It wasn't always easy being a double blood. I had to find a way in that and that went by trial and error.
I've been weighing and weighing. I have twisted and turned. I went from left, to right and from bottom to top. Until I could finally feel and dare to say it out loud to myself...
I am who I am
I am Papeda, and I am Stamppot.
And together we form a Color Rich whole. Before I could say and feel that, quite a lot had happened.
It is a conscious choice to share this journey on April 25, the Independence Day of the Republic of the South Moluccas (RMS). In the first place it is a tribute to all our elders, the first generation of Moluccans in the Netherlands. Without them I wouldn't be here and I wouldn't be able to write this. From there my history, as a child and second generation Moluccan, started.
I see my origin and awareness of it as a process. I was born as a child, as if it were a blank canvas. The colors with which my painting is drawn were handed to me as a child. Provided by my parents, my family, my friends. A mishmash of culture, norms, values, circumstances, religion, traditions, school and more.
Because my father is of Moluccan descent and my mother of Dutch descent, I naturally had a more extensive color palette. As a child I was not yet aware of this, but over the years it grew.
I would like to share with you what that growth looked like for me and invite you to take a look at part of this process.
Ik neem je mee in de jaren dat ik een jong meisje was, in de jaren van mijn basisschool leeftijd. Ik herinner me, het gevoel van er bij willen horen, en dat gevoel ging soms ver. Ik verzette me als het ware tegen een deel van mijzelf. In deze situatie, tegen het deel dat ik van mijn Nederlandse moeder heb meegekregen, mijn Nederlandse kant. Ik wilde een bepaalde periode in mijn opgroeien, niets weten van dat Nederlandse deel van mijzelf. Ik moest en zou geaccepteerd worden en gezien worden, zoals alle andere kinderen om mij heen en waar ik mee opgroeide in de Molukse gemeenschap.
More than once, I also heard the stories and saw and felt the sadness when my father, my uncles, my aunts and other Moluccans talked about their experience and history. I then heard the stories of grief, betrayal and pain of the broken promise. How they fought in the KNIL, some gave their lives for the Netherlands. The country that now completely turned its back on them and literally left it out in the cold. How could I embrace that Dutch part of myself, when it is infused with so much pain and sorrow. I couldn't help but resist this.
At that moment I didn't know or didn't want to see that I was denying a part of myself. I was in opposition to myself and in retrospect I can now tell you that this brought a lot of confusion, unrest and dissatisfaction.
What did this confusion, unrest and dissatisfaction look like to me? For that I jump back in time, the 18 year old me and beyond.
Due to various private circumstances, my sister and I then moved to live outside the Moluccan neighbourhood. I was still relatively young, knew little about the big world out there. The world outside the Moluccan community and where I had not yet eaten cheese on many things. A new journey of discovery began for me, but now I was in a mainly Dutch environment. Again I tried my best to fit in. To be like most people around me. But why did it feel like I was missing out again? Why did I have to try so hard to fit in? Then slowly the confusion, unrest and dissatisfaction surfaced. The duality, the denial of a part of myself began to gnaw. Fortunately, I can now say wholeheartedly.
I seemed to run into walls. I didn't seem to be accepted and embraced. I didn't seem to be one, but not the other either. But then who am I? Then came my own realization. I feel different and not accepted by "the outside world". But how can I expect something from someone else, lay something down with someone else. If I don't embrace and accept myself first and completely. That realization was quite a confrontation, I can tell you. For years I tried my best to be something, to belong somewhere, but denied a part of myself. And to be honest, there was still anger in me, the feeling of injustice and not being accepted. What was I supposed to do with that?
Then I was told or read about something:
“accept yourself and embrace yourself”.
That sounded nice to me, but after years of denial of (part of) myself, easier said than done as far as I'm concerned. I staggered, I fell and only when I was willing and ready to let go of my (self) image. Could I get up and be myself. At my own pace, I was allowed to discover my colors, color and shape my painting. Maybe that's why we call it Life's Work and the Art of Living, because our life is a painting in the making. In motion and changing, just like time and sometimes slower or still as in a Still Life.
After deliberation, twisting and turning, my lesson and my growth. I can finally feel and say to myself:
I am who I am.
When I look back now, I see how all the circumstances, big and small, have influenced who I am today. Just as future experience and circumstances will affect who I am tomorrow.
I am grateful for the life my Moluccan father and Dutch mother have given me. I can shape and fill that with my own colors. Just like any other person can. That's my birthright. That is the birthright of all of us. The right of our existence. For every person, regardless of color, culture, gender, religion, age or otherwise.
I still paint and color and hope to be able to do so for a long time. I am fully inspired by my children, my grandchild, my family, my friends, the encounters with people, animals and nature. I also enjoy the silence that brings so many colors in its own unique way.
I am happy and grateful for what I have received from both my parents and cultures.
I feel rich.
Color Rich.
Nusa Ina
Confess color