Waiting To Be Seen
photo: tinotran.com
On my bedroom wall was a picture of Mia Hamm and a picture of Michelle Kwan. Mia Hamm because I wanted to be a professional soccer player; Michelle Kwan because she kind of sort of (not really) looked like me.
I was 13. I didn’t particularly like figure skating. I still don’t really like individual sports for myself as an athlete. I would feel uncomfortable being the only one on the field. I like knowing that people have my back. That my teammates will pick me up. That I’m working for something outside of myself.
But I felt like I needed to put Michelle up there because, though I’m not Chinese, I needed to remind myself that I wasn’t the only one. That somewhere Michelle had my back whether she knew it or not.
My experience as a mixed race kid in white spaces─white teams─was that of othering. Teammates might be your teammates on the field but you are always an advocate for yourself and your race. You don’t belong.
It means being forced to represent your identity and the identity of a whole culture, country or continent. It means never being able to take the mask off; to always have to think about what you do, what you say and how you say it; to worry about who is listening and judging silently or noisily. It means constantly fighting with and challenging people, even people we love.
It is exhausting.
I went into the experience of Color of Ultimate thinking about the image we were presenting. On the plane I was thinking about the showcase game, the visibility that went along with it and the responsibility we had to our respective races and cultures to uphold something. Worrying about what I always worry about in white spaces.
photo: tinotran.com
That all melted away when I met my teammates. My family. Suddenly the experience wasn’t about what we could represent. It was about letting go of all that responsibility and stress and finally feeling free.
For once we weren’t exhausted. For once my teammates were my teammates anywhere and everywhere; when someone made an amazing grab; when someone got beat downfield; when someone wanted to dance. We had each other each step of the way.
Even in the harder moments. Like when an all white team from a state in the middle of the country that shall not be named felt the need to go to the camera to make an in-out call because they couldn’t trust the voice of the people of color standing on the sideline. Good thing Tino was there to highlight that excellence. As people of color we always need receipts.
More than showing up white folx, it was an extremely freeing moment for so many of us on the team. One of the refrains of the weekend was that we felt “like we could really be ourselves.” Some part of our personalities or identities bubbled up that we never let out in other spaces.
It was a team where we all simultaneously felt like we belonged to each other; while also unabashedly being ourselves.
That’s what we built in less than 48 hours. A team and a home where everyone had each other’s back. A home where we saw beyond the masks of racial identities, to the individuals hiding, waiting to be seen.
~ Stazi Tangherlini (she/her/hers)