I mentioned in one of earlier my posts that ethnicity doesn't - or rather, shouldn't - matter when first meeting people. Well, call me a big, fat hypocrite, because today I am going to tell you all about being a strange, mutant hybrid of two cultures and its influence on my sanity.
As background, I am genetically 100% organic Indian, my parents both born and raised in the overwhelming phenomenon that is the city of Mumbai. I am a first-generation Canadian, having come to this fine nation when I was five years old. For most of my childhood, I was totally fresh-off-the-boat (a fob, as we racist people like to say) and hardly integrated into Canadian culture. I surrounded myself with Bollywood everything, and I am so grateful to my country for being perfectly accepting and supportive of my unnecessarily Indian behaviours: I recall having a birthday party where I danced to several Hindi songs in front of all my Caucasian classmates and fourth-grade teacher. They politely clapped their hands and nodded their heads, but even my ten-year-old brain could tell that they didn't know what on God's green earth I was doing. Good times.
Anyway, as I grew older, I delved into local pop culture and was whitewashed (racism) into a happy medium of eastern and western influences.
I am lucky to have a good blend of friends from all over the demographic map, but sometimes I wonder who the heck I am supposed to marry. My parents are very lax on the subject; I'm pretty sure I could wed a bag of marbles and they'd be fine with it. Well, my dad likes to sing old, depressing Hindi songs at random, inappropriate times, so I'm sure he'd appreciate a son-in-law who could join in on his late-night karaoke sessions. My mom, on the other hand, thinks I should spread my wings and marry someone exotic, a.k.a. a pure, well-mannered Canadian. My perfect solution to such conundrums is to do absolutely nothing and leave it to divine intervention. I'm totally proactive like that.
Clearly, I have a "#blessed" life if my biggest problem is deciding which of many options is right for me (note: this does not imply I have a line-up of men waiting to be screened... I'm all alone, with no one here besiiiiiiiide meeeeee).
Alright, I think I successfully managed to humblebrag my way through this post (humblebrag: to sneakily discuss how perfect life is with the pretense of suffering from an identity crisis), muahahaha.
Sayonara, y'all.
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