Sell out

Am I a sell-out for wanting to know the nuances of philosophical parlance, for wanting to attend an orchestral performance of Sabastian Bach, scratch that Ludwig van Beethoven's Symphony No. 5 in C minor?

Am I a sellout for wanting to learn the quintessence of the English language, for studying its meticulous application, and for starting arguments on semantics

Am I a sellout for learning to speak in a way considered foreign to my kin but have that as my only form of expression

Am I a sellout for not being African enough? For being complacent in a way that's disconcerting to my 'African' peers who call me out every time I mispronounce a Luganda word.

Am I a sell-out for learning stupendously about the inception of the Magna Carter of 1215 and for having no idea about the anthropological subtleties of my lineage?

Am I a sell-out for having role models of a characteristically different hue, for putting them on a pedestal, secretly heeding the insight that I can never be like them?

Am I a sell-out for making proclamations about my adoration of my melanin, and for simultaneously subconsciously longing for a spouse with a fairer hue than mine?

Am I a sell-out? This is the question that resonates every time I contemplate the ambiguities of my identity.