It’s not easy to write about racism. The topic is highly embarrassing and uncomfortable for both the writer and the reader respectively. Most of the time, it’s easier for the victim to keep quiet, to decide not to mention it at all, because she/he knows well that the subject is not only unpopular, but it’s also stigmatizing to mention it.

And even just alluding to it slightly could be damaging to their own reputation. The victim often decides that the best way to deal with racism is to work harder, above the required standards, and expect to be judged by what they have strived to achieve, rather than to be perceived solely through the lenses of their skin’s color.

End of May 2020, I miraculously felt a right I’ve never felt before. The right to dare to say: “I can’t breathe!”. The right not to continue to behave like everything is alright. The right not to constantly feel guilty for being a member of the society. The right not to continue to excuse myself for living.

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