Tuesday, January 12th, 2010
by Liya Endale
EA4C Guest Blogger

Where is the fine line I dance with like an actor on stage looking for her mark? On one side lie the ideals in which I occasionally venture to believe in and on the other side lies reality; those voices of people who have come before you and warn you of life’s pitfalls. Courage is light on the side of the gray, unapologetic concrete. In the land of ideals, however, courage feels like lead stacked in the lining of your knickers as the echoes of the other side are heard mocking your decisions and calling you foolish.

As Ethiopian Americans we are in this unique situation where our parents do not really know how to advise us in this strange place. Not only are we separated by time but also by location. A lot of parents react out of fear and try to keep us from any and every thing (especially if you are a girl). As we grow into our own adult persons, however, we have so many choices to make in our lives that it can be overwhelming. Without the advantage of an American elder we are placed in a position where we dance this fine line between our reality and that which our heart is pulled towards. The decision and the consequences are all ours. A lot of us learn sacrifice early as we see our parents live by this creed and unknowingly pressure us into their same footsteps.

I, however, am a bit of a renegade. This is no secret among my close group of friends. Our parents sacrificed so we could live a better life, so not to forge our own path, discover our passion and strengths seems more like the disservice to their love. So it was no surprise when I followed my heart into a relationship–you may want to sit down–with an Eritrean man. For the first time, I felt the weight of judgment, usually a nonentity which slides of my back like kibe from a hot skillet. I had convinced myself that the opinions of others were merely ignorant labels people try to tattoo on us when all they have are post-its. These labels soon fly away if you do not begin to believe in them. You are the only one who can tattoo your own spirit. He, a renegade like myself, seemed to maneuver my way of thinking like I maneuver Mario through all eight levels of Mario Brothers in one afternoon. We had the same game system in this life. And so my heart said one thing while the concrete walls warned of danger and the fear began to tug at my heart.

Practically speaking, this union would mean an isolation from each of our communities. I did not hesitate because of this fact until I started hearing the things people closer to me had to say. First, he does not speak Amharic and I do not speak Tigrinya. What language would our children learn? Second, his family lives in Eritrea and mine in Ethiopia. How could we traverse this border with names as blatant as a pregnant woman in the 9^th month of carrying her twins? Would we have to isolate ourselves from our families as well? What about the history of our people that we had yet to learn? Could this possibly affect the way we feel for each other in the future? Would the echoes of the other side begin to manipulate our thoughts for each other when he drinks milk from the carton or I get jealous of his childhood friend who happens to be bustier than me? After all, you do not want to be in a situation with your spouse where love is all you have to rely on. What about our foundation? Has this geographic rift between North and South created a permanent fracture between all Ethiopians and Eritreans which will filter into generations to come or are we the first generation with an opportunity to change things? And is love enough to do it?

Again, I have no answers. He and I actually went back to being friends for other reasons, but I always will wonder what would have happened and how things would have played out. Out of this situation has grown a great curiosity within me to really understand the animosity between our people and, more importantly, to understand the solution for such hate. Hate born out of extreme pain caused by another is something I understand quite well. What frightens me, however, is how this hate is passed down through generations until the source of the hate is forgotten and replaced with ignorance. I respect the person who hates but can articulate why more than the one who hates but does not even realize that he has no reason to do so. Though its antithesis is ignorant love, it seems just as tenuous. So it seems that the only real solution is to love for a good reason. Just as I will not refuse to date an Eritrean or most other nationalities because of that one difference, I will not date someone just because he is Ethiopian either. If I choose not to date you it is likely because you don’t have your stuff together, and flunkies come in all shades and nationalities.

I know this makes a lot of people upset, but I don’t like unambiguous concepts which are defined for us; concrete edges measuring 90 degrees and have been discovered and rediscovered a billion times over. I want to forge my own path and create my reality through my experiences, define undefined concepts like race, intelligence and love – even if I find out I am wrong about some things. Again, I have no answers but I’ve found my solution. When it comes to money, I let my practical mind take control. When it comes to love, however, my heart steers the ship.

This blog submission was written by Liya Endale.  The views of guest bloggers are not the views of Ethiopian-Americans for Change.  Guest bloggers represent the broad dissection of views and outlooks within our community.