lovely read… cross-cultureism’s rear their head again,
My roommate and I have a running joke, the perfect encapsulation of our on-going dialogue about our place in society as the children of immigrants. What do white people eat for dinner? She is Korean and I am Sudanese and we are visibly other enoughso that when someone looks at us, they automatically bring with them a set of assumptions and act out a set of prejudices.
They can see that we are different, but they don’t know that we see the difference as being one of smell, as well as sight. Our homes are filled with the rich aroma of spices, smells that belong to foods with names that they cannot pronounce, smells that have wafted into our kitchens from far-away lands across the ocean.
“What do white people eat for dinner?”
“No, but actually,” she giggles. “I asked my friend and he just goes, ‘Oh well last…
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