By Bitanya Dawit
Anxiety and fear lingering across my body due to my melanated skin was something I had not imagined the year 2020 had in store for me. The dark skin that encased my body which I was once confident in suddenly started forming alarming questions. Questions I never had imagined to pop in my head. Questions that included self-harm for not carrying an ounce of the eurocentric features that society praised.
The Black Lives Matter movement suddenly gained massive recognition from all over the world. Everyone from powerful world leaders indulging in the movement by donating their respect and the multiple zeros that appeared on the check, to the children that hurriedly grabbed an expo marker and piece of unwanted cardboard and wrote in all capital letters. BLACK LIVES MATTER. It seemed as though the attention and popularity from the movement would? somewhat rested my mind at ease, but did quite the opposite. The fiery self-hatred I contained was no ordinary self-loathe. Pleasing the public, with its tapered mindset towards physical beauty, was my main objective, but my looks were far from it.
I started to stray away from the news. The deafening voice of Anderson Cooper, (CNN anchor,) reporting yet another death of another African-American due to the hands of police brutality gave my body textured goosebumps. The media was considered my worst enemy at the time. Listening to the heartfelt stories of mothers and daughters standing upon the podium preparing their speech with continuous camera flashes and the cries from the audience was not how I wanted to start my Saturday morning. I never realized that police would take anything as a “dangerous weapon” which was the ultimate excuse when asked why they used their gun. Apparently, the victim's black wallet from Dillards somehow shape-shifted into a firearm, which caused the reason to use unnecessary force, shoot, kill and leave the victim lying on the floor, pleading for his/her life.
Credits to the original owner on Unsplash
While chaos still reigned the streets with police using excessive force to “quiet down” the harmonious protesters waving their BLM posters high in the midst of the clouds, the idea of self-torment had abruptly stopped. I began to remind myself of the history black people endured. I began to re-read historical texts written by black scholars further elaborating about how alluring the continent of Africa is. Learning about the history of my people opened a third eye into a dimension filled with vivid colours. A world where contrasting shades of black, brown and white would come together and would audaciously claim themselves as humans instead of infuriating one another. Colours that reminded me of the tranquillity of the human race.
Self-reflection played a huge role in the upbringing of my mental health. As the prolonged summer days went by, the four walls I had stared at in my bedroom had driven me to the brink of destruction, mental destruction to be exact. The $12 target journal tossed at the corner of my room waiting to be used for the next “school year”, easily became my companion. Grabbing the nearest pen, I poured my whatever aimless topic clinged onto my mind. Everything from my 6th-grade lesson about the Cold War to the daily diary sessions I had written, the journal easily became a notebook that could be found at daycare. Scribbles and tears from every corner of the page. I hastily realized that the shreds of notebook paper found under my bed weren’t going to solve anything, let alone expect world peace to magically show up tomorrow. From then on, I had written all the goals I had wanted to achieve before the beginning of 2022, one being writing every day about how the lessons from my past can be used to shape my future into not repeating the same careless mistakes. Vividly describing the second-hand embarrassment I had experienced has allowed me to become sterner with myself by never finding myself in another similar situation. My writing has reminded me of the person I once was, despite the numerous obstacles the world has thrown at me.
While writing has conveyed my emotions through pen and paper, pottery formed a “runway” in my brain by viewing unsanitary pieces of ceramic mashed together with miniature-sized designs as therapeutic. The clay left stuck in between my fingertips leaves me nothing but great pleasure. I find it astonishing and rather ridiculous to view chunks of day-old clay to be one of the sources of my happiness. As the year goes by, I plan to create more of my dull-gray creations with the help of my pitch-black oven scorched at a fiery temperature to establish a nice durable form. Pottery actively infiltrates me to believe ordinary items can be sculpted into masterpieces and uplift my self-confidence.
Yoga. Yes, I’m the “oh yoga has helped me in many ways” type of person. Cliche. I know. At first, I was disgusted with the fact of sharing a hobby with 60-year-old men and women in the yoga lounge, but I completely understand. My worries vanish the second I strike the downwards dog position. The scent of “freshly” used yoga mats has been my serotonin ever since the beginning of January. Yoga strips away my current problems all with the flick of my wrist (x20) and the excruciating lunges that leave me in shambles. Continuing this habit will not only improve my flexibility but also remind me that being cooped up in my bedroom with the same anime on repeat isn't the way to live.
At the end of the day, whether it may be physically striking my freshly ordered clay from amazon or flexing the never used right leg high up, I can confidently assure I’m 100% worry-free, wishing I had told my past self to always look for the light at the end of the tunnel. The situations I had faced then were now seen as an unclear memory with distortions of oblivious puffy eyes from crying all night. To my past self: Never let the world turn you into something for the public to perceive as “inferior”. Your black skin was never a burden. Flaunt your crooked smile to the world because no one will tell you otherwise.
About the Author
Bitanya is a 9th grade student from Texas. She’s been a huge advocate for humanitarian rights and writes pieces based on racial discrimination. She’s a huge fan of the Marvel Superheros and her all-time favourite anime is Naruto. Besides studying, Bitanya enjoys riding her bike through her neighbourhood and enjoying what mother nature has to show!