i recently learnt, much to my dismay, that i do not see as well as i thought. yes, i'm in good company with 70% of the population but, to one whose personality is only 2% shared, that is not a comfort. it's a little bit akin to the first time you step into a room of people who are all communicating in a language you do not speak. you feel frustrated that you cannot understand and you feel compelled to try as hard as possible to do so. unlike the colors that i see, it is possible to overcome the feeling of being an outsider and learn to grow and belong. you can master the customs and the language, learn to enjoy the food and culture. yet, as with the limitations of my eyesight, i must remember that i can only go so far.
today i stepped into a local shopping chain geared toward hispanic cuisine and felt wonderfully whisked away to another country in which people actually knew what a cherimoya was. as i reveled in the narrow aisles and the language i could understand all around me i felt at home. being a gypsy means you have no home, and so, ironically, you feel most content when that is most apparent.
as my bag grew heavier a sad thought pushed in, marring the experience. i do not see as well as i thought. i am used to being stared at when i look different, but it is most often a look of interest and curiosity. here, in the land where i am judged to be the majority by color of my skin, i felt a bit of hostility coming from some of the people. perhaps merely my perception--no one was rude or anything. but it was as if i did not belong. instead of that not-belonging being welcomed, as my sight cleared i realized that i was viewed a bit as a trespasser--trying to speak a language not my own, enjoy the fruits of another land, marvel at new sights; in short, i was viewed as a tourist.
tourism is all well and good, but i resist that label even when it fits. i like to think that i adapt more, see the culture as it is more, live like a local more. but maybe i do not see as well as i thought. maybe i am blind to my inability to relate to those who feel judged and insulted by people that look like me. and that makes me think all the more that the answer to racism is not being color-blind: it is love. love of a world full of different people with different tastes and experiences. love of a Savior who loves us all regardless.
today i stepped into a local shopping chain geared toward hispanic cuisine and felt wonderfully whisked away to another country in which people actually knew what a cherimoya was. as i reveled in the narrow aisles and the language i could understand all around me i felt at home. being a gypsy means you have no home, and so, ironically, you feel most content when that is most apparent.
as my bag grew heavier a sad thought pushed in, marring the experience. i do not see as well as i thought. i am used to being stared at when i look different, but it is most often a look of interest and curiosity. here, in the land where i am judged to be the majority by color of my skin, i felt a bit of hostility coming from some of the people. perhaps merely my perception--no one was rude or anything. but it was as if i did not belong. instead of that not-belonging being welcomed, as my sight cleared i realized that i was viewed a bit as a trespasser--trying to speak a language not my own, enjoy the fruits of another land, marvel at new sights; in short, i was viewed as a tourist.
tourism is all well and good, but i resist that label even when it fits. i like to think that i adapt more, see the culture as it is more, live like a local more. but maybe i do not see as well as i thought. maybe i am blind to my inability to relate to those who feel judged and insulted by people that look like me. and that makes me think all the more that the answer to racism is not being color-blind: it is love. love of a world full of different people with different tastes and experiences. love of a Savior who loves us all regardless.
No comments:
Post a Comment