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This entry was posted in thinking about race and tagged ashland, cultural understanding, family, memories, race, travel on 31. Thank goodness for the internet. How my mother did this before she could just order hair products from Amazon, I do not know. Or hair products – things that I’ve always been able to get everywhere I’ve been – is a revelation. The simple fact that I can’t buy stockings, I don’t think I really understood what that meant until I came here. Many people there had never seen anyone who was black live and in person. My mother told me stories of when she first came to my home town. Children would come up to her in stores and rub her hand to see if the brown would come off. Not the kind that says, “My soul is grown deep like the rivers.” This is the Other kind. Now, this is not the kind of black that I feel when I visit family in the South, or see fields where people who looked like me spent thousands of hours in the hot summer sun. But I’ve never felt blacker in my life than I do in Ashland. I’ve traveled to the American South – visited plantations in Mississippi and Louisiana.
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I’ve spent long periods deep in Trenton and Atlantic City as well. I’ve been to London, Hanoi, Saigon, Rio, Salvador da Bahia, Vienna, Athens, Prague, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam. When I did, more often it was because of my bank balance.
Anthropophagy luciform skin#
But I rarely felt out of place because of my skin color. I learned that I could more easily blend in certain neighborhoods (Washington Heights – Dominican Bed-Sty – Black) than some of my friends that I could blend as easily in other neighborhoods (the Village, Midtown) and that I had to work a bit and rely on learned behavior in others (uber fancy restaurants, Upper East Side). the trains, certain parks), but there are places that are less shared (look around the McDonalds and then look around a random East Village Thai place). I read an editorial in the Guardian (I think) the other day that made a good point – NYC has shared spaces (i.e. Famously a melting pot, though it’s not quite as melty as NYC would want you to believe. (But I should also note that the campus I was on was mostly white, so maybe that says something about me too.) I was just another freshman from the east coast. Where I was, there were far more latinos than black people. The first place I lived that wasn’t my small town was LA. So I knew other kids growing up who’s skin would get ashy and who knew why I freaked out about getting my hair wet. My parents had friends who were white, but also many who were black. I grew up in a small, mostly white, town. Never before have I been so interested in being black.
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This may be a misinterpretation based on Shakespeare's writings in Othello, where the anthropophagi are mistaken to be described by the immediate following line, " and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." In reality, the line actually refers to a separate, different race of mythical beings known as the Blemmyes, who are indeed said to have no head, and have their facial features on the chest.I wrote this a couple of months ago and never got around to posting it, so, here tis: In popular culture, the anthropophagus is sometimes depicted as a being without a head, but instead have their faces on the torso. The word first appears in English around 1552. Please help improve this article by introducing citations to additional sources.Īn anthropophage or anthropophagus (from Greek: ανθρωποφάγος, romanized: anthrōpophagos, "human-eater", plural Greek: ανθρωποφάγοι, romanized: anthropophagi) was a member of a mythical race of cannibals described first by Herodotus in his Histories as androphagi ("man-eaters"), and later by other authors, including the playwright William Shakespeare. Relevant discussion may be found on the talk page. This article relies largely or entirely on a single source.