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WEEKLY QUOTE: Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, Something is out of tune.

The meaning of color

This was written by my very young friend. Enjoy!!! and Share!!!

No matter how many ways it’s thought about, and told not to matter, color still means a lot to me. For one? I’m what many would call white-washed. It’s just the way I was raised. And of course, this didn’t really bother me, I mean I hung out with Caucasians all the time, but I didn’t think about one major difference between the all of us. I was black, African-Native, and they were not. I had a coloring in a mixture of brown and black, and they had different versions of white. Blue eyes, brown hair; green eyes, blond hair. I didn’t realize just how much I didn’t fit in until I met Seth Richard. He was white, as white as could be really, with an all American background and family. I had the biggest crush on him, until the day I talked to him. We were on the bus, and laughing at some joke that Emily, his younger sister, made. And then we went under a tunnel and Seth burst out laughing, causing all eyes to turn to him. In reply, he stated with a wide grin:

“Holy shit Lauren, I can’t see anything but your smile right now!”

The rest of the gang burst into uncontrollable laughter when Emily added that I would make a great ninja. Brandon, Seth’s closest friend then added: “Or a great thief at night”. I know, they were kidding, they were just messing around! But it was at that moment that I became so awakened at my true color. I was black, a mix of black and brown, and they were not. Seth had the brightest blue eyes, and the darkest shade of blonde hair I’d ever seen, but he was still white. And I was not.

I kept pushing away my difference in color. I mean, I hung out with white people too often to realize that I just wasn’t them. Soon after, I realized I couldn’t even trust them like I wished to. Their problems were: “My mom won’t get me the new iphone, so I’m settling for s samsung” and mine were: “What should I cook for this evening” Then the differences became more and more obvious. They could wear the shortest shorts, and the slimmest dresses, but for me, and even though I was young, I still had a form of hips. Noticeable hips that paired with a very slender torso. I couldn’t be flat, and so I started telling myself I was fat, I was too wide and nothing looked good on me. I also learned that that’s what brought some guys to me, only, I learned it in the worst way. It was winter ball, and I was wearing a tight fitting beautiful one shoulder silver dress. I felt beautiful in it, and I was told I was also. At the location of the dance, I met a guy named Charlie. He was beautiful, there was just no other name for him. With bright hazel eyes and shaggy brown hair, I just couldn’t hold back in wanting to meet him.

“So, Charlie, I hear you can dance”

When I said this, He smiled almost smugly. “You’ve heard correctly”

I took a hold of his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor. It was a song I knew well, and so singing to it came on reflex. Charlie complimented me on my singing just as we began dancing. It was perfect. The lights were dim, the music blasting and I couldn’t get over the feel of his warm hands on my waist. When the song was over, I took him back to his friends and told him he was right, I mean, he was a good dancer for sure. When I reached my other friends, who all had witnessed our little grind session, They laughed and agreed when I said he was hot. Then, his cousin, Kayla, came up and was all:

“I’m guessing you like him?”

I shrugged. “He’s cute”

She then smiled and said. “Well, he said the same, only uh, he seemed to like that ass of yours more than anything”

She joined my friends in their laughter, but I could only look at where Charlie was standing, he glanced at my body then turned his attention away with a smile, dismissing me almost instantly. That was my breaking point. I mean, I’m not saying I am exactly the most beautiful thing in the world, but I do feel that I at least look pretty. It didn’t help though, that every other freshman had done something; had their first kiss, had at least one boyfriend in their time. Me? I was a kiss-virgin, church-going, thirteen year old girl, who had never felt more…alone in her life. My Roommate at the time could tell I was upset, she noticed I had been crying in the car while she sat in the back with her date (who later became her boyfriend of only two weeks). But instead of telling her exactly how I felt, I brushed her off completely.

I didn’t want her to know I was upset, because I wanted to be pretty enough to have a boyfriend, or at least be less awkward enough to know how to flirt. The only person who seemed to see me as more, was my best friend, Alkali, who at the time had better things to do with his life then bother it with my problems.

Alkali had known me for about twelve years. Even though we had lost contact, I still never forgot about him. Sometimes, I even felt as if I was in love with him. But then, I got pushed back into reality whenever he would promise to call me back and somehow forget, or “lose my number”. In other words, I really hated him on the other times. He always had drama as his best friend, so I guess he didn’t need me after all.

But there were times, when I didn’t feel so alone. I would call very late, at at least twelve midnight. And he would read his poetry, which really was the only window to his real thoughts and feelings, to me. And sometimes, if I got lucky, and he wasn’t to busy flirting with random girls or boys, he would sing to me. He was a tone deaf singer when he was tired, but I loved it, because his voice wasn’t perfect. Which was perfect to me, because I felt as if I could use a little imperfection. He would talk about his family problems, and I felt special, because at least he trust me with all of his problems. He was a bisexual drama queen, and I couldn’t have had any one better than a great guy like him, who I still think I’m falling madly in love with.

The color of my skin made me feel…too different. I was always worried that people were just as paranoid about skin color as I was. So, I was always focused on trying not to look in the mirror too long, and gaze at my dark brown eyes in disgust because hell, They were just too plain. Wearing bikini’s were also a problem. I didn’t have my curves (I still don’t) and I felt that my breasts were just too small to look good with such obvious hips. My thighs always looked to big, sometimes too small. It was written in bold letters, that I am too imperfect.

I was a white washed black girl, obviously a disgrace to black people who loved the skin they were in. I always felt as if there was always too much wrong with me.

That hope for finding a guy that could accept me a hundred percent seemed too far away, too much of a dream. I mean gosh! I was told many times, I can’t dance, yet my hips can. I was two people trapped in the body of someone who could’ve been beautiful if I just let myself see that. I wanted someone to love me, but the love I wanted so badly, was too far beyond my years.

I’m fourteen now, still holding on the dream of finding someone perfect. But until that happens, I’m more focused on trying to see me. The real me. The girl that loves to read, to write, to sing, to dance, to make people happy, to be the greatest I can be. I just want to be me.

I want people to look at me and smile a real smile. I want people to see that I am a good person, I’m just a good person with low self-confidence.

The meaning of my color has always been said to mean strength. To be black, and have to deal with the judgmental looks others give just because we are a minority group. TO be strong means to be able to fight on. So yeah, I’m not perfect. I’m not beautiful, and I’m the most bipolar person you can meet.

But at least I’m trying. At least I’m still fighting to be the best I can be.

I’m still running toward the finish line, because take away my insecurities, and out blooms who I really am. A Black-Native girl, mixed of black and brown, and a white smile you can see through a tunnel. A girl with an unfinished figure, and a mane of curls I can only tame with three hours of straightening. A girl who holds on to the dream that someone will love me for being me.

Then again, I’m hoping for a love beyond my years.

But what do I know after all? Hell, I’m just a fourteen year old girl getting a little stronger each and every day.

DSonuga

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10 thoughts on “The meaning of color

  1. I feel like I just read someone’s journal and I’ve seen a part of her life. This is a wonderful way to move through this phase. If she writes like this now, I’m looking forward to what she’ll write when she finds the person with enough sense and heart to love her for her. O and she will find him. BEAUtiful

  2. If that’s a picture of her then I feel like biting her hand cuz she’s such a beauty!

    Babygirl, any time you feel down listen to Katie Perry’s Fireworks.Let your colour shine through because God didn’t make a mistake when he put ur spirit in a black body.

    Build your confidence and they’ll come to you like a moth to a flame.

    …And do a smell a crush on Alkai?! wink wink

  3. Eunice on said:

    This is very good and really nice to read, very descriptive and just plain good!

  4. Wow! Still trying to break away from how sucked in I was

  5. Awww…
    The cutest post ever.
    Funny thing is, she sounds like she has her head screwed on right so she won’t do anything dim. It’s just time…she’ll get past this phase and be just fine.
    And for a 14 year old writer She’s amazing. Her writing is More mature than a ton of dimwits twice her age I’ve had to read. *ahem*

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WEEKLY QUOTE: Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, Something is out of tune.

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