F*** you Darkie

Today I had my first racial encounter in Christchurch. Yen and I were walking to meet one of her work mates for dinner around seven when someone yelled out of a moving vehicle, “F*** you darkie!”

For the few moments after it occurred, the inappropriate comment felt abstract. It was almost as if I was trying to make myself believe that that did not just happen. Yen, as she usually is, was angrier for me in the most protective way, and very vocal about it as well. My feelings on the other hand stayed buried underneath a molten cork.

It seemed like the weight of the comment pressured this cork and left it with no room for exploding any reaction or feeling at all. But this is what I do. This is how I deal with it. This is not the first time I’ve had to deal with a racist comment. So for me, the suppression of my issues is the only way for me to analyze and rehabilitate my feelings. In the end it happened, it was a past thread that has been woven. Just as quick as the insult was given, that thread was burned away because the meaning is one that doesn’t amount to anything. The backlash of that individual’s words is only the failure to understand that we are no different than grains of salt. We may be different colors, shapes and sizes but we are all the same. Our unique purposes are connected by the same end no matter how far or wide. Our makeup, origins, and where we end up are the only things that separate us.

What is to hate or dislike in a color? The pigmentation, the melanin you have, or the lack thereof? Whoever it was that threw out that insult is forgiven. Her ignorance is her own to carry. I suppose we all still have to look forward to the day when a more unified world is not faded by those who only see in black and white instead of technicolor.

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