Decoding

“My parents aren’t white.”

I felt like that was the quickest way for me to remind my friends in secondary school that things their parents let them do would never fly for me. I stood opposite Tim in the dreary school hallway, after breaking the news that I wouldn’t be taking art classes next year.

“You’re almost 18, your parents can’t tell you what you can’t do.”

Unfortunately, they could, and they did. With the approach of the academic years that would take me into university, my parents paved my path and that path took me away from the art classes that I loved studying alongside a group of creative friends. If I wanted to continue living stress-free under my parents’ roof, I was to give up any dreams of becoming an illustrator for graphic novels in full pursuit of the more stable, reputable goal of being a lawyer. My friends didn’t understand, and the more I tried to explain, the more othered I felt.

I liked to read and challenge doctrine, so putting on the mask of a studious law student was something I could easily play. While Art-Admiring Jordan kept one group of friends, Law Student Jordan circled another group. Despite those two groups existing, I also managed to maintain friendships with individual people that I’d befriended along my schooling journey. Each friendship was sincere, whether I considered them close or not, but my ability to wear different masks and play several roles was detectable and apparently worth noting. One lunchtime, while some friends and I (as Art-Admiring Jordan) were hanging out in the student common room, talking about our futures, I greeted Abraham, one of the few black students in my year group, with a general dap up as he was passing by. A friend of Art-Admiring Jordan; a kind, brown-haired girl, took that opportunity to peg me as a “social butterfly”.

“What does that mean?” I asked her.

“It means you have a lot of friends… you don’t stick to one friend group.”

I just shrugged and nodded because she was right. I was a social butterfly. It felt weird to accept, considering I saw myself as an introvert, but when I thought about it, I never completely fitted in with one friend group, hence the ease in ‘flitting around’. I wondered, “Where do I fit in?”. For some reason, I was reminded of the times I’d felt the need to tell a group of friends that “my parents aren’t white” after they’d challenged why I wasn’t able to do something or go somewhere with them. The two black people I was closer friends with in my year group would have understood, but they were members of their own friend groups that I didn’t have much in common with. Before rejoining my Art-Admiring friend group, I could have easily made conversation with Abraham about what it would be like to take our mock-exam results home to our African parents in a couple of weeks. Abraham was on the school rugby team and I was not shaped for any sport other than speed-chess, so it was a fair sight to be surprised by that we seemed close. In reality, I related to Abraham’s cultural experiences. He would understand how stressful it was for me to try to succeed for the goal of making my parents proud rather than myself.

The first time I felt a glimpse of freedom was when I got to university less than a couple of years later. I’d already secured a spot in law school and gained the trust that I wouldn’t drop out. My parents could see that I had thrown away my dreams and followed a path that would lead me to become a non-disappointment, and they were grateful. As well as autonomy, I also got more opportunities to find where I fit in. After one day of making my parents proud by going to a lecture on Contract Law, I called my mum from my university accommodation bedroom to let her know that I was still alive and still a good example for my younger cousins who all looked up to me.

“I’m going out tonight by the way, so I won’t be able to call later.” I said at the end of our conversation. That sentence ignited the questions.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to a friend’s flat for movie night.”

“Movie night with which friend?” My mother snapped, instantly assuming I was about to make her a grandmother before my graduation.

“It’s a group of friends.” I quickly counted them. “Five of us. We all do Law.”

“Okay. Where is the flat?”

“Crickwood. It’s not far… just a 20-minute walk.”

“20-minute walk? Jordan?”

“It’s long for you. It’s not long for me. And I’m walking there with a couple of my friends.”

“Okay. Just let me know when you get there.” My mother said.

“I will.”

I took off as soon as I’d weaned my mother off the line. I met Chris and Oliver just outside our flat compound, and Google Maps was our fourth friend for the journey. Chris was a Malaysian Chinese guy who seemed to accidentally end up as a top achiever in anything he focused his energy on. For the whole of his first year of university, it was the online multiplayer capture-the-flag type game, League of Legends. Outside of school teachers who’d come to teach at my secondary school, Oliver was probably the first Brit from anywhere far North of London that I’d met. We were good friends, but his love of alcohol and pronunciation of “bus” worried me.

“We can just walk instead of taking the bus.” I said, mimicking Oliver’s accent.

“I do not say ‘bus’ like that.” Oliver chided.

“You kinda do.” Chris laughed.

“You’re honestly the first Northerner I’ve met that speaks like that too-” I followed.

“I’m not Northern!” Oliver yelled. “I was born in the South of England and moved to the middle when I was 8!”

“What do you mean by the South of England?” I asked. “Because if it’s not south of London, I don’t want to hear it.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “‘The middle’ of England just sounds like the lower part of the North to me.”

Lightly bullying Oliver was our expression of friendly love. I had to be careful with what I said though; Chris could very easily turncoat for my lack of knowledge about how to get around London. I didn’t know any of his weaknesses, so I had no material to bounce back at him.

Although Janina was raised in Britain and mostly Cameroonian, and Nimanthi was from Sri Lanka, they both became fast friends in our first year, bonding over the joy of parenting the boys in their friend-group. Suellen joined not long later, adding another element of internationality to our group with mixed Irish, French and Indian background. Janina somehow knew more about Nigeria than me and decided that she would be my mum away from home, approving and disapproving of my dating choices. Janina, Nimanthi and Suellen would often discipline Chris and me whenever they caught us teasing Oliver, so that had to stop as soon as we reached their street. By the time we got to the trio’s flat, I’d dismissed two ‘low battery’ notifications. My phone battery was on its last life. Energy-saver mode could barely manage an hour of screen time, so my priority was getting a charger as soon as I got in.

The group agreed to watch the movie ‘Hereditary’ because one of us explained it to be a family movie. It was already after dark outside, but we turned off the lights for a more cinematic feel, just a couple of the girls’ scented candles providing minimal glow. After the true creepy tone of the film had been established, some members of the party attempted to diffuse the tense night air with some commentary.

“This is not a family movie.” Nimanthi said.

“Hmm.” I hummed, trying to think of an excuse for the film suggestion.

“There is a family in it to be fair.” Chris said.

I snapped and pointed my finger at him in agreement. “It’s a family movie.”

“No.” Janina shook her head, unimpressed`.

Oliver was laughing but then suddenly exclaimed. “Oh!” Sinister ambient music was on in the background, and he’d accidentally scared half the group, causing him to laugh more. “Sorry, she was the mum in The Sixth Sense.”

“Oh, is she?” Suellen said, hand still on her chest.

“I think so.” Oliver replied.

“Let me look it up.” Janina said. Using an excuse to look anywhere but the screen, she quickly pulled out her phone. “Ah, I need to charge.”

“Should we pause the film?” Oliver asked.

“No thanks.” Janina was already walking over to the wall behind the sofa. A few seconds passed before we heard her voice again. “Jordan, who’s ‘Detective Aggression’?”

I snapped my head around fast.

Janina was holding up my phone for me to see ’27 missed calls from Detective Aggression’. I might have fainted if the whiplash from turning my head wasn’t keeping me alert.

It was my mother. I’d forgotten to message her to let her know that I’d safely gotten to my friends’ flat.

“It’s my mum-” As I said that, another call flashed on the screen.

“Why’s your phone on silent?”

“It’s always on silent. Gimme-”

As soon as I picked up, the screaming was loud enough to make my friends think I had the speaker on. I decreased the volume of my phone and hustled to the kitchen area of the flat.

A lot of words were said, but the crux of the issue was “Why didn’t you pick up my calls?”

“I was charging my phone and it was on silent.” I explained.

“Why is your phone on silent? You should know I have high blood pressure. You can’t be making me worried like that.”

I felt a mysterious sense of déjà vu, carrying on the conversation as if on autopilot.

“I think all that matters is that I picked up the phone now-” I said after some back and forth.

“Go back to your place now. You can’t be out this late at night.”

“Now it just seems that you’re angry at me that I didn’t die on my way here.” I said, quickly coming back to my senses. “Is that what you were hoping for?”

My mum laughed against her will. Disarmed. I continued after she tried to mask the laugh by kissing her teeth.

“I’m in the middle of a film with my friends. I can’t just leave on my own, so I’ll go back with some of the others later.” I said. “I’ll let you know when I get back to my flat later tonight, and if I forget, your twenty-seven phone calls will wake me up. I’ve turned my phone off silent now.”

My friends only heard my side of the conversation, so they didn’t know that I wasn’t being a challenging child. After I finished my conversation with her and went back to them to resume our film-watching, Nimanthi spoke up.

“Do you actually talk to your mum like that?”

“Like what?”

“Just… casually. ‘All that matters is that I picked up the phone’” Nimanthi quoted. I could never say that to my parents.

“I don’t think even I wouldn’t speak to my mum like that.” Suellen was a mix of nationalities that she’d already explained to us, so I took a guess in that moment that her father was the more relaxed French and Irish side, and her mother was the stricter Indian.

“Jordan’s parents aren’t like other ethnics.” Janina said. “I used to think he was joking about the way he speaks to them.”

“What?” I asked, unsure about what I’d done with the situation that was so different to how they would have handled it.

“One time, you told me that you told your mum you were sending her to an old people’s home.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, when we were talking about grandparents living with their children and grandchildren.”

“Oh, I did!” I laughed. “She said she wants me to be successful for myself, and she already lives in her own house.”

“You’re wild, man.” Chris said.

Oliver just shrugged. He could tell I was joking with my parents and that they were probably okay with it. Strangely, I still felt like I fit in with the group. I wouldn’t have to explain my experiences to not feel different to them.

I hadn’t appreciated how liberal my parents were with me compared to other parents who were born abroad or in stricter cultures. They were never this relaxed before, but with age and after having subjected me to their trial-and-error parenting, they’d grown more understanding with me. The burden of honouring their wishes for me to have a noble pursuit in life granted me not only their appreciation, but also some liberties beyond autonomy at university. I coasted through the law degree easily, but my parents’ forbiddance of me indulging in my artistic nature at school brew a frustration that forced them to realise their missteps. When they realised that studying art wouldn’t have barred my future entry to law school, they were remorseful to know that I’d fully thrown away my “childish” dreams to make them proud.

I was able to speak more freely with my parents, frustrations and all, because there was no acceptable alternative. I was just realising it was something my new friends couldn’t fully relate to. Sure, I didn’t need to wear the mask of Art-Admiring or Law Student just to hang out with them, but my experience didn’t fit in with theirs as completely as I initially thought. I could still be me; I just had to tailor my script for the group.

Halfway through that second year of university, the new “Liberal World Society” finally had enough supporters from the new cohort to kick into effect. As I was walking through campus, one of their founding members flagged me down and encouraged me to visit their society’s first evening get-together. I sat in the repurposed tutoring room later that week, surrounded by university colours of purple but feeling very much like I was back in secondary school. I didn’t know anyone except the person who invited me. I sat alone on a table, waiting for them to start the meeting. For their grand opening, the society executives had decided to ‘set the scene’ for why the “Liberal World Society” was needed in today’s climate. After introducing themselves, they prepared to share a video which had compiled clips from several noteworthy news stories that focused on rising tensions between left and right-wing groups of people.

“It gets a bit violent, so please do let us know if you need to step out… but we think it’s important not to shy away from the reality of what our world is like today.” said Avery, the society president.

I watched the video as street YouTube debaters said triggering things to people who disagreed with them; as politicians inspired distrust of modern education; and as protesters were attacked in various ways, including one incident with a car mowing down protesters who had blocked a road. There were some discussions after the video with the consensus that we (whoever we were) needed to mobilise and shut down certain people and ideas. People needed to be cancelled and ‘our’ more forward-thinking ideology needed to be fed to people before the opposition had the chance to ruin fresh minds.

“Jordan, I think it would be important to hear your voice on this. What do you think?” Avery said.

“It seems a bit much.” I didn’t take much time to think further about it. “I don’t get the point of shouting when we can change how people think just by talking to them.”

“I disagree,” Avery recused “the world is regressing because of people like that spreading their ideas, and the only way to silence them is to shout louder. For example, you as a black man wouldn’t be heard by them, and you shouldn’t have to change how you talk to be heard, but that’s what it’s like with them.”

I thought that was dumb and instantly had a rebuttal.

“There was a black guy who befriended KKK members by talking to them. He made a few of them turn away from the KKK by just being himself.” I hadn’t committed his name to memory at the time, but Daryl Davis’ story stuck with me as a demonstration of the superficiality that this “divide” held. “I don’t think we need to be far left to bring people on the other side to the centre.”

“Oh, no.” Someone else said. “We need to be where we are. Being central is just enabling the right.”

“I’m sure that the reverse could be said by the other side.” I thought to myself. Outwardly, I just nodded and acted like I agreed with the group, not because of any group pressure but because I’d said all I had to say and arguing felt like I would be spending more energy than necessary on minds that wouldn’t consider change if it didn’t bend their way. Surprisingly enough, I ended up not joining the society. I didn’t fit in there.

Walking back to my flat after that opening meeting, I wondered if I had more that I should have offered the society members. Daryl Davis definitely didn’t “fit in” with the KKK, but he managed to make friends with some of the Klansmen and get them to denounce the group just by speaking with them. I guess the only difference was that I didn’t want to spend my time speaking with them when I had a law degree to read for. As well as that, I consider myself very much an introvert. I didn’t think I’d ever completely fit in anywhere, and that was okay with me. I didn’t need to fit in anywhere because I could fit myself in wherever I needed to. Art-Admiring Jordan, Law Student Jordan, they weren’t masks. They were me. They are me. In the most sanitary way, there was enough Jordan to go around. That’s what being a social butterfly meant, and it wasn’t a unique experience from not fitting in. I realised that I fit in so well with my main university friend group because I just needed to understand them and their experiences. Just like them, my parents paved my path, but it was my choice to walk it. I figured that my fitting in was about understanding and being understood. Being welcomed into different friend groups and societies wasn’t something I needed to change for. Being sought out meant I could fit in. It was just up to me to decide how much effort I was willing to expend to find my place.