I am half white and half black. The family I have any sort of tether to, are all black. There are multitudes I will never relate to, due to having white skin.
However.
Reading this, I heard so many echoes of points I have vented only to myself before. There was a rumbling in my ears as I continued through the note. It took me right back. There are memories, disjointed and bruised memories we share.
I constantly feel the stinging of an isolation that cannot be cured. Layers of this incurable isolation grow each year and I'm somewhere wallpapered in and made to be quiet about it. I'm made to be a fraud, anywhere I'd decide to go. I think you understand.
Identity. I only get to be a ghost inhabiting a body. Who's there? I think I heard something, felt someone pass by. I'm a curiosity, a novelty, and crucially, not worth keeping. Nowhere beckons for me to please join in. There are no flyers being spread around town.
It's nice to know someone else feels it. It hurts to know it will be like this for our lifetimes and beyond. I'm glad to know you, and to learn more of you through your many works. In the pit of my heart, I was hugging a sniffling school-aged version of me. I hadn't done that in so long. Thank you.