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My Whiteness

Here is a concept I never thought I’ll talk about.


I am olive. My mom is from Iraq and my da from Libya. Some of the Iraqi people are white and so is my mom, but my dad is dark and looks like a native American chief. We are called Spanish Jews.

Who cares, right? I don’t.


Here are some of my memories:

India, Africa, Europe, China, America, south America, Japan, and middle east.

I have been yellow, black, white, red, olive and mocha.

I remember past lives from all those places. Some very vivid memories and some just pictures frozen in time (done and done:).

I bet you can see where I am going with this…

There are very few new, completely new souls on this planet. Our history?

Ah.


I had a very cool history teacher in 9th and 10th grade. I remember hearing him talk about the second world war, and in my head, something refused to listen. Things didn’t click. You see, I was born half-baked and was already accumulating energy to awaken from history.

Somehow, people refuse to wake up from history. And when you look at it:

we all killed.

We all acted out of survival,

fear,

anger,

shame,

being the mean machine.