The Manifestation of a Black Epiphany

By: Tiana Villar

Is it cold up there? On that pedestal of yours? The view must be incredible, incredibly lonely you must be also. You look down on me from your gold rimmed seat with what you claim to be sympathy, however I pity you, not myself. Realistically, we both take our seats upon the same wooden chair, cushioned with black leather, threaded with white strings.

Despite unequal opportunities and your evident general advantage; realistically, we both take our seats upon the same wooden chair. Not cushioned with satin, nor threaded with strings of gold. Ironically, your seat is next to mine. So tell me please, why you assume I face consistent short-comings?

You are adamant that my race lowers me, my wooden chair, when infact it does not. My genes are blessed with melanin. My hair, or indeed, my crown; enthused with coconut and castor oils, allowing the tight curls that sit upon my head, to shine. Thick lips, so round and pink; overly enticing to anyone whom falls prey to the beautiful black woman, that promises nothing but pure and consistent loving; even though the closed minded teach me that I am incapable of doing so.

Nonetheless, I defy this fallacious indoctrination. I compel myself to adore my complexion and the different shades of black, ranging from the sickly sweet shade of treacle to the gorgeously deep shade of espresso. I touch my radiant skin, kissed by the sun himself, admiring my curves as I go.

I embrace my thick curls, kinks and naps, each coil and frizz just as unique as the last, which also defy gravity itself. I commend of my broad nose, a feature that that emphasises I am different and come from something incredibly diverse. With constant misjudgment and society teaching me to prefer European features over my own, I continue the everyday task, what is essentially a battle to love myself.

Insanely, through all this I still find it within myself to love another. Ignoring the vulnerability that comes alongside love, I find someone who unravels the bundles of insecurities that I carry. He kisses away my neglectful thoughts, loves my imperfections and gives an exchange of energy that is beyond anything sexual. We mentally undress eachother, emotionally naked and entirely defenseless. I manage to love myself, my partner and those around me. Despite a lifetime of oppression, I remain strong, kind and beautiful with pure soul and a heart of gold.

I am simply magical. My leather seats are stained with gratitude, my wooden chair polished with appreciation and lastly my strings of love threaded by the hand of empathy itself. So I will ask again. Tell me, is it lonely over there? On your wooden chair? Come over and join me, and I’ll teach you how to mend it.