When I appreciated my freedom
As the names strolled up in white against the black background, I could not hold back my tears. I struggled to read the rest of the narration because the screen was about 15cm by 13cm and so close to my face. I could gather, however that the film was based on a true story
#12yearsofslave
- I appreciated my freedom.
Could I freely weep in front of these strangers. I looked to my left and time after I looked to my right. I was surrounded by an elderly British woman and to my left a young Asian woman
Could I freely weep in front of these strangers. I looked to my left and time after I looked to my right. I was surrounded by an elderly British woman and to my left a young Asian woman
- I appreciated my freedom.
I cut ten centuries off my current timeline and I imagined myself a slave. A young, beautiful, voluptuous black woman. Intelligent and at times lazy as I am. Whose white married man and farm cotton farm owner's fantasies would I fulfill. The fact that I chose a strong white man now, would not have been my own then. The fact that he marvels at my full behind would have been an open secret he lived through my every move
I cut ten centuries off my current timeline and I imagined myself a slave. A young, beautiful, voluptuous black woman. Intelligent and at times lazy as I am. Whose white married man and farm cotton farm owner's fantasies would I fulfill. The fact that I chose a strong white man now, would not have been my own then. The fact that he marvels at my full behind would have been an open secret he lived through my every move
- I appreciate my freedom.
I thought of my scars both visible and unseen, the memories and the pain - only a few have grown to know. I cut off centuries - the scars so visible on my hazelbrown skin, so obvious to my owner and my buyer - caused unceremoniously by my master, my lover. I thought of the emotional pain of labour for a child unknown, a child I have never met but whose trauma I felt as he was taken away. I wept at the thought of losing a child, black, mixed race-who cares I bore him out of struggle, love, separation, intimidation, sexual orgasms, possibly of one sided pleasure
I thought of my scars both visible and unseen, the memories and the pain - only a few have grown to know. I cut off centuries - the scars so visible on my hazelbrown skin, so obvious to my owner and my buyer - caused unceremoniously by my master, my lover. I thought of the emotional pain of labour for a child unknown, a child I have never met but whose trauma I felt as he was taken away. I wept at the thought of losing a child, black, mixed race-who cares I bore him out of struggle, love, separation, intimidation, sexual orgasms, possibly of one sided pleasure
- I appreciate my freedom.
A myriad of qualification hang in some order, more like the black man who tiptoed to save his life. My education did not save my life but is making it better. A man educated, well read, could read, could write but that very nature and expose could kill him. I imagined acting dumb, unwaware, uneducated to save my life. That hard worked for qualification and experience - so I do not intimidate a men of another race. I imagined all that talent wasted - I wept. I thought of Mandela whe he said 'Education is freedom'
A myriad of qualification hang in some order, more like the black man who tiptoed to save his life. My education did not save my life but is making it better. A man educated, well read, could read, could write but that very nature and expose could kill him. I imagined acting dumb, unwaware, uneducated to save my life. That hard worked for qualification and experience - so I do not intimidate a men of another race. I imagined all that talent wasted - I wept. I thought of Mandela whe he said 'Education is freedom'
- I will appreciate my freedom.
I am approaching my third of 12 years. I imagined two thirds of that a slave. Whipped, tortued and all things racist. I thought centuries is not that long ago..when we the world still look at each other-and-judge each other-and-class each other-and-treat each other according to race.
I am approaching my third of 12 years. I imagined two thirds of that a slave. Whipped, tortued and all things racist. I thought centuries is not that long ago..when we the world still look at each other-and-judge each other-and-class each other-and-treat each other according to race.
Black against white, only looks good when its art.
When I helped that elderly white woman to stow her bag, it didnt feel like black and white.
When I asked the Asian lady to help me take a picture for my blog, it didnt feel black and white.
When I am in his arms it doesnt feel black and white.
Rather, I helped a frail old lady, a young woman helped another young woman whose phone was in the over head luggage compartment - I am in the arms of a man who I love...
My Freedom is the ability to lose sight of colour or ethnicity, and gain the sight of love, compassion, kindness and all things born human...
- I will forever appreciate my freedom.
My Freedom is the ability to lose sight of colour or ethnicity, and gain the sight of love, compassion, kindness and all things born human...
- I will forever appreciate my freedom.
#12yearsofslave
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