knew that I was not the same color as either of my parents. I was darker than my mom, but lighter than my father.
If you’re a black woman who is not open to dating outside your race, you may find your options severely limited.
“Finding myself” in relation to my travels make it sound as if I actually left my right leg in Medellin, or something. But “finding myself” is exactly what I’m trying to do.
Because after 23 years of thinking that I knew my ethnic background — of thinking that I knew who I was — I have found out news that changes everything, but at the same time, nothing:
I am (probably) black.
I keep a beard because if I was white, no one would question it or treat it or me otherwise. But because I’m brown, everyone suddenly pays attention.
What continues to impress me about Get Out is that it presents very relatable scenarios that most of us have experienced and to which we can connect, regardless of your race or ethnicity.
In a culture fuelled by debate, we’ve managed to make something which is very much a part of how we as humans evolve, a problem.
People assume that you have identity issues because you are interracial.
The more enjoyable and relatable you find La La Land, the whiter you are. And if you ever meet anybody who tells you it’s their favorite movie? Yeah, it’s pretty much a lock they secretly want you and everybody who looks like you ethnically cleansed.
Being in my twenties, I realize being black is exactly what I am.
All storytellers, writers, script interpreters, and directors of all race deserve a chance to fail, but also a chance to succeed.