What Your Gaze Has Taught Me By Sadie Fay

A hair stylist asked me if I was the adopted one. 

I was in the salon with my white biological mother and my two white step sisters (read: not her  biological children). 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: I don’t look like I belong in my family. 

A high school teacher asked me to stand up in class. 

“Sadie, what race are you?” 

A hard question for me. Immediate sweating and heart pounding. 

I was seventeen, but hadn’t yet heard the term mixed race. I didn’t know there was a term for  what I was. 

I fumbled through my answer.  

“Wrong,” he said. 

“Your race is human. We are all part of the human race. Nothing else.” 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: I don’t deserve any nuance in my identity. 

A stranger who I was next to in line asked me where I was from.  

“Okay, but where are you really from? Okay…but where are your parents from?” They told me that I didn’t look like any of the people they knew from that country, so I couldn’t  possibly be from there.  

They started an argument with a third stranger over where I was from, because they didn’t  agree with each other on the answer. 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: I don’t get to be proud of my heritage, because people think I’m lying. 

I filled out a form.  

It said, ‘Ethnicity- choose one.’ 

There was no option for mixed race. 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: My identity is too complicated. 

A stranger asked me where I had just been on vacation.  

I hadn’t been anywhere.  

“Are you sure? Because, your skin, it’s so…” They drew circles in the air around their face.  Yeah, I’m sure. No tan. That’s just the regular colour of my skin. 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: My skin colour is weird and confusing. 

I told someone that my mom is white and my dad is brown. 

They told me that since I have no "brown culture,” I’m basically white. 

They told me that I don’t count as a brown person. 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: Being culturally Canadian means that I don’t get to claim half of my skin, my  DNA, my family.

An agent wanted to sign me. 

She asked if I was Latina. 

I’m not. 

“Well, you look Latina, so I’d only send you out for those roles. It would help if you learned a  Spanish accent.” 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: There is no place for me in this industry as I am. 

I told someone that half the time people think I am white and half the time people think I am  brown. 

I told them that this is hard for me, because there is no way to predict which box I’ll be put in. This person was shocked, because they thought I was brown. 

“Are you sure people think you’re white?” 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: My lived experiences are up for debate. 

I told a friend about these micro-aggressions. 

They said, "oh shitty,” and immediately moved on. 

Or they said, “really, people think you’re brown?" 

Or they said, “well, people with darker skin have it worse, so what are you complaining for?” They did not hold space for me. 

This has happened more than once. 

Lesson learned: I should just get over it.