Identity

I felt it today. Taking off the black headscarf, the white piece that women wear under that covers their hairline, my long black shirt that covers my ass. I was taking off an identity and slipping into a new one. I looked at the sloughed clothes on the floor. Who am I? What am I becoming? I hastily threw on a sports bra and underarmor shirt, planning to burn off some cultural steam on a power walk in the desert behind the house.

Identities.

Who have I become? I used to joke with my sisters in high school that depending on the day and my mood I would pick which Spice Girl I wanted to dress like: Sporty or Posh? Now, my Spice Girl garb includes headscarves and full traditional dresses. Foreign-Girl-Wanna-Be-Native-Culturally-Sensitive Spice? Don’t think she made the cut.

I look at myself in the mirror downstairs as I wash my hands after eating lunch with the family. I look like I was wearing a nun’s habit from the shoulders up. I’m sure some of you are just dying laughing, imagining me, even pretending to be associated with the Church and a life of abstinence!

I can’t help but stare though. Is this just going to be another facet to my personality treasure chest? God save us all if my rugby girls were to run in here during a meal. Much less if the lyrics of our social was translated. But that is a part of me too. The grass in my socks, a big bruise on my thigh. When do the others parts get their turn?

I understand that it is all a balance.

I understand that at this point in my life it is necessary to be this other person. Not another person. That’s not fair. It’s still me under it all. I still dance in the kitchen and make sarcastic side comments and faces at the neighborhood children. BUT it can be kind of scary sometimes.