Fili’s world

I’m white. White… coming from where ever it is that my ancestors came from, I was created into being white. I didn’t choose to be white, I didn’t ask anyone to be white, and right now - there’s nothing that I can really do about it. It’s one of those things that you just can’t change, but something that you’re being referred to and defined by all the time.

In Vietnam, I was a skin-color god. I have no idea where the white-worship came from, but it was quite remarkable that everytime I went out to have something to eat with a Vietnamese girl, the second she would step out the door into a sun-light, she would completely cover her all body and face up. Long sleeves, a cover over the nose and mouth, sun glasses, a back-cover and socks under the sandals. It didn’t matter whether is was 50 degree Celsius outside, preserving the white skin color was beyond any physical suffering. All the lotions I saw girls use there had bleach inside - the Melanin manipulator - to enhance their white beauty. A girl coming in with the slightest tan was thought of as lower rank, and tanned guys were considered unattractive. It was sometimes embarrassing that when I met people they first referred to me by my skin color and complimented me on my very-impressive probably-gained-by-long-hours-of-body-bleaching white features. In one of my travels to the unvisited Vietnamese country side, people came up to me and started touching my skin, with my friend translating that they really adore how white and shiny my skin is.
I was lucky that my features fell into the category that meant local beauty. It was mere chance.

Over here, in Israel, I am a skin-color outcast. I have two modes of skin color. My usual Vietnamese-beauty white skin color, and an awful two-minutes-in-the-sun bright-red mode. My entire life I’ve been judged by how white I am and have been recommended to by numerous parties that I should go to the beach more, sit outside for hours to try and “train” my body to change from bright-red to deep -red, or even go to tanning salons so that “professionals” could “handle” me.
In Israel - white isn’t beautiful, white is weak, sick, or just plain unattractive. I’ve had a female friend tell me that she’s dumping her boyfriend because under all his clothing he too white, her being well-aware of the irony in telling me that. I hate to admit the fact that when she told me this, my immediate thought was that it was as good of a reason for dumping a boyfriend as any, but a second later I realized the problematic perception and how deep this goes within our society. It doesn’t matter how many anti skin cancer ads there are, tanned is always more beautiful here.
I was unlucky in that my features fell into the wrong category that don’t constitute as local beauty. It was mere chance.

I’m me. Me… coming from where ever it is that my ancestors came from, I was created into being me. I didn’t choose to be me, I didn’t ask anyone to be me, and right now - there’s nothing really that I can do about it. It’s one of those things that you just can’t change…

That leaves you with two choices. You can either judge me, fight me, try to change me, always remind me of what I’m not and direct me in the direction of someone or something you want me to be. Or… you can accept me for who I am, embrace me, and take me in as one of your own. I wouldn’t want this decision to be based on mere chance, but rather - on something more fundamental. And no, this isn’t about how white I am.

So, what’s it going to be ?