Monday, 8 October 2007

Your Box is Empty

While I was waiting for my bus, I noticed a young man approaching. He asked two women if he was at the right stop for a particular bus route but they didn't respond. I told him he was. He came over and thanked me. He even wanted to hug me, which I had no problem with.

He asked me where I was from and I told him. Though he was white, he said he was from East Africa. Maybe, he was born there. He had an English accent though. He said he loved black women. He said he found me beautiful. He asked me my age and I told him. He said he was 19. He asked me what music I was into and I told him. He said he was slightly stoned and felt a lot of love for me. He wanted me to hug and kiss him. The bus seemed to take eternity to arrive and, even worse, we were both waiting for the same bus. I wished I had never answered his question in the first place.

On the bus he held my hands and kissed my cheek and told me he loved me and wanted me to go home with him. I thanked him for his kind offer but refused. At the last stop I pushed him away and headed in the opposite direction. I reckon he was too dazed to see where I'd gone.

What I found interesting about this young man was his filters. When he asked me what music I was into, he presumed because I was black I would either like Hip Hop, Reggae or R&B . When I told him I liked all sorts, it was as if I was speaking a different language. He also used words I couldn't understand, presumably the kind young black people are supposed to use. Each time he said something, I told him to repeat in proper English. He also couldn't believe me when I told him my age. He expected a woman in her forties to look a particular way.

It's funny how people like putting themselves and others in boxes. You can try and put me in a box if you like, but you will find your box empty.

I am Me and I am free.

Enocia

Related articles: Free to be Me; Seeing Through Rose-Tinted Glasses; Dreamer Without a Cause; Beauty Secrets