Introducing The Next Generation Of Leaders And Thinkers

Falling Into Racism

I was naïve, innocent little girl once. Blissfully oblivious and unknowingly colorblind was I; because of that, I was tremendously joyful. For the most part of my childhood, I lived in a sleepy suburban neighborhood – closeted behind a colorless stained glass – I was blanketed by the privilege and comfort of my life and closed away from the nasty truth by my weary parents. I was exposed to only this faux but happy reality.

But one day, I tripped. You know: that fraction of a second flooded of terror and adrenaline as you rush towards the ground; for me, I was free-falling towards the walls of my fragile glass cushion. This is what I felt when I finally saw color—my first taste of racism. Fortunately, I caught myself on the cold crystal floor, and I dismissed the event as a mere anomaly.

It was not until a long time passed and I nearly forgot about my first stab of prejudice did I actually fall – it’s the second time that really hurt. In that very instant, I stood helpless beside a dear friend who got attacked for her color; then, I realized it is even more painful—torturous, gut wrenching—to watch a loved one suffer; petrified in the moment, I stood by unable to lend help. Guilt constantly punches me in the gut nowadays, whenever I think about how useless I was to the victim…these feelings are married with subsequent racist events that perpetually flood in; I keep falling – whether through wallowing in my own self pity or sweating and staring bug-eyed at my perpetrator in these new experiences – I couldn’t control my body and stop descending, starting from soft rolls and resultant blunt scratches to faster and more brutal snowballing and hits. A broken arm, lacerated lungs, a snapped spine: my bruised soul forces an avalanche down the never-ending steep of reality. The more I resist, the more I hurt; society pushes me back harder each time I try to revolt. I whimper and sob as I see the Plexiglas walls of my eerily quiet suburbia finally start to shatter and the true colors of the world revealed.

Life was once shrouded in a fake, black-and-white façade. I now wish I could revert back to these falsified days because despite my ability to now appreciate the rich and different colors of the world, fate manipulates these colors against each other into a vicious brawl of everlasting hate.

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