A glimpse from where I stand

Once again, I’m the only other in the room.

Dozens of faces turn my way as I walk through what feels like an infinite sea of white. I get anxious every time I enter a new room, a new place, or a new home where I know it will be a group.

I’m finally not offended that some people think all Black people look alike; I’m starting to feel that way about white people. Especially here. The same skin tone, drab hairstyles, and style-less clothes. Plain, average clones. The women make me most bored to look at, but that’s probably because I’m straight.

And the men, their veil of attractiveness lifts as each moment goes by and their tired personalities dim under the light I cast over them.

I feel angry every time I’m back in this place. Which is everywhere here. Ever since I realized how little any of them actually understand. Yes, I said them because I don’t care anymore.

Behind their performative outcries and posts and signs and walks, I’m still questioned. Every. Single. Time.

I’m still called dramatic.

I’m still called crazy.

I’m still never believed.

Here, a glimpse from where I stand: Anxious, belittled, degraded, and mostly tired.

Even though my hair could fill the room, I feel invisible. The faint comprehension of what it actually feels like to be the only one is baffling.

I’m uncomfortable, I’m crawling out of my skin. What representation will I bring to the crowd today?

Am I the perfect Black girl that does everything right?

My hair in place, my outfit curated, my achievements entering the conversation before me.

I could nod along with every story and laugh on cue.

But I’m not perfect and I don’t find them funny.

...Or interesting.

...Or cool.

I can be the sassy black girl. The one who makes jokes at their expense in a boisterous manner. I can say girl, and cackle and let you call me sis.

Or I could be angry. My opinions intimidating and scary. Will I make people feel awkward with my honesty? I can watch them squeamishly laugh as I point out the obvious, as whomever I’m talking to looks off in discomfort hoping the topic will change.

No one wants to think about how there’s no other Black people here. How many black friends do you really have? I always wonder.

I don’t count.

xx A