The names they’ve called me

The Half of It

“Oh God, not again,” I thought to myself as a new Tinder match messaged me. “So… what are you?” I could honestly make a living from charging $5 every time I’ve been asked this question. My ethnic ambiguity is so confusing to people that they feel entitled to know exactly
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Only half

Cal in Color

When I was seven years old, my white uncle called me a worthless n-word in the middle of an argument. As I sobbed uncontrollably at my grandmother’s feet, I realized that racism can trump family. Being half- Black and half-white, I fall in between two identities. I realized then that
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Crossing the line

Off the Beat

Over the last few months of writing a weekly column about my mixed background, I’ve realized how proud I am to be biracial in spite of the occasional sense of exclusion. I’ve talked about what racial categories mean to me, discussed the feeling of being excluded from my Algerian side
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If you ask me what I am

Mixed Feelings

Maybe the problem is that people are concerned with finding out which specific racial category I fall under. In reality, there’s not necessarily one right answer.
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Hold the mayo, please

Sex on Tuesday

“Choke on it,” he commanded in a deep guttural voice that made my dick deflate like a punctured air mattress. He was the athletic, 6-foot-something white-type that freshman me had been wet dreaming about for years. His body, chiseled to perfection, made me anxiously hard from the moment I ripped
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