I Want to Share My Story of My Life Right Now
Part of my book and why I never knew something, why I paid a price for not knowing and why I can’t consider myself anything else but a human being with special needs.
My book:
Chapter 15 – figuring myself out and A Part of Me Belongs With You
As I skim through the pages of my life, I always wonder if I forgot to include who I am and where I come from. The simplest thing I could see is that I am a human being with needs, practically this is all that matters. But if I told you I was confused about what I am and where I come from due to people‘s constant perceptions about me, you would probably do the same thing too and obsess about who and what you are and where you come from.
Deep with in the crevices of my heart engraved is a realistic scene that I’m using is what I’ve been told versus what I believe and how I can conquer my fear. I see a man appearing off a boat walking and from taking his first few steps into a land where indentured slavery was of feverish descent, There was a man with a turban on, who knew very little English and the first man he saw was a white man and he asked the white man “how are you and why am I here?” Then he said “my name is Singh…, have I come here for a better life?” It would be a real spectacle for Mr. Singh to look at himself in the mirror and say “I hate myself” if he saw himself today in a mirror image far away in India…what would that person tell him and why? Would they tell him something derogative? Would they tell him something nice? When they speak to him what would they say? If they’d spoken to him in Bihari, Hindi, or Marathi language would they say “he is of my blood and I can understand him?” Or would they say “he is a slave and he is not one of my own? I can see the whippings on his back and I could see the marks on his face of soil and dirt…I can also see the blackness of his skin how he worked all day in the sun and how he can’t be one of my own people…”
I always wondered why India had a caste system… and though it was so wrong of all of those people, they are still praised for this caste system even though it was made to segregate. I always thought that even though Indian people were very smart, and at least most of them are, that not everything they do will be of accuracy. In my opinion, this world of people looks up to Indian people because of their intelligence and because of what they look like, it’s my honest opinion. Yes, in my world I do not perceive myself as an Indian person even though most of my ancestors may have came from India, and yes, I still see Mr. Singh with a turban on his head trying to talk to the British man, asking him why he was there and if he was going to have a better life than the one he knew in India.
My book:
Chapter 15 – figuring myself out and A Part of Me Belongs With You
As I skim through the pages of my life, I always wonder if I forgot to include who I am and where I come from. The simplest thing I could see is that I am a human being with needs, practically this is all that matters. But if I told you I was confused about what I am and where I come from due to people‘s constant perceptions about me, you would probably do the same thing too and obsess about who and what you are and where you come from.
Deep with in the crevices of my heart engraved is a realistic scene that I’m using is what I’ve been told versus what I believe and how I can conquer my fear. I see a man appearing off a boat walking and from taking his first few steps into a land where indentured slavery was of feverish descent, There was a man with a turban on, who knew very little English and the first man he saw was a white man and he asked the white man “how are you and why am I here?” Then he said “my name is Singh…, have I come here for a better life?” It would be a real spectacle for Mr. Singh to look at himself in the mirror and say “I hate myself” if he saw himself today in a mirror image far away in India…what would that person tell him and why? Would they tell him something derogative? Would they tell him something nice? When they speak to him what would they say? If they’d spoken to him in Bihari, Hindi, or Marathi language would they say “he is of my blood and I can understand him?” Or would they say “he is a slave and he is not one of my own? I can see the whippings on his back and I could see the marks on his face of soil and dirt…I can also see the blackness of his skin how he worked all day in the sun and how he can’t be one of my own people…”
I always wondered why India had a caste system… and though it was so wrong of all of those people, they are still praised for this caste system even though it was made to segregate. I always thought that even though Indian people were very smart, and at least most of them are, that not everything they do will be of accuracy. In my opinion, this world of people looks up to Indian people because of their intelligence and because of what they look like, it’s my honest opinion. Yes, in my world I do not perceive myself as an Indian person even though most of my ancestors may have came from India, and yes, I still see Mr. Singh with a turban on his head trying to talk to the British man, asking him why he was there and if he was going to have a better life than the one he knew in India.
