Vest: Madewell // Dress: J.Crew // Sandals: DV by Dolce Vita // Bag: South Moon Under
For those U.S. readers, I'm hoping you all had a great 4th of July! I spent the day in southern Maryland along the Chesapeake Bay; we went boating, I tried jetskiing for for the first time and ate a lot of crab (that's what we do in Maryland!)
For some reason, lately I've been getting the question "where are you from?" All of my life until the past few years, when I told someone I was from the DC suburbs, that seemed like a satisfactory answer for them. Maybe it's because of my facial features or my dark skin, but nowadays people seem somewhat disappointed that I'm not claiming I'm from a certain African country.
I identify fully as American. My ancestors have been in this country for centuries, as they were brought over during the slave trade. They were stripped of their culture, their names and records of them are few and far between. I couldn't even tell you what nation in Africa my ancestors are from, since unfortunately my ancestors were treated as property and not people back in the day.
I'm not one of those people who's going to be permanently bitter about the past, and I wholeheartedly embrace the American culture I've been born into. I don't think some people understand that being African-American is a culture in itself. We have our own little traditions, our own food, etc. I'm not going to disregard my African ancestors, but Africa is an entire continent and I unfortunately can't even trace back what specific region my ancestors are from. So yes, I am 100% an American and I'm proud of it. Please stop asking me where I'm "from," because quite frankly does it really matter in the end?
