The “Colorblind”

First things first; I do not pity myself nor do I want your pity. Most people won’t open their eyes, and the ones who see it turn the blind eye. When you call them out, point a finger or throw your stones. They call you paranoid, touchy, emotionally unstable, bipolar, or insecure.
But I’m neither.

I’ve always considered myself a foreigner. Not that I wasn’t accepted here, but I was never really appreciated for who I was or my talents. In school, for the same amount of studying, my grades were lower than theirs. Facts are facts, these things happened.

A racist doesn’t have to tell me what he/she is, for me to feel it when we speak the first time. It’s a gut feeling you develop by being darker than your surroundings. Whether it’s my black eyes, brown hair or even my very pale Middle Eastern skin
“…I know you’re a Danish citizen, but I can tell from your very black eyebrows that you are from somewhere exotic. Russia? Pakistan? Turkey maybe?” 

I’ve always dyed my hair, and the truth is, I was treated the best with blonde hair.
Facts are facts, they like us better when we look like them.

In New York I got a different look from people. I was suddenly white; treated differently, better than I was used to. I was suddenly so white that an African American guy called me “snowfield” – trying to flirt. And I thought to myself, don’t you dare compare me to them. Where I come from, I am as brown as you. Facts are facts.

Recently my friends and I were on our way to a Halloween party. That night we were accused of carrying bombs by a Danish man. We were dressed as the Alice in Wonderland characters. The day after, I told one of my coworkers the story. He had the audacity of asking me how WE were behaving since the old guy said that to us.
I mean like. Are you fucking kidding me? Were we asking for it?
Will these people ever acknowledge that racists are among us?