Mixed

I just realised that I have never written about this topic. Which is strange considering how strongly I feel about it. Since my rants are usually twisted and never straight to the point, accept this as a fair warning. I'm about to go all childhood on this fucker.

My first exposure to race happened when I was in primary school. You see, before that, it never occurred to me that there was anything different between, say, a Malay and an Indian. I was taught that we were all equal and the only thing that differentiates us are our actions. The only colour that plays a part is the colour of our heart.

So with that information seared into memory, I went to school. Did my thing. I transferred to a new school when I was 10. My mom told me it was because of the distance but I think it's because I assaulted one of the other kids. It wasn't even because I was angry at him, I was actually very fond of the guy. He talked to me when nobody else did. One day, I saw him hanging out at the other end of the school courtyard and I wanted to say hi. Somehow, that translated into 'Run full speed at him and shove him'. Unfortunately, I shoved him straight into a monsoon drain and he cut his head. Next thing I knew, I was in a new school.

This new school was very weird, even for me. See, the one I went to was called Sekolah Kebangsaan. Right across the street, there's another school called Sekolah Jenis Kebangsaan Cina which is basically a Chinese school. I've always wondered why the two schools weren't merged. On that note, I wonder if there's an Indian counterpart. I digress.

As a new student, I was alienated, obviously. I didn't really pay much attention to it, a few outcasts talked to me and I never really grasped the importance of making friends. Then the insults started coming in.

I didn't understand it then but apparently, the kids had somehow seen my father. The fact is, my father is dark skinned, far darker than me and through some sort of complex process that went through the other children's heads, it meant that it was a bad thing. Ever since then, I was called 'dirty blood'. Somehow, that evolved into 'Kafir' and all sorts of shit. To be honest, that was where my dislike for Malays began. One of the more resilient memory I had was when one day, I went into class in the morning and on the blackboard was the name of God and the Prophet (PBUH) in arabic. The kids, led by this guy called Syed, demanded that I read it. I couldn't because I didn't understand Arabic back then. Then they all remarked how unfortunate it was for me to be raised by my black father who clearly wanted me to deviate from 'the straight path'.

It was hard for me to understand why I became the target because from my eyes, my parents were just two people in love who started a family. That's it. However colour mattered so much to these people and I'm ashamed to say that I somehow tried to conform to that idiotic ideology. I became a social racist, agreeing to every moronic notion that was being discussed. Yeah, the Chinese were the bane of the country. Yeah, Indians were no better than drunken, monitor lizard hunting bunch of cunts.

I nodded and voiced my approval.

Then there was this teacher who taught us Islam. In my naive little head, I was convinced that there was no way in hell that a person who teaches children about a peaceful religion could be bad. Well, obviously I was wrong. With my limited understanding of Arabic, I was the constant target and I was slapped quite a few times for using English in class. Which was incomprehensible to me. If her words were true, then I'm afraid my family, my lineage, my friends and myself all have seat reserved for us for the journey into the bowels of hell.

It wasn't all that bad, I suppose. There was this one guy who had my back and what a surprise it was for me to learn that he was an outcast too. He was a bit of a... Softie, in the strictly literal form of the word. He wasn't gay, I think, but nobody else cared. He was a filthy homo in their eyes and so they isolated him. We became fast friends and I thank God for that because I think he eliminated any homophobia that I had.

Eventually, I went to highschool. My Mom somehow had the brilliant idea of putting me into a Methodist institution. Imagine that. I find it hilarious because I was never accepted in a Malay majority society and then I'm going to try my luck in a Malay minority society. Am I the only one who finds that funny? Alright, then.

I guess I tried to overcompensate. I knew that there was a negative view on Malays and even when I'm not exactly a Malay, I didn't want that perspective to be forced upon me. So I went out of my way to try and explain to everyone that I'm not a Malay. It was fucking hard because for one, nobody actually gave a shit. They already have their views and well, nobody wanted to listen to what a fucking 11 year old had to say. And I tried. For a couple of years. The fact that the Malay teachers kind of doted on me didn't make it any fucking easier. I think somewhere along the line... I gave up. The thought of acceptance was so alien to me that I just took the whole idea and threw it into the bin. I forsook my identity in exchange of my sanity, in a way. It didn't feel good but I don't think I regretted it. For one thing, it blessed me with a 'Fuck this shit' way of life which worked out back then.

I think... The worst thing about being mixed is that you don't know who to go to apart from family and I believe that that is the reason why families of mixed parentage are so close knit. From personal experience of course, I'm sure there's a lot of fucked up families of all kinds out there. Being mixed, you don't exactly have a model teacher, a model senior, a model best friend. You're left to figure things out on your own accord and there will be help if you seek it but there's alway the nagging feeling that they just don't get it. How could they, when they have a specific race to belong to?

On the bright side, your eyes are constantly open. I'm convinced that it's a hit and miss thing. When you're mixed, you're constantly faced with the one decision: To conform or to refuse. I've met lots of people who are mixed and at one point in their lives, they decide to stick with one facet of their identity and disregard the other. Funny thing is, I don't blame them. It's so much easier.

The advantage to being mixed is simply this: You see the worst of both sides of the party. And by seeing the worst, you have an inkling of the best. I've seen the laziness in Malays and how they use everything and everyone else as a scapegoat. I've seen how Punjabis hate Muslims for something that happened during the Mughal era and how they too look at dark coloured skin as something negative. I've seen it and I've experienced it and it taught me lessons that I could never have found anywhere else.

If I could change the past, would I trade my primary school shit for something more pleasant? The thought is very tempting but no, no I wouldn't. Throughout the hate there was something else present and that was helplessness. I'm only making sense of this now but I imagine myself in their shoes. Going home to hear their parents grumbling about how the country is going to shit because of the other races and being raised on that thought alone. Then realising that there's nothing that they can actually do to change things other than using their mouths to insult and ridicule. I get that. Perhaps I'm giving them far too much credit but at least it'll give them the benefit of the doubt instead of attributing everything they do to pure blind hatred.

I love being mixed. That's all there is to it. And I love explaining how this fusion of cultures results in so many different things; the food, the mindset, the whole god damned drama... Everything.

I used to hate the question that people always ask which is 'What are you?'. I think it's because I don't know how to answer it. Nowadays, though... It's so simple. The question itself makes me laugh.

I'm mixed.