I remember the first time I ever saw an interracial couple before. I thought they looked so strange next to one another, holding hands and kissing each other's cheeks, her blonde hair falling onto his tawny shoulder. Obviously the other patrons of the restaurant thought so too with their whispering and their vehement stares. As the past fuses into the present and I write this post, I realize that society still hadn't given up the ghost, for it was racism that made me see them as something to be thought oddly of, to see a happy couple and narrow eyes in disapproval.
I walk through the mall with my boyfriend, his skin pale as mine is brown. We receive looks, all sorts of them, some disapproving, some surprised, and some admiring. And I don't care. My fellow people may look at me and say I am a betrayer, to which I reply, "Not to my heart." Black, white, yellow, brown, red...if you are in love, what does it matter? Why should you give that happiness up for the comfortableness of those narrow-minded around you? Love has no color. I love my boyfriend not because of the remark he and I make to society, but because his words give me strength. His laugh makes me more joyful than I can remember being. And I feel like I can be myself, flaws and all, when he is by me.
