I can’t tell you the exact moment I realized what it meant to be considered “different.” Maybe it was when I was three and my friend compared me to a monkey because my hands were black but my palms where tan. Maybe it was when I was eight and someone called me a Negro. Or maybe it was when I was twelve and someone told me to get to the back of the bus because that’s where I belonged.
I can’t remember, and it doesn’t matter if I could because the point is that in the world we live in, people like myself are meant to feel different. Yet, it’s funny how we’re all considered so different when we are all so similar at the base of our composition.
Are we not all human? Do we not all have organs, and breathe, and feel?