Dear Me, Now What?


Dear Me,

Now what?

Listen & Read:

The Tourist – Radiohead

Sunrise – Norah Jones

Why Georgia – John Mayer


So, I got my ancestry results back. I actually thought I would get them while I was in Puerto Rico for spring break (posts about that coming soon, and I am so excited). However, I got them three weeks earlier. It was such a surprise. I was sitting in my bed and I got the email and instantly started sweating. I called my mom because I was scared to open it, and once I did, I literally called everyone. My dad, my grandma, both of my sisters, and I texted a lot of my friends, too. Everyone knew how much I’ve wanted this. For some reason, I just believed that it would solve a lot of things. Like if someone were to ask me if I was part Native American, I could actually tell them and not just shrug (I’m not, btw).

cameroon flag

I had my fingers crossed for being Brazilian, so maybe my love for the Brazil national soccer team would make sense, and I wouldn’t feel like a dope wearing my World Cup Brazil t-shirt (Not that either- actually, I doubt any member of my family has ever been to Brazil). I lowkey wished for being Puerto Rican, so my plea to going on the Puerto Rican trip wouldn’t be all a lie (Alex, if you’re reading this, I said in my paragraph for the Global Trip that I “just recently found out that my ancestors are Puerto Rican”… That was a lie… But it got me on the best trip, so I think I can forgive myself- I’m 0% Puerto Rican, just putting it out there). The day before my senior prom, I was getting my nails done and the guy doing them asked if I was Asian. I was frustrated that I couldn’t give him an answer, but from then on, I hoped for it (this is one that actually rang true. 2%.)


Biggest percentages:

35% – Cameroon

23% – Mali

11% – Great Britain

Percentages from each continent:

2% Asia

23% Europe

75% Africa

0% North America

0% South America

0% Australia

0% Antarctica (very shocking news)


This is where it gets kind of tricky. So at what point will I be deemed “woke” enough for my newfound culture that I can speak on issues pertaining to that culture? When am I allowed to jump the hurdle and wear the traditional dress? When can I celebrate a holiday and not look like a joke? Where is the line of accepting my British roots and forgiving my slave owner ancestors? When could this line be crossed? Speaking of roots, in particular my European roots, who’s to say that if I got into contact with any distant relative that they would accept a black girl that could kind of pass as half-black half-white or part Asian? Could “passing” be enough for “them” to accept me? I should have foreseen this, but getting these results only created more questions. I just imagined getting my results and going straight to Amazon and buying each flag. I then went to Delta and booked a flight to each country. Each country and culture accepted me completely, and my heart would be full.


I don’t want to follow the concept of being more than my roots. I mean, I probably should. It could make me feel better. I’m not just Cameroonian, but I’m funny and I care about people (even if I have a tough way of showing it). I’m not only British, but I am a strong advocate for equality and I love ice cream. I’m 1% Indian, and I also follow about 20 puppies on Instagram, and one day I want a house full of them. I just feel like I want something to identify with, I think. And don’t get me wrong, I did change my twitter bio to “Cameroonian/British/Malian”, so it is clear that I am already proud and happy with where my family came from. It isn’t all unclear and frustrating. It’s always annoying waiting for something you bought, and once you get it, it’s all disassembled. But at least now I have the materials to work with. And hopefully knowing my ancestry will help me become a complete whole.


I hope this post wasn’t too sad. It’s really not that bad. I’m just totally lost, like every 18 year old,






Dear Me, Now What?

One thought on “Dear Me, Now What?

  1. […] It just so happens that in 2014, while I was in Italy with my friends, we stayed up late in our hotel room and watched a match of The World Cup. It was Brazil against Chile, I think, and I knew nothing of football/soccer. One of my friends was doting about Neymar and David Luiz, and every action has a reaction. It was like I jumped off a cliff in love. In love with soccer, in love with the Brazil national soccer team, in love with Brazil. For the next two years, I researched the crappy Brazilian goverment, that treat the lower class in the Favelas like they don’t matter, and I watched movies based in Brazil (like City of God and Trash). I planned and replanned and forgot and then planned again me going to Brazil. The last time being a year before, where they barely had any more tickets left for any event, and me and my friend, who was also 18 with parents that would never let her go, was looking up Airbnb’s for us. Similar to my last post, it takes one domino to knock all the rest down. I threw my whole being at anything that had to do with Brazil (which is why I said I wanted to be Brazilian so bad in my ancestry post). […]


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