For as long as I can remember, people have always asked me questions about my upbringing, race, ethnicity, and background. This disturbing question makes me nervous, causing multiple questions to explode in my mind. Why do I have to justify my ethnicity? Do they ask me about my place of birth? Or where are my parents from? Or the plethora of countries I've lived in? Now it's almost a reflex for me to answer, "It's complicated," but I've never felt satisfied with this answer. I want to feel a sense of belonging and have a concrete answer. Sometimes I feel like I'm boring the person with my vast background. Sometimes I can't help but lie and say I'm American because it would justify my accent. It's the simplest option. No questions asked. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay Believe me, I speak from experience, explaining the whole bloody story: 'I am Swedish-Ethiopian, I live in Singapore, but I was born in Switzerland, have a British passport and an American accent', it gets too repetitive. Some say: " Don't complain!" It's exotic!' Well yes, it may seem 'interesting' from the perspective of an outsider or a monolingual individual, but it's not all fun and games when it's a reality: the life of a multilingual. I grew up despising my ethnicity. As a young girl of mixed races, I dreamed of the life of a person who could identify with a race, an ethnicity - something so intangible. In my innocent sleep, it almost seemed real I woke up and remembered my discouraging reality. As a child, I remember feeling strong emotions of frustration and confusion because I felt so much pressure to be defined, to put a label on myself of the human race, as if we were created to support and represent a specific profile. It was as if I were a mule in the middle of a field of radiant horses. I was 11 years old when I first immersed myself in my rich Ethiopian roots. I remember a particular afternoon; My Ethiopian friends and I were traveling. I vividly remember stopping the car on Churchill Street in Addis Ababa. Being a young and naive girl I was not aware of the situations I would encounter. As soon as I stepped out of the car, a wave of displacement enveloped me. A group of strangers said “come back inside, little girl” and “ferenj nech, teiyat” (she's white, leave her) in their native Amharic language. Although I was embarrassed, I was jealous of the bonds shared between strangers as they spoke in their dialect. I felt naked and vulnerable among my peers. It was like no one saw what was underneath my skin: a girl who wanted to feel a sense of belonging. Did the culture have to be exclusive? The emotional and literal distance between me and my mother's culture. If I could go back in time, I would refute his ignorant comment by saying "ayidelehum!" (I'm not!), but I simply couldn't, my identity had been ripped out from under me. I was silenced. As much as I hate it, I'm always drawn to taking a stand, it's a strange concept to describe, but when asked what part of my ethnicity I identify with the most, 100% of the time I would say Ethiopian, I feel like this could be due to the fact that the maternal side of the family is so large that it overwrites everything, erases the other side. On the other hand, it is also due to the values ​​of "African culture"; completely family and community oriented, family is the fundamental unit that unites everyone. Other than that, I feel like it's a slap in my father's face, choosing my ethnicity?