Learning

She looked at me with dark eyes that drew me into their depths. Her face held no smile for it had been exhausted out of her, and her body had a certain tenseness that vibrated with discomfort. For some reason, as unapproachable as she appeared, I wanted to open a door and making a connection. I wanted to get to know her.

I smiled, and she mirrored it, albeit rather timidly. But that smile, it was enough to open a connection between two socially starved young adults.

Conversation flowed with typical questions and answers that accompany two strangers becoming acquainted with one another. Well perhaps I was the one asking all the questions, but she didn't seem to mind the dynamic. In fact, she was very transparent and forthcoming in talking about herself and her truths. She talked as if she were a penitent in confession and I a priest. At this point I no longer asked questions, only listened.

It turned out that she was an undocumented youth that had been brought to the US when she had been just over a year old, and she had never once stepped foot in her country since then. She had witnessed the struggle of her parents trying to establish themselves in a new country, witnesses many temporary living spaces, witnessed many periods of financial worries in her household, witnessed 911 at school on the TV and after that war and a national recession, witnessed the passing of time and with it the passing of her grandparents who she couldn't remember, witnessed . . .

She defined herself as onlooker.

My heart went out to her even as she stated these surely difficult times with a serene voice. I know it must have impacted her more than she let on. Suddenly, her face morphed into an ugly glower that cast shadows on her face, and she revealed to me that being who she was, an undocumented brown girl living in the south, she had felt discrimination all her life. It felt like the hot sun on a humid summer day that made you feverish and sweaty. It felt like the cold chill of the wind on an autumn's evening that sent goosebumps down your back and raised the hairs on your arms. She had felt it and endured the consequences of being alienated, laughed at, and overlooked. To the world's view she had brushed it off, but the truth of the matter was that her anger and shame became internalized. I listened with a lump in my throat, too difficult to swallow.

The years all seemed to blur for her after she realized that she probably hated herself more than she could hate the people who had wronged her. That anger grew like a black hole, swallowing everything in its path. She admitted that even college, which she had been so luck to attend and pay off, had seemed like an endless purgatory. She had resented her peers, questioned her intelligence, and wasted her opportunity. Still, she was an onlooker in her own life, but now she felt closer to her end. With unshed tears in her eyes she admitted depression had almost beaten her.

"How did you get out?" I interrupted for the first time since her story came pouring from her lips.

Silence reigned as she contemplated my question. What answered me were not words, but rather a few tears that finally she could no longer hold back.

"I'm still trying to get out," she admitted.

There wasn't a specific day or action that helped lift the despair. It was as if the tides of depression had receded, and had left her open to the world. Coincidentally, a graphic Facebook live stream had made its way around social media, and it changed her entire outlook.

She shed more tears and with a thick voice she said, "Philando Castile."

That had been the spark that lit her outrage. Hearing the young toddler in the back seat sobbing at her mom to not leave her, to not risk her life that was at the mercy of a cop that had just shot at Philando Castile seven times, broke her ignorance to a serious problem.

"It was then that I stepped through a metaphorical door that I had been neighbors to my whole life."

The complete disregard for human life in the presence of a forever traumatized young child had made her take inventory of the state of the world and the environment in which she grew up.

Racism against the black community was rampant in everyday aspects. The sudden realization that media perpetuated offensive black stereotypes, as well as of other people of color, the fact that a black sounding name would likely be looked over in favor of a white one, the fact the Eurocentric beauty ideals were pushed on women of color, the fact that black men were oversexualized and not respected, the fact that primary and secondary schools didn't teach the harsh reality of slavery; of the segregation period; and the of laws being implemented racistly in modern day. So called 'modern society' barely gave the black community credit and only then would it be delegated to one month with the same well known figures mentioned time and again. It all seemed like total bull.

"For the first time in my life, I wanted to stand for something, but I realized that the issue was deeper and more insidious. I needed to educate myself better."

It was then in her journey that she realized that she had not been such a neutral party to the injustices of other people of color. The times when she had brushed off the insults, she had inadvertently learned to stay silent. If she hadn't raised her voice for herself then, she definitely had not done it for others.

"That had to stop. I needed to change." I nodded in agreement with her.

She told me that in her change she had learned to forgive the people that hurt her, which I couldn't understand how. She said it was about accepting that whatever had happened had happened. No amount of anger could change it. That anger was poison to her. I agreed with her. Reluctantly I knew that what she said made sense, but I still hoped that retribution would find its way to all the people that had hurt her.

"I found the energy to also fight for people in my situation. Basically, I'm standing up for myself now."

She would always stand in solidarity with communities that were threatened, such as the black community and LGBTQ+ community. If there were major protests, she would attend and she would emplore her US born friends to vote for fair candidates. Most importantly she would not let them forget that people in the US, a first world nation, were facing problems where their own people were being subjected to injustices that threatened their human rights. I felt my heart fill with pride at her as I realized that she had finally found it with in herself to let go of the shame that had grown in her heart.

"So what's your story?" she asked me.

As I looked in the mirror, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves after a long day. My body relaxed, my lips held a small upturn at the edges, and my eyes still dark with exhaustion looked back at me. "It's the same as yours."