It has such a range of meanings, depending on whoʼs asking.
If another black person asks me, then I'm more than happy to chop it up with them at length. It can be a really beautiful opportunity for connection in a massively white society where it can be challenging to meet other people who look like you or have a similar cultural background. But obviously, that same question can be incredibly invasive; essentially a socially acceptable way of asking, ‘why arenʼt you white?’
Growing up mixed race in London - with a Nigerian dad and white-French mum - it was relatively rare to be asked that, and much less - to feel that sense of exclusion it can bring. Over there I was nothing special. It wasnʼt until I lived in this part of the world (Aotearoa and then so-called Australia), that it became routine.
Apparently this identity is a bit of a mindfuck for people over here. But at the same time, Iʼve kind of grown to enjoy seeing the confusion in peopleʼs eyes and telling them the somewhat
meandering story of my heritage, because I'm incredibly proud of it. At times, in those moments, I've felt even more fortunate to have this mashup of histories and identities in my veins.