Meraki

S t o r y- 6

“Stop.” Her mind whispered with clarity, through the haze of pain and emotion. She gulped in a fresh breath of air and stopped running.

They stood behind her, mouths curled in dark grins; eyes filled with disgust and malice. For her.

Her frenzied thoughts screamed at her to run, but in her heart of hearts she knew- no matter how far she ran, how long, they would find her.

This was for nothing. Pessimism settled heavily on her conscience. So she stopped. “You matter, my dear,” they had told her, hadn’t they? “The colour of your skin and who you love… That is all okay.”

If it was okay, then why did she have to explain herself at every turn? Why did she see her allies, battered, and bloodied after each riot? Why did she have to see innocent citizens die?!

It was a lie. All a lie.

She was sixteen. Powerless against the cruelty of a world that hid behind glowing screens. She didn’t want to die. Nobody did. “Don’t fight,” they warned, stepping toward her. “This is for your own good.”

For her own good. Who were they to tell her what was good for her? Their skin was unblemished marble, yes; but their hearts held burning coal, sympathy for only those that were alike and akin to them. And she was not akin to them. 

They hated her because her skin was black. The colour of her skin, so unlike their own creamy white, was disgusting to them.

But why? As a child, she was told that her skin was something to be proud of- this was the colour of skin that lay exposed to the burning heat as her ancestors toiled away, creating good for themselves, helping themselves.

Working hard was a trait that one should admire and be admired for, right? So why did they hate her?

She recalled the white children in her school, who would scoff and sneer at her, steal her food and rip her dress. There was not a day that she didn’t cry in the confines of the bathroom, after everyone had left her alone. She had begged for help, hadn’t she? So why did none of her teachers, those who advocated good will towards all, never come to her aid?

“They don’t care. You’re black. You’re inferior to them,” her father had said, with a bitter laugh. His hands were callused, face and body peppered with bruises. He was mocked at, hated on… Yet he didn’t desire revenge.

All he wanted was equality. And she did too. Equal rights, to provide equal responsibilities, because they were equally competent as those that called themselves the superior race.    

Black or white, in the end, they were all humans, on a planet that gave home to all. They were all humans, who worshipped a God that did not discriminate between His children.

They were all humans.

But her black skin was not her only fault. Her love was, too. Girls cannot love girls. That was what was indoctrinated in her mind. It was unnatural, and looked down upon.

But she did not believe so. Why couldn’t one love for the sake of a relationship, as opposed to loving for the sake of gender?

Girls and boys were simply genders, after all. How did a person’s genitals matter as opposed to their soul? The answer to that was- it didn’t.

But people were vicious when it came to this matter. She had found this out the hard way, when she was no longer allowed to affectionately kiss her friends on the cheek.

For that she had received a scolding and a slap. You are a girl. You shall only marry a boy. And if she didn’t want to? You have no choice. 

In a world where freedom of speech and expression were encouraged, why was it that the speech that people did not want to hear was oppressed, but the speech that made them look better was glorified?    

They pushed us to rebel, to organize parades and riots. But they were the ones that lashed out when the riots began.

She had seen the people in the riots, beaten until they died, crushed, and hurt because they were black, because they were gay, because they were transgender, because they were non-binary, because they were asexual.

White, straight people were given the higher status. But she was a female. She was black. And above all, she was a lesbian. They targeted her. There was nothing she could do.

Right? Wrong.

She faced them, determined for her family, for her beliefs and for her people. Pessimism stayed, crushing her hopes and dreams, but it would affect her no longer.

She was black, she was female, she was lesbian. But most importantly, she was proud of herself. Never again would she bow to those who considered themselves superior to her. 

“Stop.” Her mind whispered with clarity, only her heart now sang a message of courage and hope. “Stop, and fight.”