#Browngirlproblems

[myvarya]

Did this just sum up my whole childhood..?

so all desi girls wanted to be white & live in america when they were a teenager but then they grew up & realized how shitty that actually is so they slowly started to love their own culture & ended up being so proud of being desi . right ... ? RIGHT ???

[katayanivats]

In Indian families subah jaldi uthna will solve all ur problems including ur depression and grades

[brwnmuse]

when someone says i should smile more

[anushkadeshmukh-blog]

Brown Girl Problems PART 2/6 #browngirl #browngirlproblems #indian #indiangirl #desi #desiproblems #growingupbrown #growingupdesi #racism #racisminindia #brown #brownskin #brownvswhite #relatable https://www.instagram.com/anushkasdeshmukh/p/Bymich1HuSs/?igshid=231xdqsvmr0f

[nnpower]

Residue in the Melting Pot

They say I look Puerto Rican

When my hair is long, dark, and curly,

But when it’s long and straight

I “gotta be Italian from Sicily.”

When it’s blonde, they say

I’m probably French Or an Austrian

“With East European blood”

But when it’s short, black, and wavy,

I might be mixed or ‘redboned.’

They say I could be Native American,

Thanks to my high cheekbones;

or Indian due to my large, dusky eyes.

They say my freckles throw them off entirely.

When they ask me my name,

I say “Najwa.”

“That’s unusual, where are you from?”

“Rocky Mount, North Carolina.”

“I mean before that.”

I pause and cock my head.

“My mother?”

They are unsatisfied with my answers

Their faces contort

“Where are your parents from then?”

“They’re Palestinian.”

“Oh really? I would have never thought you were Arab if it wasn’t for your name.”

“I guess I’m sneaky like that.”

“It must be interesting to be Arab in these times.”

“How so?”

They pause.

“Well you don’t look Arab, so you have that going for you.”

“Just change your name and you’re set!”

“Am I?”

Even the Arabs aren’t sure what to do with me. I don’t look Arab to them either, not until I tell them my name.

[90sinspiredgirl]

All jokes aside, I’m so tired of Men of color always favoring and praising white women and light skin over WOC and dark skin women and trashing us for our/their skin color, behavior while simultaneously gassing up white women for copying us. And they wonder why we say that they ain’t shit

[voncrobead]

Not-so-subliminal messaging Reposted from @theblackdetour Do you agree? Why or why not? - - - #blacktwitter #naturalhairjourney #QuestionOfTheDay #blackculture #BlackAmerica #blackgirlsaredope #blackgirlmagic #blackgirl #browngirlproblems #Blackisbeautiful #IloveBeingBlack #theblackdetour - #regrann https://www.instagram.com/p/B7kQpP7JRQh/?igshid=1nwjvku0s47gb

[katayanivats]

mai apna dard usko kaise batau jo pehele se hi kisi aur ke dard baat raha ho

[iamnotthat]

Even as a 4 year old I had a moustache worthy of a teenager #browngirlproblems (at Doha) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzUPK-mlpe3XbHQw5syWOL_RWgoFl2XonahW0Q0/?igshid=1kyhdztpxa4ip

[brwnmuse]

due to personal reasons i’m gonna remain confused 

[anushkadeshmukh-blog]

Brown Girl Problems PART 3/6 #browngirl #browngirlproblems #indian #indiangirl #desi #desiproblems #growingupbrown #growingupdesi #racism #racisminindia #brown #brownskin #brownvswhite #relatable https://www.instagram.com/anushkasdeshmukh/p/Bymia6Pndqk/?igshid=1f9k7gebrcrsn

[nnpower]

Little WORLDS

I sat in my car in front of my workplace, on the phone with yet another overly cheerful admissions counselor. A Monarch butterfly with perfectly ornate amber wings flew several times in front of the cracked windshield of my rundown, sky blue Hyundai Accent. The sun, still high and bright in the sky, filtered through the tall pine trees that lined the side walk in front of me and partially obscured the tan, brick building from which, just minutes before, I had been eager to flee.

The butterfly flew directly in front of the soft glow of the sun light; its orange its wings shone pure and warm, casting orbs of light like stained glass. This moment felt surreal, dreamlike.

Why was I noticing butterflies now for the first time? In the past, my mind felt too busy for butterflies. It searched for other things. Waited for other things. I was always waiting: waiting to be impressed, waiting to be impressive, waiting to be happy.

In that moment, while the admissions counselor chattered away, I felt light.

“Nina? Are you still there?” the woman asked.

I considered this.

“Nina?” the woman pressed.

“Yes, sorry.” I replied. I was suddenly back in my seat. I’d forgotten that I had been using my middle name, Nina, rather than my first name, Najwa.

“So, what do you think, Nina? Does that sound like a plan?” the woman continued, still cheerful. I wasn’t sure what I thought, but I agreed. Although I had no idea what I had agreed to. I sat up stiffly in my seat, reminding myself this was something. Something urgent. A potential future. A future much better than my present.

My attention waned from the butterfly.  My thoughts anew were molten lead, hot and heavy. Hot and heavy like the flabby folds of my body. Hot and heavy like this strange, humid October day. My joints ached and my back stiffened. I was encased in fat and edema, which sat encased in rust and bolts. I felt claustrophobic.

I took a sharp breath in and straightened my shirt, which clung to every curve and line and crevice as I began to sweat. My scalp produced beads of sweat that soaked into the itchy wig I’d bought before to hide hair loss due to some unknown medical condition.

“Nina?”

I returned my attention to the woman. She was commending me for my ‘impressive’ pretest scores. I had mainly guessed the answers. My BA in English did help me read between the lines, after all, but I couldn’t determine exact definition or functions of the terms the test had asked me about. I thanked her for her compliment and tried to sound excited, although some part of me felt this was something the woman did regularly with others. I was not really all that impressive.

I had enrolled in programs before and failed to finish each one.  I had begun to realize that I did not know how to live or how to be a person. No, that was not quite right; I did know how to be a person, but I was not a happy person or a loved person or a productive person or a healthy person. Such existed all around me, just like unkind and cruel people also existed all around me. But I was never connected to them as I would have liked to have been. I always felt unworthy or different. Sometimes, I excluded myself from others, afraid to make a mistake in their company. Other times, I was excluded, often without a clue as to why. I was always on the outside it seemed, cocooned in my own over-analyzation, poverty, sadness, self- pity, and anger; and yet, I could not figure out how to change this. I was too insensible and too sensitive and too self-conscious, among other things. I was too much and too little all at once, and it never seemed to be in ways that benefitted me or my three children.  

Though the scene outside did not change, everything seemed darker somehow. I felt blinded by heavy thoughts of unpaid bills, the sound my run-down car was making, the sudden feeling of vertigo, and how I really did not want to be on the phone anymore discussing a potential future required more money. Money I did not have. Money I could not get. Money that I needed for other things. I did not choose for my life to be this way. I thought I had chosen a better path for myself long ago, but I found my plans rarely worked out.

At the age of 17, I had gotten married. My spouse at that time was only five years older than me. A marriage was a good step, I had thought. A marriage meant independence, I had thought. I had also thought that I had loved him, but I only loved the idea of him. The honeymoon phase did not last: marriage was an abusive marriage. Still, I was committed to trying. I would not fail.

Early in the marriage, I had a boy, and then a girl shortly after. A few years later, I lost baby at 14 weeks. My heart shattered.

I left the marriage and went back to school. I met someone else. He cheated on me often. I lost another baby at 17 weeks. Parts of my soul shattered. I left the cheating boyfriend and concentrated on completing my Bachelor’s degree. I met many amazing people, and formed real, meaningful friendships. A year before graduation, I had lost my best friend to suicide. A part of me died, too. I secluded myself from everyone and everything I loved.

I entered a graduate program. I traveled to Ireland and England. I was away from everyone and everything I knew. I felt alive again. I met a man in Ireland. I remarried. Then, I lost a baby at 16 weeks. I was undone.

My school work suffered. I secluded myself. This new marriage was a disaster as well. I was not good enough. I was too fat, and underemployed, and a terrible housewife. But, there was a miracle! I finally had a living baby, a perfect baby. I was scared. I never stopped feeling scared or useless. I had a miscarriage a few years later. My marriage was beyond repair, but I couldn’t leave. I hadn’t found a good job. My health suffered. He was determined to leave me and find someone who was better looking and financially stable. And on and on it went. I wanted so badly to turn things around, but I found that I was most successful at failing.

I took a breath. I reminded myself that I was thankful to have a job and a little bit of money. I reminded myself that others dealt with worse. I thought of war, of dead children, of starving families, of the aged and sick, of our earth, all dying. They were not offered the chances I was offered. I felt minuscule, but not in the way a butterfly feels miniscule.

Hoping to regain the moment I had lost before, I opened my dark eyes wider than I would naturally and focused on the view in front of me. I scanned the area for the butterfly. I tried to shed the molten lead thoughts and the crumpled, tortured layers of skin and fat that framed my long-suffering skeleton hunched inside the aged Hyundai. I wanted to be light and air once more, just for a little while longer.

The butterfly was gone. I sighed. The scene was no longer a dream. The sun felt hotter, the light appeared brighter, and the building and grounds loomed threateningly ahead of me. I wrapped up the conversation with the admissions counselor, having no idea what I had arranged with her. I wanted to be done. I hung up the phone and backed out of the parking space, but I paused in the parking lot for a moment, dreading my drive home and the work I had to do or not do once I got there.

I noticed, however, that the trees seemed to canopy a small stretch of the road ahead of me. I began to drive forward slowly, as if truly noticing this about the trees and the lane for the first time. Through the trees, light filtered through and shone upon at least a dozen monarch butterflies dancing in the wind. They were coming closer. Soon after, they were fluttering alongside my car as if to escort me through the green wooded lane before I made my final turn away from campus as the sun slowly began to set around me.

[indian-yoga-girl]

Peak oil magic shot🙌🏼 Right after I posted a #diy video on my story, I got a perfect #hairshot 🤣🤣🤣 and heavenly lighting! #browngirlproblems 🙃🙃 . Has to be blend 😍😍 Here’s the recipe: In a 5 mL rollerball 5 💧 of #cardamom #lime #eucalyptus #Frankincense #copaiba. Fill it up with carrier oil of choice. I prefer #FCO Benefits: Clears airways, and soothes sinus for easy breathing ✔️ Divine aroma✔️ Muscle tension ease, thank you #copaiba & #Frankincense ✔️ Non toxic solutions✔️ . Three workshops coming up in January. . Stay tuned for invites 💜 . #essentialoilsrock #diymom #fitover50 #healthysolutions #yogateacherlife #yogipreneur #newyearoils #oilblends #sinussupportblend #mlmpride #wellnessadvocate #doterra https://www.instagram.com/p/BsQto__gWT2/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1tzx877io5t53

[desirousmuseisoncrack]

I guess I just needed to get this off my chest. I am 23 now.... and you know what utterly terrifies me? The fact that I will have my twenties go by and I will have experienced nothing. I see a lot of people surrounding me going out and doing things (let's not even talk career and education, that is an existential crisis on its own) but you know, they are living life, doing things that people in their twenties do — going out, meeting people, pubs, clubs, just hanging out. And then there is me, someone who barely sees her friends and when I do every few months, it is either at my house or their house or maybe going out to dinner. I am exhausted, simply put, of having to fight for my freedom of going out. I am not the type to go out and get wasted (since I have been legal at 19, I have drank like three times and it was like a cocktail and if my parents knew that they would be ballistic). I want to experience night life, go dancing (my mom thinks clubbing is absolutely vile and a disgrace) just have a night on the town with friends. You know what sucks? My best friend moved to Australia and when she came home for a month after a year, I only saw her twice... and my best friend who lives here, I saw just as much... throughout the whole year. It has gotten to the point where this has caused rifts in our friendship because they are allowed to go do things and I am not and it is gets so frustrating because I have never done anything to make my parents think I would do anything stupid. I just want to experience things, you know? What is amusing is my mom apparently, according to my younger sister who heard her speaking to my aunt, told her that she wishes she would give me more freedom in high school so I could have found a boy by now which makes me laugh so hard because I call bullshit. She doesn't let me go out NOW (23, basically in my last semester of uni) so when was that supposed to happen? I see people my age, (including other brown girls) going out, going on trips with their friends, just.... living and experiencing life... and then there is me who cannot even do it in the most innocent of ways. I am so unimaginably frightened of one day realizing I am 30 and haven't even stepped out into the world. I have been told to fight for it but, I try and I try and I am met with WWIII and so much yelling and screaming that makes me wonder why bother. I don't even know what this was but I just needed to get it off my chest.

[b0navid3]

My moms always complaining about how I have an attitude like how can I not when I’m grown and you won’t let me go out or do anything that I want

[desirousmuse]

"I want to see what kind of sari Dev Patel's mom wore." - My mom asking the real questions. #JustBrownMomThings