people told me i looked more indian

anonymous asked:

One of my best friends is Indian. Two days ago, we were hanging out in her place with another friend of ours, and my friend's older sister suggested she tried out the henna she just had bought on us. Long story short, my hands and arms look fantastic, but when I posted a pic on facebook, a girl ranted about it being cultural appropriation and she told me I shouldn't steal other people's cultures. Should I feel bad?

I could be wrong, but I don’t think that’s an issue. 

If your friend was not Indian and wanted to wear henna, that would be more of a problem. But because someone who is a part of that culture (your friend’s sister) offered it to you (approved of it) I think it’s fine. 

Maybe the girl on Facebook didn’t know the backstory - like I said, if your friend wasn’t Indian, the Facebook girl probably would have been right. 

@feminismandmedia @wild-hearts-rc any thoughts? 

Derek Hale: Alpha Female 2

Words count: 1043

Warning: None

Summery: MUST READ PART 1 FIRST TO UNDERSTAND. After your brothers leave, you are left with a decision to make, to stay or leave. 


“I didn’t know you were biting teenagers now Derek.” You stated and glanced at the two teens near the door.

“I turned one of them and another two(and one of them was killed by the alphas.)” Derek said now healed. You noticed how everyone here but Derek was affected by the power radiating of you.

“Well, I’m (y/n) nice to meet you all.” You gave the teens a smile.

“I’m Isaac and this is Scott.” The tall teen said, you gave him a smile and a nod.

“(y/n) this is Cora my sister.” Derek said and your eyes widened and the new information.

“I’m glad you found each other.” You told Derek.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Scott asked you.

“Now that’s a call for a story/history time.” You said. “But I prefer doing it somewhere, where there’s no blood.”

You all then drove to a house, which belonged to your family seeing as your family owned a house in every place in inhabited places by wolves, some were old some weren’t as old, seeing as they were gathered through the years. Thankfully the house in Beacon Hills wasn’t that old. You always came prepared, and had the keys to the house with you.

“I always wanted to see what’s inside this house, looking at the house in wander.” Isaac said. “No one could ever get inside, and I know a lot of people from the school tried to.”

“Consider yourself lucky then.” You opened the door and walked in the others following you inside. You tuned the lights on. “Everything is dusty and dirty down here, so better get upstairs.”

You knew your way around the house, even though you haven’t been there before. But every house your family had almost had the same layout.

“Luckily all the rooms upstairs have special windows and doors so they should be clean enough.” You walked up the stairs and to the right, where a small study was.

You opened the metal door and walked in and turned the light. “Grab a chair.” Each of the teens did as you said, while you sat on the table that was in the middle of the room, and Derek leaned on it beside you, he was so close that if you moved an inch, you’d touch him.

“Ok so first a quick history lesson, the werewolf’s gene had to come from somewhere, right?” The teens nodded. “My family is the first to get them hundreds of years ago. My great, great a hundred more great grandfather, bite someone and turned him and one by one they started to discover what we could do and as years went on my family grew stronger and now every new born will be an Alpha so every first born will become the king/queen of wolves, like my oldest brother, now me and my other five brothers our children won’t be born alphas, unless we marry alphas ourselves.” You explained in a short version. “Any question?”

“Yeah, how do you know my brother?” Cora asked me and I smiled.

“Your brother and sister stumbled upon our house ‘which in the middle of a forest by the way’ on the day of the full moon that was three years ago?” I looked at Derek for confirmation and he nodded. “Derek here was losing control, so my mom took them in and wouldn’t let them and wouldn’t let them leave until they found am anchor and controlled themselves, by then they both had grown close to me and my brothers so they stayed for a year and nine months, and then left, Derek and I kept in touch but no as often since he came in this town, and when he called I came.”

Just as I finished Scott’s phone rang, showing that he got a text.

“Sh!t Isaac we have lacrosse practice, come on.” Scott said and stood to leave Isaac following him. “It’s nice meeting you (y/n).”

“You too, Scotty boy.” You called after them as they ran out of the house.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up.” Cora said looking at Derek and me, and left us with a knowing look on her face. You gave the girl a mile and she shut the door behind her. You crossed your legs Indian style on the table and Derek turned to look at you.

“You know how much you missed?” You asked Derek. “Like a lot. Why haven’t you been talking to as much, I thought about hunting you down when-” “Thank you.” Derek interrupts your rambling.

“I was just doing my job.” You blushed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“No you did more than that, you saved me, my sister, my pack and a lot of people. So thank you and your brothers.” Derek told you softly. “I own your family a lot.”

“You don’t own us anything.” You told Derek and took his face in your hands his eyes meeting yours. “They know how much you mean to me.”

You leaned up closed your eyes and your lips met in a slow kiss that turned very heated in a matter of seconds. Derek’s hand ran all over your body and you smile at the familiar feeling. You pull back in need of air.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

**Later That Night**

You and Derek moved to one of the bedrooms, so you were sitting comfortably on the head facing each other.

“Why don’t you stay?” Derek asked you out of nowhere.

“In Beacon Hills.” Derek nods, you stay silent thinking it over. “Okay, BUT you’ll be the one telling my mother.”

Derek smiled and kissed your lips.

“She likes me anyway.”

“I know that’s why I told you to ask her in the first place. And if I’m staying here you and your sister and Isaac are moving in with me.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to besides, this house is protected more than the warehouse you’re staying at.”

“God I missed you.” Derek said and kissed you all over your face and neck.

You laughed and snuggled into him and closed your eyes and went to sleep in the arms of the man you love.

I grew up in a community that had a lot of Indians, I think I was lucky that way; I never had to worry about being completely separated from my culture. And I had other people around me who understood what it was like to be an Indian in America.
That doesn’t mean things were perfect, I still felt the sting of stereotypes and racism.
I also grew up around a lot of East Asians, especially in school. We had a food day in one of my Social Studies classes and every year our white teacher would pick a different region of the world. She said all the Asians could bring in Asian food. My friend and I went up to her to ask if we could bring in food, she said no, only Asians could do that. I was constantly told that India wasn’t part of Asia, that I wasn’t Asian enough to be Asian. A fragment of the colonialism and imperialism that continued on, to further white supremacy, to break us apart so we couldn’t work together.
I had a white girl once ask me, “Isn’t India in Africa?” literally days after we had finished studying South Asia in class.
One of my Hindu religion class teachers told me that when she grew up, in Canada, she would wear a bindi to school. She wore it because she wanted to, because it made her feel more comfortable, more in tune with her religion, with her spirituality, with her home in India. She told me that kids would throw rocks at her. She would cry, she would feel alone and different, but she didn’t give up wearing it because sometimes you have to be true to yourself.
I had a white boy once ask me, “Do you smoke pot for your religion?” despite the fact that I did not smoke pot, nor did I know anyone of my religion who did.
One time my best friend and I went out to eat with our families. Her dad ordered some food, asking for something slightly different than what was on the menu due to dietary restrictions. Nothing difficult, just replace one thing with another. The manager told him that he could not come into their restaurant and order food that wasn’t on their menu with his “unintelligible foreign accent.”
I had a white girl once ask my friend, “Isn’t your race extinct?” because 4 billion Asian people on this planet and white people still don’t care that extinction means we would all be dead. (We would be if the colonizers had their way.)
Some girls in my elementary school would ask me about why I didn’t eat meat. They would call themselves my friends and then say things like “I can’t believe you’ve never eaten meat. We’re going to sneak some into your food one day, you’ll love it. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
I had a white woman once ask me, “You speak English really well, where are you from?” as though it were not possible for me to be an American with my brown skin.
My mom told me that she was too afraid to speak when she came to America. She was so afraid of people making fun of her for her accent. She wouldn’t wear a sari to the grocery store for fear of people staring at her and calling her a “dothead.” She wouldn’t bring her lunch to work because people would say she smelled funny, but going to the restaurant meant she had to eat nothing but lettuce for a meal. She let herself go hungry out of fear.
I had a white boy once ask me, “Do you speak Indian? No wait, Hindu?” He couldn’t even remember one of the names of one of the languages that Indians speak.
My friend told me that her grandmother asked her to buy Fair and Lovely because she was too tan, too dark. The commercials in India tell us that our skin will look more beautiful if it’s lighter. My grandmother sometimes tells me about how my mom was so beautiful when she was younger because, “she used to be so pale.”
I had a white boy once tell me, “I’m Asian on the inside” because he was smart.
One time someone who called herself my friend told me that my complaining about the cold didn’t count because, “technically you’re from India, so you’re used to hot weather.” Right, because clearly being Indian counteracts the weather in America.
I had a white woman tell me once, “You’re not Indian, you were born in America, you can’t call yourself an Indian.”
That’s why you white people can’t wear bindis. That’s why we beg you not to wear saris when you’re not invited. That’s why you can’t get the Om symbol tattooed to your body, that’s why you can’t put a third eye on your forehead. You took our culture away from us by mocking us. You forced us to look like you, to act like you, by telling us who we are supposed to be. Because we no longer feel comfortable wearing our culture. Because mehndi and bindis on our beautiful brown skin means we get slurs thrown at us, but when the white girl does it, it’s a fashion trend. Because we have felt the pain for far too long to let you take our culture away from us when you already corrupted our country and our history.

gcnnabelegends  asked:

This is probably such a stupid question but I'm new to being educated on appropriation and I was wondering if it's considered appropriation to do accents that aren't your own?

Let me tell you a story.

When I was in high school, I was cast to play one of the Munchkins in our production of The Wiz. Our director decided that every Munchkin should have a different accent and style. So we had a cowboy munchkin, a Valley Girl munchkin, my friend played a Swedish munchkin that kept slipping into a Canadian accent…

…and I played the “Mrs. Bin Laden” munchkin.

I was 17, I was undereducated about racial relations, and I made this choice for myself because I desperately wanted to wear this one scarlet turban with a massive turquoise brooch and a brilliant spray of peacock feathers (do you see the problems?) I read and delivered all my lines like Apu from the Simpsons. It slayed people. Everyone told me I was great, that the performance was perfect, that I was the funniest and best one, it added something new and fresh to the show, blah blah blah.

And then the show happened, and as I was doing the meet and greet out in the lobby, I saw an Indian family. A dad, a mom, and their two daughters, both younger than me.

To this day, more than ten years later, the look of hurt and fury in their eyes still haunts me. It was like a physical blow, not because I thought they were mad at me, but because I realized that my actions had made them feel that bad. I had turned a big part of their lives, something very important, into a joke. What decent person does that?

I never intended to be offensive by putting on a fake Indian accent, but I did exactly that. I’m very good at mimicking noises and voices, but I never ever EVER put on accents unless it’s essential to whatever I’m conveying. (which is basically never). What is a transitory amusement for me can also be a mark of othering and a flag for persecution for others. How many times are people told to “speak proper English” because they came to speak this tongue second instead of first? How many times are people discriminated against because of it? Even if I tracked that family down and apologized, the damage is done. I added to a culture that turns them into laughingstocks and nothing changes that.

I don’t know in what context you’re putting on this accent or even what accent it is, but a big part of cultural appropriation comes down to the HARM that thoughtless consumption does. If putting on this accent can hurt anyone in any way, don’t do it. And not just because ‘cultural appropriation whatever’, but because it’s the right thing to do.

-Cho

Lesson #3: "You Don't Belong Here"

Maybe it’s not said to my face, but I can still sense it. It’s obvious in the way you say “no, where are you REALLY from?” when I say I’m Canadian. Well, guess what? I was fucking born here, asshole.

I’m not one of you, I get it. Internalized it growing up. Tried to fit in. Tried to white wash myself. Thought about how if I had a magic genie, if I had one wish to be granted, it would be to be white. Refused to watch Tamil movies. I have never worn traditional clothes in my life. Can’t even speak the goddamn language. I did everything I could possibly do to distance myself from my culture.

And I regret it, but I can’t fix it now. I know next to nothing of my own people. I butcher Tamil names when I try to pronounce them. And yet, you, white people, still expect me to be an expert on all things South Asian. Like I didn’t rip that part of myself out and bury it so you would accept me? Like I didn’t endure my family criticizing me for being too Westernized just so you wouldn’t make fun of me?

And I’m ashamed. Ashamed of myself for letting my roots be stripped away. I don’t fit in anywhere, not really.

So, fuck you.

Fuck you, guy in my fourth grade class who said Sri Lanka looked like the tip of a dick.

Fuck you, girl who told me I shouldn’t care about representation when “you guys have bollywood anyways.”

Fuck you, boys who sat in front of me and snickered about immigrants.

Fuck you, people who’ve asked me if I speak “Indian.”

Fuck you, piece of shit on Yik Yak who told me he has more of a right to be here than I do.

Fuck you, suburban mom who gives me dirty looks but treats all my white coworkers with the utmost respect.

Fuck you, boy in my math class that made terrorist jokes.

Fuck you, women who treats the Tamil owner of that pizza place down the street like shit.

Fuck you for saying I look exotic. I’m not a fucking animal.

Fuck you for alternating between Jasmine and Pocahontas when discussing my Halloween costume.

Fuck you, boy who muttered “fucking paki” when my sister accidentally bumped into him.

Fuck you, all the people who’ve asked me if I’m getting an arranged marriage.

Fuck you, people who made fun of my parents’ accents even though they speak more languages than you.

Fuck you for saying “so you’re basically Indian, right?”

Fuck you for making ME accept that as a truth.

Fuck you for calling me an Oreo.

Fuck you, everyone who made me play the part of a black girl in a presentation because I was “the closest thing.”

Fuck you, white girls who make fun of us, but proudly wear bindis at Coachella.

Fuck you to every single person that’s ever made me or any POC feel like they were less than them.


This is an angry post. Apologies.

Fifth Grade

I was reading over some of your posts of people submitting stories. It truly has brought back memories. I hated my self so much in the fifth grade. I am multicultural. I am black white and native american. I look more native and black than anything. In the fifth grade i would always be bullied. The black kids always question me. “Why do you have hair like a white girl?” “Are you black?” “Are you half white?”.  Endless questions. I asked my mother what should i say about my long hair and she told me to tell them i am native indian. Wrong choice. Everyday i walked into class they would make these war noises. Every single day. They told me i thought i was better than them. They called me a savage. They told me i looked like a wolf. Every day. They told me i was ugly. They would also make wolf noise and joke about hows there is a animal in the room. I question what is wrong with me?? Why cant i be like the other black kids. I had one main white friend. Even the white kids didn’t like me either. That killed me. I grew to hate my heritage. I hated my genocide ethnicity i barely knew. I wanted to die. I realize i am beautifully, i am not a savage. There is nothing wrong with the way i look. I am not a half bred or a mutt. I am loved. God loves me. I will not ever be ashame of my heritage ever again. I’m FLAWLESS.

(south indian, asexual, any pronouns are fine)

i’ve been told i’m “the whitest brown girl ever” because i was born and raised here and i don’t practice hinduism, and once when i got into an all-state piano recital, my teacher told me to be “proud of my country” because i was the only indian person there. but i’m more than just my race. i want people to stop looking at my skin color and appearance and jumping to conclusions about what i should be like, and start judging me based on my value as a person, not what’s on the outside.

anonymous asked:

If you want to say all white people are all the same, always looking down on POC, then I guess it makes it easier for you to look down on white people. Spreading the racist ideas that people of one color are ALL a certain way doesn't help. Sorry, I'm white. So I'm full of privilege and look down on ALL POC? I'm also a woman, literally on food stamps and going to bed hungry as a child, and I'm gay. Instead of judging me, can't we just be allies? I'm more than the color of my skin. Aren't you?

White people are always looking down on POC. It’s in everyday life. Seriously, I walk into town and people stare at my because I’m indian and I might take too much milk for a dairy I don’t even own. We’ve been stereotyped into having dairies and being taxi drivers and said to be taking all the jobs. When so many people come to us for those services. 

I fucking get told to go back to my country even though I was born in the country I live in. I get told not to eat butter chicken for lunch somewhere because my white friends don’t like it but I see them eating it and making it the wrong way, and when I tell them spices need to be added they say I’m wrong. Since when does a white person know about my culture more than me?

I’m sorry that you had to live that way but it doesn’t give you a free pass to getting people onto your side. Of course I’m more than my skin colour, I’m a person who fucking has had their own culture turned into a fashion statement because it’s so “hip” and “ethnic”. If you all could just simply accept other people’s cultures and not turn them into something for your own enjoyment then we maybe could be so called “allies”. 

Am I hating every single white person out there? No. I’m hating those who have ignorance basically in their personality that you guys can’t figure out what’s right or wrong. And that basically seems to be the majority of you.

The day you experience even half of what POC experience then get back to me.

anonymous asked:

I seriously don't understand why North Indians think that they are more superior to South Indians. Once when I was working this North Indian lady asked me where I am from in India, I told her her that I'm Tamilian and she gave me the most disgusted look ever and followed it up by saying 'oh but you're too fair to be a south Indian'. As if South Indian people are inferior. If we're so inferior why is South India more socially developed than North India? Skin colour doesn't mean shit.

:( that really sucks. I honestly don’t know much about Indian history but there have been some amazing posts by South Indian bloggers surrounding this topic 💕