There’s only so much racism I can take. No more than just a small dose of these fucking Danes reacting with fear or disdain whenever they -inadvertently- run into me, the “dark guy.” Hardly just a tad of their casual “I’m just coincidentally crossing the street (when I see you walking my way)”, their nonchalant “I suddenly feel the urge to grab my purse (as I notice your non-white mugshot around me)”, or their clever “Kids, come here, hurry! (when my children, innocently, are standing within a 10 meter radius of your unsettling presence)”. Yes, one can get used to these daily expressions of racism and utmost, blatant ignorance. I have, at least. But I had a bad day. So fuck you, you imbecile bigots!
“They are almost positive it’s cancer,” she wrote. My stomach dropped. I barely just met her and I bloody like her. Enough to care. Enough to feel powerless and damn useless now that her mum is sick and I can’t be there to offer her a silent hug, in the middle of this shitstorm. Enough to feel this sympathy sadness, as if it fucking made a difference. Somehow.
My daily struggle seems so petty in comparison. How little a man is when the darkness sets in. And how futile are these words right now.