cultural elasticity, ethnic hair, and a gallery of selfies.

 By Anci CL


"Happy new years!" She trilled from across the street.I nodded back, a little thrown by the timing.

But more importantly?
It's happy new year, not happy new "year's" We call it new year's day, because the apostrophe with an S makes that shit possessive. (in the same way, that referring to my verbose rantings as "Anci's blog, doesn't make my name "Anci's")


(And that, ladies and gentlemen is why I am in education.) 

resting blog face

I like blogging-- I like that I get to sit down somewhere-- messy, unwashed hair strewn across my shoulders, reaching just past my clavicle, and settling into an unkempt arrangement of dark brown chaos.

I like my hair-- I like that two years after my last dye job, it sits as a stark reminder of an off-white heritage. I like how overcast it feels (and how golden it can seem in certain lights.) I appreciate its heaviness-- (the one consolation, assigned to this thick Lebanese eyebrow-haver)
I'm going to take better care of it in 2015--- like, do more than just throw it in a ponytail, whenever it starts to over-complicate things.

Hair is the only (immediate) external marker I have of of my more ambiguous heritage. Well, that and my nose, which isn't so prominent as to raise airport suspicion.
 I like the fact that when I dye my tresses blonde, I look completely Slavic. Even my nose starts to take on a daintier disposition, in compliance with my softer visage)

But when it's darker, (and i have dyed it black twice) I take on a much more visible exotic "otherness" (which I have rightful claim to-) When its darker I'm suddenly harder to dismiss. I seem more articulate to others.
Not many people get to play with their racial/ethnic presentation. But me?  I am the halfway point between so many cultures, and I love getting to show it-- (And i love the way some people resent the way I can dip in and out of identity. Sorry not sorry.)

okay it's not like i never fuck with them on purpose either:

It's not cultural appropriation, it's Diwali. (2013)

and again in 2014...

Sometimes I think I talk too much about my identity issues--  but then someone walks up to me and says "Is  that Armenian?" "Are you Russian?" "Croatian? You mean Korean?" "Ana... pronounced the Spanish way, really?" And my favorite "What do you mean you're Mexican? How Mexican?"

Then I feel less mired down by my proverbial writerly pita-chips, and more radiantly righteous in my prickly predisposition. (And also, suddenly hungry for pita.)