I’ve been feeling an overwhelming burst of isolation. With so many sensitive topics flooding our screens from corporate news sources, it’s hard to find hope and light amidst the chaos and darkness. Like a stranger in a strange land, I am still searching.
I came from Halifax, Nova Scotia, and then Edmonton, Alberta, both pleasant and lively places to grow up in the 80s and early 90s. I learned about racism, but never encountered it myself. I generally felt an overwhelming sense of peace and happiness in a childhood filled with ballet and drama classes, skiing, piano, art, theater, and short but spectacular summers. When my family moved to Winston-Salem, North Carolina in the mid-90s, I had great friends starting out, and people generally were curious about me, and friendly too. People had no idea what I was.
I put “biracial” in quotations in the title because the archaic idea of “race” was created to make a certain person feel more comfortable about the rest of the world. Is it a skin colour, country, religion, or genetics? For some people, is it a choice? In North Carolina, I was asked a few times whether I was Black or White, and I honestly didn’t know how to answer that question, as if those were the only racial options. I was new to them, so they didn’t have a box for me. Others would ask where I worship, and my mother would tell me to say “We worship at home,” even though I was raised without religion (atheist). Over time I found clever ways to answer questions about myself. I eventually enjoyed the extra attention I received for being different, even the teasing and jokes about being Canadian. All of that was in good fun.
I am the only product of a second marriage, for both of my parents. I have half-siblings on both sides, and I grew up with my half-sister and half-brother from my mother’s previous marriage. They are fully Indo-Trinidadian (of Indian and Afghan decent). My three half-sisters from my father’s previous marriage are fully Finnish. As for me: I am half Finnish (Scandinavian) and half Trinidadian (of Indian and Afghan decent).
Me in Bethesda, MD with my father. Circa 1987
I have never met my Finnish half sisters, nor have they ever reached out to me. I will admit that I am curious about them, but also a little hurt that they were never curious about me. My mother told me that just after I was born, she ran into a friend of my father’s ex-wife. This friend said that my half-sisters were all curious about what “colour” I turned out to be (which is odd, since my mother has light-olive skin). And my mother said to her, fiercely, “She is just fine. And you should see her, she is beautiful.”
In North Carolina, when I was in my teens, I started to dye my hair wild colours. I began listening to metal and industrial music, and found my place in a group of metal-heads and punk-rockers in the Winston-Salem local music scene. It was a wonderful place to be, and it felt really good to belong to something I could call my own. Everyone was welcome, regardless of race, gender, or colour. Music is what united us. Sub-culture took huge precedence over what you were genetically, or what religion or class you were born into. It was powerful, and we felt completely above all of the social mores and categories everyone loved shoving us in. I knew I was always different from everyone else in my family because of the sub-culture I chose, though they completely accepted me for who I am. Looking back, it totally makes sense that I am a metal-head, as Finland is the Promised Land of Heavy Metal.
I came home with turquoise hair and an extra piercing in my ear one day. I was probably wearing fishnets, a Marilyn Manson t-shirt and a silver vinyl skirt with combat boots, my standard uniform when I was going out to the mall with friends. My brother was home from college. He asked me a simple question: “Why would you want to stand out any more than you already do?” I thought about it for a long time. Dying my hair was not about standing out (as most counter-culturalists agree that in the end, we all looked the same by making similar fashion statements). It’s hard to pinpoint, but it was about belonging to something extraordinary, fun, and exciting. Expressing your art on your own body. Showing the world that we are the truly free ones. And yes, a big “Fuck You” to The System. But I think what he meant was, “Don’t you want to be accepted?” My brother and sister are darker skinned than me, and have had a lot of racism hurtled towards them growing up. People didn’t understand them (as with most hatred, it stems from fear and a lack of knowledge). They would tell me stories that made me so angry that I wish I could go back in time and slap the shit out of the people who made them hurt. But in the end, that wouldn’t do anything, it would just make things worse. After all, hatred is cyclical. I had my fair share of bullying in North Carolina growing up, mainly because I was a nerd, and a female. One mentally deranged kid called me a “JAP.” I had no idea if he meant Japanese, or Jewish. I am neither, but he was ignorant. I ended up being a tonal blend between my parents. Some people think that I look “white.” Others think that I appear “exotic.”
After a fashion show in Greenwich Village, New York City
After North Carolina, I moved to New York City to be a TV host, actress, model, and singer. I accomplished everything within a year and got some really great gigs all around. I found that it was easier to break into music, hosting, and modeling with a “different” and unique look than acting. New York agreed with me in every sense of the way. That city captured my heart, and the 7 years that I spent there educating myself, working, and growing my soul and career are priceless. Never have I felt so welcome and accepted. It was as if there were so many people there that racism has no place, because there is no room for it. People cared for other people. I take o’ you, you take care o’ me. I like that. Coolest city on Earth, allowing anyone to be anything they truly want to be. Perfect place for something seen as “different,” no matter where they go.
I either fit in everywhere, or no where. It’s never been more apparent than when I moved to Hollywood and (I am still) trying to break into the industry that initially only sees people that fit into specific racial boxes. Ah, marketing. Everyone else gets thrown into the “ethnically ambiguous” box, as though our identities haven’t been defined, or have been erased because they don’t have “time” to understand “us.”
I moved to LA based on a hasty decision made because I listened to the wrong “career coaching” people that just wanted my money, with a severely distorted vision of what was to come. People will tell you anything you want to hear, as long as you give them something in return. I grew up thinking that California was the “Left Coast” and everything was free, feminist, and beautiful. I definitely did not do my research, and shortly after I moved here I discovered that Los Angeles is inconspicuously right-wing. I felt an ominous dark cloud cover my smile. Periodically I do meet some good people, though all to often do I encounter people who, politically, are the opposite of me in a fierce way. Needless to say, it’s okay to have different political views, but when your political views impede on my health, safety, and sanity… ugh. So I joined a band (Modern Time Machines) and found solace in music once again, in Silverlake, a more progressive minded artistic part of town.
Playing with Modern Time Machines, Silverlake, CA Circa 2012
Lately I have been feeling so alone. I feel more alone here in LA than I have anywhere else in the world. I have lived in many cities, Halifax, Edmonton, Bethesda, Winston-Salem, Wilmington, NYC, and now here. I know I should have never left New York- that city holds my heart it her hands until my dying day, the only place that truly feels like home.
I’m secretly hoping that thought will change someday. Last night I had a long discussion with some old classmates from Stella Adler (New York) at their new sister school, here in LA. One of them is from Montreal. The more I talked to her, the more I felt a rush of relief. I am not alone. I am not crazy. I am Canadian. I gave her a huge hug and thanked her for the intellectual debate. Because I never lived in Canada during my adult years, I don’t feel like I should go back. No one would ever guess that I am Canadian (or Finnish, or Indian etc). Why escape now…I have been struggling so hard to make my mark here. I have been an American citizen for 11 years, I have lived here for almost 20. I had to earn my citizenship. I don’t feel like giving it back. But god damn sometimes it’s hard fighting here. Fighting to be free in the “Land of the Free (Some Restrictions May Apply).”
Everyone is always fighting. It’s a good thing to stand up for your rights. What’s even better is to find a way to let people flourish and be healthy and happy. Taking care of students, the sick, the old, children, and the wounded veterans. It just makes sense. Everyone knows this country (The US) is in a dark place. We need cure this virus. We need to move forward. We need to not be alone in this fight. It’s all about compromise, but even more so, its all about doing what is right. We have to make choices that allow more people to live in a violence-free, safe environment.
I’m enjoying my success here in Los Angeles. Success meaning that I am happy doing what I love because I make other people happy. After careful consideration, I have chosen to stay and fight for what I believe is right: Equality, finding affective Socialized Medicine, enforcing better Gun Control, Ending Discrimination, and Empowering Women and Girls so nothing can stand in the way of their dreams.
My advice to anyone with dark feelings for other races, genders, sexual orientations, and religions: Let go of your hate. Let the hatred end with you. Love is contagious. Help out who you are able to. Be a hero. But in the end, please let the hatred stop with you, so we can all fulfill our American Dream.