I remember the first day of my new school, my mother wrote a letter for me to read out to my class explaining that I wasn't contagious or sick and that I was hoping they would still be friends with me regardless of what I looked like. I remember my voice broke during that part of the letter as I stood at the front of the class, and a couple of my classmates also started to tear up. I'm eternally grateful to my mother for what she did by making me read that letter out - immediately after class, a group of girls came up and asked me if I wanted to sit with them for lunch. Those are still some of my closest friends to this day.
You can see that my arms had almost completely changed (except my knuckles and fingers), as had my legs and torso. The Vitiligo was now making its way up my neck, soon to go into overdrive on my face upon hitting puberty. The white patch on my forehead kept growing and shrinking as you can tell from previous photos, which shows how unpredictable the condition is.
Aged 9 at my confirmation in Paphos, Cyprus
Hi Darcel, I rad your story in a magazine and immediately identified with your story. I also come from a mixed Race background. Afro-Jamaican and Irish/English. Both my mother and I both suffer from Vitiligo although mine is much worse. I think that your story is very interesting as I am an artist who is producing work that explores Racial performance and identity. I am also identified by people as Caucasian although I identify as mixed-race. I would be interested in talking with you about this. How skin colour is an over-determined way of racially identifying someone but sometimes also important. I will contact your facebook account and maybe we can discuss from their.
ReplyDeleteJamie