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I Found Out What It Means To Be Black By Growing Up 'In Between'

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You’re reading My Black History, a series of personal reflections from Black women in the UK on the meeting point of history and life lessons.

There’s something undeniably scary yet powerful about feeling small. That thought always came to mind staring at the clouds from an aeroplane window, 30,000 feet high. I refer to myself as my mum’s handbag – because I was always by her side whenever she was ready to relocate.

I was born in London, but moved to the US at the age of five where Las Vegas, Nevada quickly became home. I met my first friend, a Mexican native named Jenny who lived across the street from me. She didn’t speak any English, and I didn’t speak any Spanish but that didn’t stop us from having fun together.

We didn’t need words. At that age all that mattered was enjoyment. I have fond memories of faltering conversations as we listened to mariachi music and eat traditional Mexican meals prepared by her mother, which is still one of my favourite cuisines to date. I felt a deep connection to Jenny. I was this little Black girl from England with a distinct accent, and she was a little brown-skinned Mexican girl. We embraced and celebrated each other’s uniqueness.

Those are memories I cherish, and I will always carry them with me. Embracing Jenny’s culture made me even prouder to embrace my own. As life unfolded through, an experience I had in second grade, by this time eight-years-old, made me begin to........

© HuffPost

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