But... where are you really from?

It’s the question black and brown people hear all the time.

“But… where are you really from?”

I used to say – sheepishly – Telford, after first proffering the more upmarket Shrewsbury. No one ever believed that.

I’ve barely heard it in London. If you were going to ask every person of colour here where they were really from, you’d have no time to do anything else. But back in Shropshire, it was on the tip of every taxi drivers’ tongue.

I started saying “my parents are from India”, which doesn’t technically answer the question, but also sort of does? (The question being, really: what’s up with the brown skin?)

Now, when really pressed, I look pained, then out the window, and under my breath I say, “okay, you got me. Wolverhampton.”