Am not a racist no, am not an activist either. Am myself black, but I despise black culture. It’s mostly full of judgment, pointing fingers, illuminated flaws and very little almost nothing good will.
Who wishes you good in the things you love? Am curious, coz I’ve known none or do you?
Remember as a boy how your papa reprimanded you for playing too much when you felt the field call your name and legs shiver for the ball. Do you remember when you’re sister cried to sleep coz your dad told her modeling is not far from whoring? Tell me about that day when your teachers told you that drawing is a waste of time. Owh how can I forget how mad my people we’re when I wrote a thrilling novel of five hundred and sixty three pages! I remember the look they gave me gasping in pain explaining how bad it was to waste time. Or maybe it’s just me and you all had great people who believed in you and your unmatched abilities, wait wait, they’re called talent.
It doesn’t work like that here.
Look at how the artist in your family was banished until their song put food on the table.
Haha jokes on you black child. They told you you’re satanic but now bow to your achievements. They forgot the dreadlocks in your head represent the life of a thug!
You’re people are just wonderful haha. Let me not mention the critics of designing my girls before they go out on dates in the name of I love fashion. It’s pathetic until it pays off you know. So we grew up scared of our passion in what the society tagged lame. Funny how making mistakes became new solutions to the fingers pointed.
Being you is often a crime here, especially if it’s not coming with the bag.