Hey hey, what does your culture look like? Who gets to decide that?

The latest post of A Year After Surviving is here to show how culture is personal and not always open to critique.

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“Every time I hear anything remotely Italian, I swoon.
Any time I learn about German history I fall in love.
When I am around queerness, I feel at home.

I don’t care if I sound too brown-skinned New York.
I don’t care if an “ope”crosses my lips.
I don’t care if I say “y’all.”

I am not concerned with what others think of my consumption of red wine and potato chips, and my pursuit of il bel far niente.
I couldn’t give a shit what someone’s opinion of my meticulous pursuit of historical and philosophical organization.
I do not give a fuck if someone wants to judge me for understanding what “slay the boots down queen” means.

I am a man who was raised without culture, so I will de DAMNED if I ever let anyone take the culture I’ve found away from me. I will not let others tell me what I am allowed to practice, nor how I am allowed to practice. I will not kow-tow to someone thinking that they understand my culture better than I do. It’s mine, and it does not require the understanding, nor permission of others.”