I am trying to formulate some thoughts on something. Some intelligent way to put this.
Some days I don't want to go out at all because I don't want to be looked at. No, well, some days I don't want to go out because I don't want to be gawked at, glared at, so obviously and disrespectfully remarked upon.
When people say they are not racist, I wonder if they know what that means and how they can be so certain of what their gaze says. What it means for their face to turn towards mine, for their eyes to run over my face and my being, with a look of curiosity, annoyance, even disinterest. Those things mean something, those things can sometimes mean the difference between going to the supermarket today or putting it off until tomorrow.
I am amazed how people here will stare, intently like children. When I stare back they just carry on staring, utterly shamelessly, until their eye is finally distracted by some other concern. My eye contact has gotten immeasurably better, steadier, because of this.
The other day my friend, a gorgeous young African girl, told me she went to the doctor's office here, and the doctor walked into the examining room and exclaimed "My God!You are SO DARK!"
Those things, the big and little things, that little line, that mark in the sand, where on one side lies ease, and on the other side sits troubling discomfort.