The closest people from my personal story are Barack Obama, Mario Balotelli and Frantz Fanon. Black dudes who grew up in a white world without black people around which for some reason, made us anxious as hell and confused.
Barack found peace marrying the blackest, smartest woman he could find. She mentored him, the rest is history. Nicely done, B.
Mario is still searching for peace, got a baby girl without wanting her, still fighting an incredibly crazy world of irrational love when he scores, spits and banana peels when he doesn’t. Hang tight son I’m ten years older and I’m telling you, the rollercoaster has just started.
Frantz is dead. He wrote all his life about how fucked up things are, race wise. It’s incredibly disheartening to witness that a book published sixty motherfucking five years ago still describes accurately what is going on socially: black people, white people and language. Black women and white men. White women and black men. All that stuff is still happening. It’s about survival. It’s still about survival.
Me? Well I have a plan but sure, I’m still searching for inner peace I guess. I read too much. White kids and babies are still really fascinated by my face. They look at me with this intensity, I feel like a Nubian King (“now bow down, little fucker!”). And I still haven’t hold a black baby in my arms. Ever. I will cry and not hear anything around me, no doubt. If that happens.
My relationship with my parents is so surreal now. It’s like they have a son, stripped down from all identity from their point of view. And it doesn’t matter to them because as long as I’m around helping them out they’re happy. I’m not and they don’t really get it. More like they don’t want to, a bit. Sometimes I explain stuff to them, my point of view, throw some numbers and stats and they are crushed, looking down. And I’m like, “exactly!” that’s what I feel too but I can’t stop won’t stop so don’t be sad, just show some support from time to time.
But it’s easier to do like none of that stuff exists. France is world champion hands down on that behavior so I know it’s cultural, not that my parents are mean, though they could be cooler. I mean, even my sister says it. God, it’s so weird. Yet so rich.
I dream of sleeping and waking up in LA everyday. It’s getting closer.