Sir Robert Bryson Hall II, better known as American rapper Logic, has been the butt of a long running joke on social media for what seems like almost the last ten years. For what? His music, specifically his songs where he raps about being biracial. If you search Logic’s name on X or any other platform, it is easy to find countless sarcastic posts mocking how often he talks about being “mixed”.
It may be controversial to say, but I like Logic. Him and his music. Maybe, I can look past all the times he excessively raps about being biracial, because I have a little soft spot for Logic, being biracial myself.
Someone who is biracial or “mixed”, comes from two different racial or ethnic backgrounds. I’m half Afghan and half Mexican, so I can understand where Logic’s coming from.
I understand why he always feels the need to remind people of his racial identity, and to express that in his art. My ethnic identity is a perfect fifty-fifty split on both sides, just like Logic. Yet, I’ve always felt the need to emphasize or reassure others, including myself, that I am just as Mexican as I am Afghan. That I can and I do have the best of both worlds.
What most social media trolls tweeting about Logic don’t seem to understand, is just how confusing the biracial experience can be for someone. Even in America’s cosmopolitan society.
I’ve always found it hard to explain to people what it’s like. It’s not because being biracial is a super niche or unique experience, but being mixed is simply complicated. And mixed ethnicity comes with a lot of mixed feelings.
Finding yourself is hard enough as it is, throw in being multiracial and society’s construction of race,and you get a muddled experience filled with self-doubt and insecurity.
In the second grade, we were assigned a very special project, paper ancestry dolls. These dolls were supposed to represent our heritage and family background. With no second thought, I decided my doll was going to be all Afghan, there would be no trace of my Mexican heritage. I made Afghani clothes from pink felt and gold sequins for my doll. I wrote all about Afghanistan. I wrote about how my dad was born in the heart of Afghanistan, Kabul, and how my family only left their beloved country because of war. I wrote about how I loved to eat Afghan palao, and how much I loved to dance to Afghan folk songs at my grandma’s house, in her living room that was covered entirely in red Afghan rugs, straight from the motherland.
That ancestry doll was my prized possession at eight years old. I hung it up right next to my bed.
Now, whenever I look through old keepsake boxes, I see the doll and can barely stand to look at it. I cringe, toss it to the side, and continue to rummage for something else worth remembering.
I only really knew what it was to be Afghan when I was little, and never really cared much for being Mexican growing up. My ancestry doll is an example of that, and I hate it.
I think I favored being Afghan, over Mexican, because the two different backgrounds were presented to me so differently at such a young age, both by people close to me and society.
Sure, there are negative generalizations made about both groups, but when I was little all I knew was the negativity surrounding Mexican people from those around me.
Being Afghan also worked better in my favor, growing up in a suburban city where there was a bigger Middle-Eastern and South Asian population.
Naturally, I tried to erase being Mexican from my identity.
I never explored both my cultures with the same respect, passion, or attitude. Until middle school.
In eighth grade, I took a Spanish class, with a proud Latina teacher I admired and a few friends from similar Mexican-American backgrounds.
It was there in first period Spanish, I fell in love for the first time with my Mexican culture. In class, we not only learned Spanish, but also about Hispanic cultures. I celebrated Mexican Independence Day for the first time and learned how to set up an altar for Día De Los Muertos.
As I learned Spanish in school, I simultaneously explored outside of school about what being Mexican meant to me too, not to those around me.
Yes, a lot of the exploration began with stereotyping media, like watching Narcos: Mexico on Netflix and even children’s media like Disney’s Coco. However, I became immersed in my Mexican culture through my love of music as well. I was constantly playing Mexican-American artists like Selena Quintanilla, and even traditional rancheras from regional mariachi singer Vicente Fernandez.
I never forgot about my Afghan side either. I spent a lot of time with my Afghan grandma in middle school, since she had just moved down the street. I would ask her to tell me stories of her childhood in Ghazni, Afghanistan, and practicing my native Farsi tongue while folding the corners of Afghan dumplings.
I even began to teach my Afghan grandma a few Spanish words.
By the end of eighth grade, I began to play with both my cultures, in an effort to find what made sense, what felt right.
I tried dressing in stereotypical Chicana, Mexican-American fashion with Dickies worker pants and flannels.
I tried blasting Afghan music while driving in the car with my windows rolled down.
I was looking for acceptance and belonging, within both my heritages.
As I started to assert my ancestry, craving to feel accepted and fit in with my respective communities, I finally found a balance between being Afghan and Mexican. I no longer was concerned about how others saw who I was, and I was proud of knowing the cultural frameworks of both my heritages.
Today, I am able to celebrate and embrace my complex identity, no longer feeling more Afghan than Mexican, or looking too Mexican and not Afghan enough. I am comfortable and confident in an authentic identity unique to me, apart from how other people may categorize me, or how I grew up.
I have finally gotten to the proud point that Logic raps about, in what seems like almost every song.
I’m Afghan and Mexican equally, and l love every single thing about my mixed identity.