In Trinidad....

On vacation....back later...but in the meantime, I came across this while getting ready to write my essays for summer jobs...this was the start of my original lsac personal essay - but I was advised to change it and not shock the admissions officers...lol...can't remember if I had this up already or not...

Gazing at my surroundings, my heart beats frantically. My breaths hitch as my eyes dart around nervously like a deer caught in someone’s headlights. I am petrified. The year is 1996. Our group arrived in St. Louis the night before for my first United Youth Congress – a denominational gathering that occurs every 4 years. The morning is vibrant with excitement and promise. As I walk eagerly into the Dome, my steps falter until I stop completely. A cold clammy feeling encases me.

The place is teeming with black people.

Whenever I relate the above experience to others, I am usually confronted with shock, disbelief and/or laughter. After all, I am black. Few can understand the idea that I was afraid of my own race.

Growing up in an immigrant household in the United States, and as one of two black girls in my classes was instrumental in shaping my perspective at that age. By 14 I had given up wanting to have blonde hair and blue eyes, but my interaction with other blacks, particularly Americans, had been limited to church.

At this period of my life I teetered between false snobbery and serious insecurity. I always knew I was considered “gifted” from an early age. Getting good grades was easy for me. Winning my elementary spelling bee at 10 only served to enhance my pride. I was inundated with accolades from teachers – pats on the head when I performed. The phrase “you’re not like other black children” was constant. And I doted on it. I was special. My parents were Trinidadian. They weren’t weighted down with the repressed mentality or search for identity so often associated with African-Americans. I was different and better than my peers.

Or so I thought. By the time 1996 had rolled around I was more comfortable with my race, but only those I knew from church or school. I was the only black girl in school to hang out with the “Goths”, Latinos, Asians, Christians and “nerds” alike.

Encountering a host of black youth made me feel intensely insecure and unsure of how to behave. Should I try to adopt the popular slang that was never allowed at home? Teasing from my black peers about being “white” or never “black enough” haunted me.

Initially, it was a terrifying experience. However, it became one of the most important experiences in my life. By the time I left St. Louis, I was in love with blackness – the struggle, strength and variety of it. I realized that though the media and my environment presented powerful forces in shaping stereotypes, I could choose not to accept their negative influences.