I Am Not An Exotic Toy

I never liked the term “exotic”.

I also never liked how the word “exotic” was paired up with my maiden name at the risk of assumption I was a stripper (or soon-to-be one after graduating from high school). Despite the fact that I did well in my educational studies, not a day goes by where I was asked by boys at school if I was working at the local strip club.

You mean to tell me that a girl who was seemingly beautiful can’t be smart and the only occupation is to dance naked in front of many men, let alone knowing that they’re either too drunk to shell out their wallets or crying in testosterone anger because they’re in the midst of a dicey divorce?

No thanks. I’ll stick to video games. And, no, I won’t make you a sandwich.

Growing up, my background was ambiguous to some folks. On some instances, it was a blessing (to my mother’s side of the family, at least). The idea of having a fair-skinned child born from Puerto Rican and Indo-Guyanese parents was like hitting the lottery. The association of being light-skinned was equivalent to being rich and wealthy (and this realisation made me sick to my stomach when I’ve learned about it). A marriage of cultural proportions and being created as one who can turn heads and break hearts.

Yet, I couldn’t escape racism. It was alive and well ever since I first attended school.

Imagine as a young girl growing up in Brooklyn, you rarely made any friends who can relate to your mixed background.

Imagine as a young girl, you were told you’re not Spanish enough because you do not speak the language.

Imagine as a young girl, you were told your mother was a nanny because she looks black and your white-looking father is screwing someone else.

All of this happened from the time I was in elementary school through junior high. If parents of today don’t think racism doesn’t start at youth, they need to witness it for themselves by seeing it through their child’s perspective. While my parents did the best they can in sheltering me from the obscene, I was still facing my battles on an internal and external level.

In grades 1 through 3, I was placed in ESL because the teachers thought I did not speak English. If being introverted and quiet in my classes were the main reason why I didn’t participate (because again, I did not want to fall victim to being bullied from my classmates), then they should’ve had their licenses revoked. My parents fought with the administration and the child psychologist in an effort to get me out of the program. By the time I entered 4th grade, I’ve managed to resume my curriculum in proving that yes, I am a U.S. Citizen and yes, English is my native language.

Thankfully, by the time I entered high school and into college, I felt a bit more at ease. Yet, I’ve still manage to have bypassers look at me with feigned curiosity and wonder what label I should fall under.

When I’m told I look “exotic”, images of gold trophies appear in my mind. Herein lies myself inside one of the glass cases as a display piece, ready for the world to see me in a fragile state.

Being called “exotic” is a dark reminder that we’re not part of the normal blend of traditional beauty (i.e. blonde hair, blue eyes, thin bodies). We are the outcasts who will always be looked down upon because we do not fit the mold. Moreover, the term “exotic” can either indicate an overly or submissive sexualised image being placed by the lack of understanding in other cultural diasporas. For example, one may view Asian women as sheepish and meek, while another one may view Latinas as hyper sexual beings.

Understandably, there are some folks that may feel the term is harmless and are meant to be a compliment. However, many people fail to realise that calling a woman “exotic” is like saying you’re going to dehumanise her very existence because she does not fit the ideal beauty, compared to white women.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I see my parents love and the vast cultural history on my features. As I’ve gotten older, I have found to love myself more by quietly tuning out the noise from the ongoing racism and adjusting the frequencies of embracing my cultural background.

That doesn’t mean I’m avoiding racism. On the contrary, I am sharing this piece to educate others that we cannot turn a blind eye on it. In order for us to fight back and dismantling seemingly innocuous words like “exotic,” we need to be proactive in amplifying our voices for the greater good. The more we can teach others on our cultural backgrounds, we have a chance in confronting racism with a bigger and better set of tools to work with.

So yes, I’m not (and will never be) an “exotic” woman. I am not a toy that will sit on the shelf and collect dust, while my value is lessened over time.

I am simply a woman who embraced her ancestors for the highest good and helping others in other ways to compliment someone’s mixed beauty without relying on racism to describe our existence.