Colorful
Photography: Jesitha, Auris Metro Central Dress: Rachel Roy
It's refreshing to just be known as "The American" at work. Apparently I'm the first they've had work at this office. Interesting. I'm being introduced Egyptians, Syrians, Tunisians, French(wo)men, Indians, Turks, Sudani, Algerians, Irani, Spaniards, Malaysians, and Lebanese in this one building. The faces and names are beautifully diverse. Extremely tolerant, open-minded, well-read, and downright impressive people. I expect intellect and creativity from co-workers everywhere I go, but soft skills like fostering inclusivity and genuine interest in and embrace of cultural differences, that here is on a whole 'nother level. Grateful.
Given the current political climate, it is also bittersweet, and at times, embarrassing. For your new acquaintances to ask you how it is back home, and then mention with awkward laughter that they've "never been to the US, and now won't be able to go anytime soon" due to haphazard policies 45 has put into place, it stings. It's the feeling I needed a break from.
We can all relate to one another. With 85% of the Dubai population as expats, we have families spread over continents, and know what it's like to be "other". My first week, almost everyone was checking on me. Incessantly. Do you need anything? Are you ok? How are you finding it here so far? Did you come here by choice? Are you shocked by anything? Is it like what you see in the news? Do you miss home? It was all very kind and appreciated. But one particular guy must have asked if I was ok three times in one day.
I felt very happy and optimistic about my new role, but the inquiries were making me feel like maybe I was presenting a different image. I finally just asked him if he thought I looked worried or sad, or why he was asking so often about my well-being? He said no, and then admitted that other Americans they've met who moved here often became homesick very quickly and did not acclimate well to their new environment. I gently asked if the people he was referring to happened to be white. Actually, yes. Ah. I then explained that minority groups in the US are used to being fully immersed in a place in which our language (vernacular), religion, sexuality, ability and/or skin tone are not the predominant, and coming here really is a breath of fresh air for me. That I can't wait to explore and learn about the people and history of this region. That it has only been a week and I'll need much more time than that to start missing home. That I am unafraid.
Touché, he replied, grinning. I think I surprised him. We boys now.
It's only April, but it feels like summer. While many tourists shade themselves under umbrellas to escape the sun—foreshadowing its blaze upon the upcoming months—I am thriving under it. The fear of melanized glory is universal. My time in NYC has increased an appreciation for a sleek fit in all black everything. But I will always love wearing bright colors. Something about them makes me happy. Others, too. I often hear comments on those days from people who say they wish they could wear colors like me, to which I reply, "there is a shade for everyone." They are expressive. Just like me. I am not ashamed, and I don't want to be hidden. And I love the glow my skin receives from above. Dat way.