I was asked to write a podcast on diversity for my Change, innovation, and Impact course. The issue I choose to write about has recently surfaced through interactions with a close friend. I hope by posting this, a conversation can begin that is truthful and engaging. I will not give you a summary before hand so with that being said, read and comment! 

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When many think of culture they see race and color but for me culture is much more than this. I think that the word diversity expounds upon what it means to exist in union with different forms of people. 

I remember coming to America and there was this preconceived notion about a world called foreign by many Jamaicans. When I arrived I was taken by the sights and lights that blinked in front of my eyes. There were people everywhere and it was so congested. After a few months I began to adjust but I still felt out of place. I can remember the coming of Black history month and I think that the month of February is what always sticks with me when I think about diversity. In Jamaica I have no recollection of Black being a main identifier; upon being present in America I did not see myself as black. I believe that I assumed that being Jamaican encompassed being Black and African- American.

In my later adolescent years I began to realize that there were multiple ways of identifying one’s self. There were Asian-Americans, Native-Americans, and etc. yes, I learned of all this in my schooling but it wasn’t as apparent as the way it was when I arrived in the states. I began to become a form of blackness that I observed in my neighborhood; this was the struggling single parent household and Jordan wearing young women. This way of seeing the world was not one that was allowing me to understand who I was and why I felt so excluded. I was called an Oreo and many assumed that I was assimilating to a white culture. I am in no way putting the blame of my own self expression onto those in my community but highlighting a lack of understanding. My association to Blackness was not based on the immense love I felt for my community but the struggle I examined.  Though this may have not been the right way to identify with those that I looked like, I am now able to look back and see all that different shades of my people. These shades aren’t just limited to race but so many other forms of being. With that being said, all I could see was the assortment of color, not who people were. My mom does not call herself Black, she calls herself Jamaican. It hurts me to know that the men and women who share such a distinct history with me aren’t engaging in storytelling with me. I want to know what it is like to be a Black American and I would like the chance to tell what it is like to be a Jamaican woman in America.

My analysis of self shows a misunderstanding of the world that can keep culture intact but also cause a separation within another. I am in between two hurt cultures trying to find a middle group for love and rehabilitation.

I am a black Jamaican, Maroon, African-American searching for who I am, not based on the color of my skin but my experiences. Please do not judge me, let's speak.