I was raised by my Scottish- German-American single mother, so identifying myself as “white” was almost done for me whenever we were seen together. I noticed, however, from a very young age, that my curly black hair and tan skin did not resemble my mother’s or anyone else’s from her side of the family.

As a biracial child, my questions regarding race sprang up from an early age, but my Caucasian mother could not always answer them for me. She had never grown up wondering about what to do when being racially profiled, how to react if the police stopped and frisked her, or even what specific oils and products were right for my kinky hair. There were questions my Jamaican-immigrant father couldn’t even answer for me, even when he was around, which was only a handful of times in my life. I wondered why people assumed I was adopted when I was seen with my mother in public. Wasn’t it possible to have a biracial child be much darker than their mother? Why was I so often categorized as either white or black and never referred to as “biracial”? Why was I deemed “exotic” as if I were a rare animal species?

Looking out into the world, I felt far from secure or close to answering these questions. Reading that unarmed black people are five times more likely to be shot and killed by a cop, yet seeing our first biracial President reigning during this time felt jarring and conflicting to me. Hearing that black women have been considered “hyper- sexual” for centuries but then also being appropriated for their features made no sense to me, either. I felt that by being mixed I was never viewed as both races, only ever one or the other. The world told me to love myself and all my features, yet I felt forced to choose only one race with which to identify.

I have learned that in order to get some answers, there is nothing wrong with asking questions. In high school, I was exposed to more races and cultures than ever before. I surrounded myself with girls just as curious as I was and who were not afraid to inquire about their experiences regarding race. I felt insightful as well when answering their questions, and they made me realize that I knew a lot more about my race experience than I thought I did.

However, none of these conversations and answers would have been achieved if it were not for understanding, compassion, and the courage to be curious. I’ve been faced with many racial questions in my life. People have asked how It feels to be mixed, particularly in today’s climate, and others have wanted to know my political views. I don’t mind these questions, as long as I know they come from a place of authenticity. I’ve been in the same spot, especially when questioning my mother: Were you ever concerned about raising a brown girl in a world where more than 20% of black women are raped in their lifetime? Did you face any discrimination from your own family members? I am blessed to have a mother that is open to answering my questions because she understands that I sincerely want to know about her racial experience.

Unfortunately, I have had many encounters when the questions asked to me were not fueled by curiosity, but by hate. There have even been encounters where I’ve witnessed one race completely unwilling to hear, let alone consider, the other’s race experience. I see that all we want is to be heard fully and sincerely, as well as to promote love and compassion for others. This cannot happen if we are not willing to look at our faults and own them or if we do not ask questions out of love and compassion.

There needs to be more openness when racial discussions arise, especially when the people present are of different races. There needs to be more awareness in how we speak to and about others, and more understanding and compassion toward the insightful party. We must understand and also relate to their questioning, as there have been times when we ourselves have been as curious. We all want to steer away from being deemed ignorant. There is room for improvement all over the world regarding race relations. Understanding and compassion are more than words; they are actions that have a huge impact when put them into effect. More compassion and curiosity in the world will enlighten us and lift the veil of ignorance which hangs over much of mankind.

Looking back now, I’m grateful that I never had anyone figure things out for me, despite being very confused at times about who to be. Nobody can answer questions about my race experience for me. Otherwise, I would never have learned the basics of who I am. Although I may fit into categories about race, color, gender, and sexuality, nobody can keep me within those categories. I am me.