The Story Whispered In Your Ears


You are not sure why you are proposing this, but you know the idea of writing a personal essay about race, ethnicity and identity has been turning over in your mind for a quite a long time.

The scattered fragments flashing back forth in you mind as if they were shattered pieces of gloss glasses. They are so familiar that you feel like you are doing the last rehearsal before debut; they are so absurd that you are convinced that all these only exist in your wildest fantasy; they are so intimidating that you cringe and curl up in a corner; they are so vivid that you stretch your hands as if you want to seise some intangible glitters.

You remember last time you thought about writing this down in a form of braided essay. Glanced around, your sight dwelled at your identification card. For that second, you were not sure anymore if that was a card that records your identity information or a card that tells you who you are. So you picked up the card and contemplated. Name, Gender, Birthdate, Address and Race, all these seemed to be peculiarly familiar. Do they define you as who you are? Or it is that who you are that defines them?

———-2 —————

Somehow, you knew from the very beginning that it was not the kairos to write it down. You were confused by these identities. You wished every single column on your card can be emptied, forgotten or vanished. You craved a moment of absolute autonomy, just like folks craving a moment of tranquility after a mutiny. Just a moment that you can actually feel your flesh without labels, restrictions or definitions.

You imagined your flesh started to flee, as if the sands flee from the pace between your fingers, and your soul will be emancipated or untangled from your body.

So that rough draft was left there to be finished until the day when you discover more about yourself and your identity. But this unfinished piece enervated you as much as the labels on your identity: you don’t know how far you were to the authentic realization of who you are, just like that you don’t know how far these labels were to the authentic disclosure of your identity.

———-3 —————

All these faces keep emerging like the pathway dipped by the drizzling sunlight. You thought about those racist warnings camouflaged as warm caring advices you got before you came to the united states. You thought about that Chinese mentor told you that this city is dangerous because of minority people live around. You heard all these toxic snobbish words like contaminated soup served to all your Chinese fellows. You witnessed how they became so paranoid that they dare not let their african american suit mate get into their room. You witnessed how hey became so cynical when talking to each other in Chinese about “old black” they met at cafeteria. You witnessed how they became so miserable that they walked became their own prisons of their misconception and prejudice.

And now, you heard the murmur in your head telling you that it is time to write all these down. You saw all these cruelty around you like rowens spinning around your head. Finally, you made up you mind to write down all that in one personal essay. You want to raise you voice and let it be loud. You will tell all that you saw when peeking underneath the curtain, the fire, the rage, the blood, the hate and the sublime humanity.

Somehow, an image of a ritual appears in your mind. Perhaps this is a destined ritual on the pathway of your life.


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