Where the bloody hell are you from?
Seeing that I tend to be around the same group of humans most of the time, I don’t get asked this question often, but when I do venture out; be it to events, to go shopping or while on public transport; I am blessed with the opportunity to answer this question and usually it’s asked by non-black people – and yes this includes People of Colour.
At first young Massy was more than happy to play along, it would be a guessing game and I’d go back and forth with them for a shy minute, but I quickly grew tired of that. It got to a point where I would just say “oh my gosh, how’d you know”, perhaps for my own amusement, to make up for the annoyance of being asked this question for the umpteenth time. I did find it hilarious after I say yes and then they go off on some tangent about “where I’m from” or how “blessed” I must feel to be Down Under, MXM.
I think the boredom of being asked this question comes from the fact that it’s loaded. They ask so that they can make sense of me, because it always comes back to how you behave and how it doesn’t make sense to them, so now I must come and explain my whole life to a complete stranger *sigh* – just ask and accept the answer you get. Because yes, Ripley's Believe It Or Not, some of us don’t want to talk about the political climate of our “home” country, what our parents do for a living, why we moved, how we got here, if we plan on moving back, the “Apex Gang”, or how different Australia is compared to where we come from, because most of the time were are being told and not asked, and sometimes, just sometimes, I’m just trying to get to Parramatta to buy a packet of Flaming’ Hot Cheetos and make my way home, so please don’t come stress me now.