And then there were the 'subway moments'—those little gut-churning instances in public transport where you just *know*. Like yesterday, this twenty-something guy slung over his shoulder was definitely checking me out as I sat reading by my own phone light. He kept flicking sideways glances, whispering almost loud enough for the whole carriage to hear about how 'dark' I was supposed to be—whatever shade that is meant by *that*, it's a confusing one.I'd just try to blend in, you know? Read my book, pretend nothing unusual was happening. But once this older gent offered his seat even though we were only two rows apart before the ordeal began... three seats actually moved him away from me entirely! Can people really get that worked up over something like skin tone differences?
It felt incredibly weird, standing out in a crowded space just because of how much pigment I had compared to others around me. It wasn't my fault—my dark complexion alone didn't make me stand apart or somehow break some unwritten social rule—but everyone seemed preoccupied with it anyway. Why does noticing someone's shade become such a big deal? Sometimes you feel like your skin is demanding apologies because, honestly, just being *there* felt strange and isolating under constant observation.
Sometimes I think we'd all be better off focusing on what people actually say or do instead of guessing their thoughts based purely on outward appearances—especially when those appearances involve something as vast and varied as complexions. It’s baffling how many assumptions fly around just because someone doesn’t match the crowd's exact coloring, isn't it?
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