Honestly, he was like most teenaged guys that I knew; A whirlwind of contradictions. He could be unbearably brash or almost too sweet at times. Sometimes, he was really shy; sometimes he wasn’t. Regardless of what anybody else thought, he treated me with care, despite being clumsy at times. But it was "what everyone else thought" that ultimately tore us apart.
I wasn’t focused on him being Asian. However, this undeniable fact governed our entire relationship. Sure, we had no issue walking down the streets hand in hand, but at the same time, I could not sit at his dinner table. He was made to go straight home after classes and our summers together were clipped in half. At first, I didn’t care. I thought that if I pretended hard enough, our love could transcend my skin color and his strict culture. It hurt too much to have to bite the bullet and understand that our relationship was defined by my skin color and his strict culture. Because of this, we remained in a strange limbo for quite some time.
I cared about what we had enough to try and fight against the discrimination. No one should tell you who to love. I would frequently make trips to his home and ask for him, only to be sent away by cold regards and racial slurs. When I told my boyfriend, he just looked at me so helplessly. He would apologize and reason with me. He wanted me to just ignore the hate, being as though I didn’t have to date his parents. He firmly believed that it didn’t matter what they thought. But it did. If they could control his every movement, then it did matter. He could only defy them so much -- and I was only willing to take so much. He could not stand up for me at the risk of disobeying his parents, and I did not have to justify to them why I should be with him. I made excellent grades, got into top colleges, and was involved with my church and community. Being with him was beginning to mean that I would have to disrespect myself. It's true that it wasn't Henry who directly had a problem with me; he was more like a neutral middle man. However, as Desmond Tutu said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”
I couldn't separate the two -- so I made a decision. I was tired of being okay with the hate. As much as I cared for Henry, I cared for myself ten times more. It was pretty unbelievable that I was discriminated against because of the color of my skin in this day and age. I wish I could say that I cried for weeks on end. I did not. At the time I was more irritated than I was sad. I am black and that will not change. More importantly, I am proud of who I am and that will not change either. So, I let go.
