“Where are you from?” None of your business.

When a relative stranger/acquaintance asks, “where are you from?” to me, it’s a loaded question. One that I don’t feel I owe an answer to.

I’m from Bolingbrook, IL. That’s where the fuck I’m from.

Is that what they’re ever asking? No. It’s not.

Often, to make the conversation more awkward, I’ll force them to go as deep into what they really mean when asking, hoping they’ll end up realizing that it’s uncomfortable therefore inappropriate.

They’ll say, “no, but like where are you from?”

And I’ll be like, oh, I guess I originally lived in Lisle but I think I was born in a hospital in Joliet.

They of course never pick up on the cues I’m giving and continue on, “No no, I mean where are your parents from?”

Then I’m like “ohhhhhhhhh! My bad. My Dad’s from Addison and I’m not 100% sure but I think my mom’s from Bolingbrook.”

Now seriously, at this point, it’s gotten ridiculous. I’m obviously avoiding the question intentionally and politely.

The person will then say some odd variation of the same question but insert the word “ancestor” in there somewhere…

Because, THIS is what they’re always really asking, “why are you brown?”

It is, and again, why does it matter?

At this point, I always let out a slightly terse smirk and slowly say to them, “my dad is white, my mom is Colombian.” (They often still don’t catch on.)(Also, they never care what variation of “white” I am. Only the dark portion.)

I’m not saying someone shouldn’t be proud of who they are, because I AM proud of who I am. I’m not, however, walking around with half of a colombian flag on my shirt like a badge of honor just like you’re not wearing an American (or any other country’s) flag either. I’m 100% born and raised in America and I couldn’t tell you a thing about Colombia unfortunately except that the capital is Bogota and my Grandma makes a killer tamale.

At least if I were wearing a flag as a badge of honor, then I’d at least be basically begging you to notice my patriotism.

I shouldn’t have to explain “where I’m from” to people I casually know, let alone complete strangers. I didn’t wake up today with the thought “ask me about my tan?”

I feel like I have some understanding as to why Raven-Symoné and Whoopi Goldberg don’t like being referred to as “African American” (Some. Have your own opinions kids. I’m talking personally about myself). It’s like if you were born and raised in Chicago but society tells you you’re suburban because your great, great, grandparents were born in Naperville. At what point do you identify with your current location?

Now, I’m not necessarily so offended that someone wants to know “why I’m brown.” I just revel in all the awkward euphemisms a person uses to avoid asking the blunt “why are you brown?” question.

It’s the follow-up to that question that always irritates the fuck out of me.

After I make it incredibly clear that I’m saying I’m 100% American… from the suburbs of Chicago–Shit, I don’t even know if Bolingbrook is actually even considered a suburb–But either way, the person will often just immediately start speaking to me in Spanish.

I’ll look at them like WTF? They’ll say something like, “What? You don’t speak spanish?” with a slightly disgusted look on their face.

I’ll be like, no. I feel like I just told you I’m from Bolingbrook and I’m only “half Colombian.”

Of which again, I’m forced to address a question I don’t feel I owe anyone the answer.

“Why didn’t your parents teach you spanish?”

Again, none of your fucking business.

See, being of mixed race, you’re never quite enough for anybody. You’re not white enough to be white. You’re not Colombian enough to be Colombian and people don’t think it’s ignorant as fuck to say things like “Oh, well I just consider you white anyway.”

Now, while it’s nobody’s business why I don’t speak spanish, I’ll clue you in anyway, because if you’re taking the time to read this, then I am very thankful and am happy to clue you in.

Simply put, my mother didn’t think it was necessary. My dad doesn’t speak spanish. My mother, her sister’s and even her parents had the idea that “We’re in America, they [all of their children] are not going to have a need for it because everybody speaks english here.”

Of course, today, they realize how much it would have benefitted us had they taught us, but at that time, America was a lot whiter so they couldn’t exactly predict the future. Also, my dad doesn’t speak spanish so it would’ve been challenging to teach my sister and I both english and spanish with him only speaking english.

The point is, we could’ve had a conversation about anything else but instead of having a light conversation, I’m instead feeling like I have to explain myself to a disappointed stranger.

I don’t go up to every white person I meet, ask them if they’re European, then ask what part and then prod them to speak in their native tongue. I don’t, because that’s silly. There’s a lot more to a person than their skin color so how about we try to delve a little deeper.

How about opening with “tell me about yourself.” You might learn why I’m brown or you might learn that’s not my go-to descriptor.