All my life, I have had people shout comments behind me. Walking by a group of 8-year old boys, I would hear them say extra loudly, "CHINK!" Or maybe I would pass a clique of little blond girls and hear them say how awful it must be having devilish black hair.
And all I could do was walk.
Fast forward five years. I am 13. New school, new town. Still the only black-haired girl. And the remarks do not stop. I have come to learn that they never stop. But I have grown and instead of being ashamed, I am angry. When called a "chink" or a "gook," my fists curl and I formulate a retaliatory remark. Something as hurtful and demeaning and heartwrenchingly painful as those awful words.
But all I can do is walk.
Fast forward five years and here I stand before you. Grown. A young lady, some might say. And when I start to think that those stupid, ignorant insults are gone and dead, I hear one. And my fists curl and my mind races with fragments of insults and verbal injuries.
But all I do is walk.
