shaken

how does one begin to express one's experience of racism...or more accurately, what seemed to be racism?

(long pause)

i was rooted to the ground, shocked and incredulous. with my heart pounding and eyes stinging, i stood there seething. i heard a distant voice say "that wasn't a nice thing to say, you know". it sounded so alien, i couldn't believe it was my own. and then it sank in. i marched off, fighting tears, still reeling under her arrogance and their laughter. i'd forgotten what it felt like to be furious. a cozy cafe and hot soup later, i stopped staring vacantly out of the window and regained my composure but not my calm.

and i realised that
- i gave her the benefit of doubt ("maybe she was just rude, not racist") only to console myself, not because i believed it
- one such experience, however harsh, must not overpower the kindness of many others
- one can be influenced by complete strangers as much or more than one is by family and friends
- in the end, the lesson must stay, not the hurt

as i slowly retraced my steps towards the station, the graffitti on a wall caught my attention. and there it was boldly written, "ONE WORLD".