I think about racial bias and microaggressions a lot. Its annoying.
Just as admitting to my continual meditation on race relations is obnoxious. Talking about race relations is obnoxious. Implicit bias is annoying. Microaggressions are frustrating. The term microaggressions sounds made up. It seems extra to name something that is micro anyway. A hostile attitude that is so miniscule that you need a microscope to see it. Microscopic. Thesaurus.com insists that it is just another word for insignificant. An insignificant aggression. Which means it does not matter. Which means that mentioning it is a waste of time. Nobody likes their time wasted. It's annoying. Insignificant things are a waste of time and significant things are only signals of the past. But everything in the present is only significant in the details. One piece of the puzzle means nothing without observing the entire image. One piece of the puzzle means everything.
I analyze my relationships with people. I determined that more often it’s the small things. Microscopic things are what make me revel in someone's company. The nearly imperceptible things make me want to escape it. I love it when people cock their head to the side. Brighten their eyes when they agree. Our souls glimmer as we smile in harmony. I fidget and choke on my words when instead they simply nod. Narrowing eyes absentmindedly stealing a glance to the side. Imbalanced. I can not mend a connection that never transpired.
I appreciate the reality of distinction. Of differences that mean everything, that mean nothing. Too often, I focus in on the differences that mean nothing. I get told that is the easiest way to get burned. Man made institutions are harder to break. Preservative infested bread takes longer to spoil. Microscopic preservatives are not seen with the naked eye. When I'm naked they do not call it nude. Nude is greater than beige. Because it is ivory. My teacher once saw Jada’s bra through her shirt. That’s why they invented nude bra’s she remarked. Jada and I laughed. Later we cried. Both forgetting why.
Sometimes I cry without cause. The preservatives keep the bread fresh. The same preservatives tell me I'm fine. Later we both spoil, breaking down from the inside. My brother’s advisor in high school was named Fester. A namesake for the blind acrimony. Fester challenged the HBCU that my brother was accepted into. Questioning its legitimacy. What is an HBCU? Asked every teacher at that school.
My friends mom thinks it's gross that I rarely use shampoo. But I know why she must wash her hair everyday. She doesn't care why I don’t. As I begin to explain, her face cringes. The slight shake in her head is all my brain needs to choke. My voice dimming. I stopped talking and she never followed up. Why should I educate her anyway. Hair is hair. no difference. But then again. the slight difference in shape means everything. Just as my curls are more porous, so too is my soul. The conditioning this society neglects to provide me splinters me. Shriveling me up.