Identité

From the moment I stepped foot on campus, my identity was always questioned.

It was at a Penn African Student Association (PASA) meeting that probed it. While in discussion, everyone knew exactly what country they wanted to be identified with. I had to question myself, "Who do I identify with?"

I was born here, in the United States. My mother is Trinidadian. My father is also American with some Bajan roots on his father's side. Although this is the case, I could never comfortably claim who I was.

A lot of friends back home disregard their American-ness and embrace their Caribbean or African heritage. Don't get me wrong, being well informed of your roots gives you an upperhand in uncovering yourself with a historical reference. Therefore, when asked "Where are you from?", sometimes I'd say Trinidad. It wasn't exactly wrong. My mother is the one who raised me so I inherited her Trinidadian culture and knowledge. Whenever asked for specifics, I'd claim my mother's region, my mother's city, and my mother's road. It's like I was living a foreign life vicariously through my mother's past. People liked using countries as a common-ground, especially in the Caribbean. Basically, if we shared the same island, we probably went to the same primary school together and are probably long-lost classmates. In the states, it's just a way to locate and belong to your country-people. Friendship by association. It was automatic.

After a while, it didn't feel quite right. So, I just started telling people I was born here then mentioning my mother being from Trinidad. It was more of a mouthful yet much more accurate to say. I'm fine being a Yankee*. Trinidad was always in my back-pocket when needed.

As many may know, the Black community at Penn is small (I use "Black" loosely here). Therefore, the Caribbean population within that community is especially scarce. Seeing that being Trini is a part of me, I want to find others here too. It's only natural. There was an instance where, during introductions, I heard this guy speak and I could tell by his accent alone that he was Trini. So, bypassing the whole "Are you from Trinidad?" scheme, I asked him, "Which part of Trinidad are you from?" In the coldest tone possible, he replied "Which part of you is Trini?" Ouch. I've been caught. An American claiming Trinidad being called out by a native. Mama's background can't save me now. It was amazing how strong my urge to defend myself was. He was only a stranger, I had nothing to prove to him. But when he only saw me for the American I was and didn't even bother to consider any Trini in me, I felt offended. It surprised me how hurt I was by this.

I never want to come off as fake or false-claim when speaking of Trinidad which is why I had only been mentioning Trinidad ever-so often. I never want to be one of those people who name every calypso song and soca monarch. Who wear red, white, and black religiously. Who put on this fake accent that only seems to come up whenever they're conveniently around Trinis. To me, those people feel like they have something to prove and by doing this, they're proving how much they're NOT.

I don't do any of those things. Yet I got called out like I did.

Am I allowed to be nationalistic of a country of which I was not born in? What's so wrong with being proud of my mother's homeland? I love the spicy-sweet rhythms of soca. It is the melodic perfume that is so gracefully accompanied by the aroma of curry and tamarind. I love the tantalizing pang of the steel drum and the vibrant singy song accents of the people. Why can't that be a part of me although I'm not directly tied to it? More so, why couldn't I do this without being disapproved by others? That eludes me.

I've tried to look at my home country from a different standpoint. Initially, claiming America just didn't seem like enough. Trinidad is a part of me, supposedly false-claimed or not, I'm going to embrace it. However, American values and morals, although not always agreeable, I must accept as a part of me as well. Although I have tried, to completely disregard that part of myself would be crippling to my identity. Finally, it clicked. This is who I want to be. The two (Trini/American) can co-exist.

I am young America, I am black America, I am Afro-America, and I am Caribbean-America. All entities exist as one, intertwined. Who says I have to be one or the other. There are no defined lines. Everything spills over and mixes in with one another forming me and molding me into my identity. Trinidad is no longer in my back-pocket and neither is America. They are both kept close to my heart. This is me.

So, let me re-introduce myself. I'm Shakele Seaton, a cute little Yankee with a zest of sweet T&T.



*term used by Trinidadians to define an American