Hi... let's just start again shall we? I get it. I'm mad with me too, for different reasons of course. But let's forget about me, let's talk about you. Here I am, be mad with me.
At first, it seems like you're mad about a simple case of binary oppositions - black, white, young, old, dear I say my outward appearance gives off a careless-simply-just-put-together-and-all-so-cute, while you, I can see, the world can see, are tired. You're cute too, yes, I think so. We could be both cute... in fact, you take cute, I don't want it... I know, always want what you don't have and vice versa.
Did I make you tired, frustrated and mad this morning? I don't think so. But, I'm here, take it out on me. Get it all out. Because I know you watched the news this morning. Same old nonsense from that country we both share. Or do we share it? Your anger towards me seems to suggest that you had more to lose, and you think I've gained? Correction. I lost my home too. Correction. Your lost was in no way my gain. Correction. I did not drive you, or your family off your land. Correction. I cannot farm nor do I want to.
Oh oh oh... so you speak the lingo, fluent in the native. Many of my "type" would be proud of you, many of my "type" would even go so far as to suggest that you OUGHT to speak it, that we shouldn't be impressed by such just because it's a rare find... Sorry, what's that? No, I don't understand. No, I'm not trying to insult you, belittle you or be condescending. I also OUGHT to speak it, I don't. I'm not that "type". Surprise, an individual. I hate to turn the focus off of you, but for a second, would you consider that despite my name, and the stereotype it suggests, I don't think, act, talk, walk ... like the "type" you're familiar with... An individual?
Yes, I know you have no time to hear my explanations. I confess, I have very little patience or motive to explain. But we're very similar. You want your individuality, judged on your individuality. So do I. You think a pretend-to-be-perfectionist self, your booming loud voice, and belittling me, will make you the superior you long to be. You think that you'll finally get heard in the elitist boy club that you and I both work and live in. You think that it will grant you respect and promotion. You think you'll finally not have to knock at the door, but will have your own door to be knocked at? Congratulations - you've just won a Giant label of insanity.
I realise you have no options. Obsessive, ugly, insane, it has to be. There is a severely slanted playing fielding, and it's not tipping in your favour or mine. But take it out on me because I just accept it, you want to fight it. Do you want us to fight it? I can't. In 2008, my "type" rejoiced about the first black president in the Western world. There was nothing to rejoice about. This shouldn't be something of note in 2008, after all the struggles. It should be natural, expected, devoid of its' noteworthiness.
I realise there's no use trying to change establishment by stomping your feet and acting crazy. Get on with it, don't dwell on what you don't have. You know your worth and I, understand you.
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