Why I Write
Seriously, I missed writing my blog posts so much this past week. But alas, midterms had to take precedence over social justice writing. This is my first blog post since Mulattea.com turned one year old! I figured it'd be smart to use this unique post to reflect on why I created this website and how I feel about it a year later.
When I started to think about creating a website, it was purely for the writing experience. I love writing! I wanted to go pro and start writing for magazines and publications, but my lack of experience dashed that dream pretty quick. I saw one job opening that said, "Two years of writing experience needed, personal blogs included."
So the idea was planted in my head that day. I proceeded to do tons of research. Every tab on my computer was "What makes a good blog?" "What content is interesting?" "10 Signs You Should Start A Blog."
I talked to everyone. My parents, my boyfriend, my roommate, my friends, my professors, and the questions were all the same. "Who would want to read about my life?" And, "Would you read a blog if I made one?"
Around this time, I was taking my first African American Studies class (aka Intro to Skye-You-Should-Declare-a-Minor-Involving-This) and I was assigned the project on self image. You'll notice my first few posts were about WEB Dubois' double consciousness as it relates to being mixed and creating a unique cultural identity. That wasn't random, I usually write about the things I'm learning in class. I'm just really excited to share the information I've learned and found interesting.
Anyways, after a lot of drafting, editing, rereading, rewriting, praying, second-guessing, and triple-guessing, I wrote, "The Reason I Made this Website." It went live on my birthday on the website I'd spent a month drafting, editing, rereading, rewriting— you get the gist.
And here we are a year later. I'm 19 now, a little less confused, a lot more awkward. My blog went from 5 friends reading it to over 500. I've met so many incredible people and have received so many humbling stories of how my posts have helped them. I'll never forget my TA saying to me after class that she read my post "What Am I Doing With My Life?" after she too had lost someone recently, and saying that she wrote down some of my words as reminders.
So a year later I set out on a mission to give whatever answers I have to people that need them. This involves being biracial, yes, but it applies more to my life. Who am I? I'm a Jamaican, Cuban, Scottish, slightly German woman. I'm black. I'm white. I'm light skinned. I'm a sister, a daughter. A feminist. A Christian. I'm a writer, a RuPaul's Drag Race enthusiast, a makeup fanatic. I'm a girlfriend. I am a dog-lover, an introvert. I'm a friend.
Identity is so multi-faceted. Race, gender, class, religion, ability, body type, every aspect of our identity does not equate a whole. I've expanded my website to encompass more than biraciality (new word I just made), but all of the things that make me, me and you, you. The many faces on the diamond of identity are constantly shifting in perception, understanding, and tolerance. I just seek to give answers that I've gleaned. Because my biracial identity is shaped by all the other parts of my identity, and it's important to understand them in order to represent my religion (Ambassador for Christ and whatnot), conduct myself in day to day life, and maintain my mental health (... or what's left of it at this point? Just kidding.)
So a year later. Why do I write? To answer the questions that I had growing up. To answer questions I had last week. To help.
That's all. Happy Anniversary Mulattea!
Who's liking this new layout? I'm in love! Let me know what you guys think.
My job has been going really, really well. I'm a full on social media manager now, and I think I might be interested in this as a career. So that's exciting, considering picking a major was not easy for me.
I had cabbage rolls for dinner last night and at first I was like cabbage and ground beef in tomato sauce?
But it was on point. So kudos to my mom for slaying that dinner.
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