We Keep Our Stories

We keep our stories.

Because if we talk about them—
how we grew up,
what we ate,
what our cultures looked like then and still look like now,
the practices we grew up with and remain accustomed to,
whether we did well or not so well in school,
the kinds of houses we lived in,
the schools we went to—

they might weaponise those stories.

They might dissect them, interpret them, and use them to clarify and confirm the generalised ideas they already have about who they think we are.

They might even use those stories to explain our excellence and our success.

Not simply because we worked hard.
Not because we are equally smart, capable, and deserving.

No.

There will have to be another explanation.

And suddenly, our stories are no longer simply ours.

They become evidence.
Evidence for assumptions we never made.
Evidence for conclusions we never invited.
Evidence used to make sense of us through someone else’s gaze.

So we keep our stories.

Not because they are not worth telling.
Not because they do not matter.
Not because they do not anchor us, shape us, or help us understand who we are.

We keep them because they are ours.

And not yours to use….