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Outlander.

Be proud to stand out.

By Hannah MartinPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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Self Portrait - Wayfayer's Chapel - Palos Verdes, CA

An Outlander since the day I was born.

Permanently fixated on a twisted looking glass, its curvature twisted the world around me. Stuck on the outside looking in, the status quo was something I'd never see again.

Through this glass I see ten year old me in a stuffy exam room, trembling with pencil in hand. The teacher just said to "pick whatever race you're more of" before moving on to the next section of the scantron. This was the memory to kickstart decades of insecurity. Immediately feeling less than zero, I unwillingly filled in "Other."

"Is this all I'll ever be?"

How upon returning home that day, running up the driveway to play with the neighbor's kids, they ran back inside as their Mum locked the door behind them.

"Was it something I said?"

Stepping further back, eight year old me strut her stuff on Hawaiian day, corn-rows and all, only to find I was the only one without a grass skirt or lei. Decked out in my brother's tropical hand-me-downs, no one wanted to play with the awkward kid that didn't have a cool outfit.

No one seemed to care.

Or the time on the ice rink, my home away from home, where entitled blondes pushed and shoved because I couldn't keep up with them. How once again I didn't get the costume memo and felt like an absolute freak show. How I ran off the ice, teary eyed into my Mum's arms, swearing to never go back again. How I glowed on stage in my theater performances only to allow adolescence to dim my light. How I shifted gears to science and found solace amongst my teachers, surrounded by loud jocks and popularity.

Suddenly, the looking glass zeros in on high school me; roaming around at breaktime, earbuds on full blast, I'd observe the student body like Sir David Attenborough. Walking past Freshman circle full of "cool kids," beauty and brand names. How the Seniors on "The Wall" would scan for prey, craving young blood. How the only people that walked up to me asked if I was "Sam's sister," refusing to acknowledge or bother with my actual name. How I'd eat my lunch in the bathroom like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls. How I adapted like a chameleon, blending in with the Outlanders and geeks, never having one true group of friends.

I'd daydream about tossing my cap Senior year; tasting the freedom of adulthood and the real world. Hopping on a plane, traveling far away to never return to this place again.

"Maybe I should change my name..."

Fast forward to my early 20s where I still stick out like a sore thumb, appealing to men twice my age for I was never a high school sweetheart. Constantly deemed "exotic" like a damn safari animal where people grabbed and gawked at me.

"What is she, anyway?"

I've grown to understand that no one can prepare you for life as a mixed kid in this world. How no one understands why your Mum, hailing from England and white as can be, would run off and marry a black man from rural Mississippi. How society can't understand why you're a different color, bracing the world with your presence that only a small percentage will understand.

How I'm not one or the "other," yet I've filled far too many "Others" on government forms and exam sheets. How I've fearlessly stood up for my fellow Outlanders against the reckless ignorance of my college professors.

How dehumanizing it feels to be stared at like rubbage outside of a cafe in Arizona, or at a restaurant in central Florida. How I've grown such thick skin from years of prejudice. How I've been sheltered growing up in affluence. How being "light skinned" brings an entirely different level of privilege. How I'll never be "dark enough" for my father's family, being left with no other choice but to let go and love at a distance.

How despite spending thousands of dollars on bleached hair, mini skirts and a fake personality, I'll never look like my Anglo Saxon girlfriends, which is perfectly okay with me. How I'm still tormented on the internet for having a curly mane, putting up a wall of straightened lies that keep my inner peace. How being fetishized on dating apps has bred cynicism and resentment, creating a wall that was nearly impossible to tear down.

"Why can't it be simple..."

Regardless of these cycling trivialities, I can finally say at 25 that I'm learning to love myself wholeheartedly. That the looking glass I created from self isolation can be destroyed once and for all. That I can hug the little girl crying on the rink and tell her she's amazing. That the moody teenager in high school has yet to see what being an Outlander would eventually bring. That it's okay to be different and proud of her independence.

That I don't need to explain myself to anyone or shrink myself down. That I can wear my hair however I want and stand out from the rest. That I can embrace being a Tall Poppy in a field of dandelions. That I can free myself from the twisted grip of my past. That life is all about quality over quantity, whether that means friendships, love or family. That I can know my limits, keeping myself a priority at the top of the list. That I can finally embrace how far I've come, emotionally and spiritually. That I am enough for me. That unconditionally pouring back into my cup is all that's necessary.

I know now at 25 that life doesn't test us, but rather it prepares us for the journey ahead. That the years I've spent an Outlander have forced me to grow up quickly, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

As tricky as it was to nail down one instance of being an Outlander, this challenge feels like it was made for me; a subtle nudge from the Universe to finally start sharing my stories with the world.

I write this as a reminder for the Outlanders finding their place in the world. For all of the mixed kids that feel stuck in the looking glass. The ones who fear the opinions of others. The lone wolves and geniuses. The ones from broken homes and families. The wanderlust. The ones still discovering their purpose. The tutu wearing, neon bearing, free spirited artists that fuel the world with their visions. The ones who refuse to embellish their Alma Maters on a Range Rover or hang out at the Country Club. The ones who won't marry a lawyer or join a cultish Sorority. The tall ones. The short ones. The differently shaped ones. The green haired ones covered in tattoos. The ones that can't wait to leave their hometown behind...

This one's for you.

humanity
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About the Creator

Hannah Martin

Digital nomad with a natural flair for writing, cooking and shedding light wherever I go.

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