#LIKE OUT OF ALL OF THE THINGS TO MICROAGGRESS OVER? MY HAIR COLOUR? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvdsc · 3 years ago

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Hiii Miss Cat! This is a random question but I promise I don't mean any offense. It's been over a year since I joined Tumblr and i was initially reluctant to begin writing on here because everyone wrote from the second pov instead of having OCs and I wasn't used to that, I do write now though and my blog's doing well, but I still feel kinda wrong writing this way, I mean it feels like I'm sort of fuelling a delusion to people, besides it's annoying because I can't fully develop Y/N because I need to be inclusive, I have no issues with that in general ofc, but a story needs a well fleshed out character, and it's just confusing because people get upset about reading things that can make the fics sound like the physical appearance is not tailored to them but then the storyline isn't either? I mean 'you' (not you miss cat) are not an idol's best friend or another's sister, and since this whole thing is fictional anyway how does it truly matter what colour Y/N's hair is? Idk if I come off as ignorant or offensive, but I'm sorry if I do. I would take to writing OCs but those barely gain any traction here and I do like getting feedback on my works.

You can choose to ignore this if it's ignorant! But how have you been? I hope you're doing well and taking good care of yourself 💕 Please stay hydrated and have a good day!

hey, lovebug !! 💓 the thing is, the whole point of writing x reader / Y/N is that it’s fueling not a delusion per se (or at least I hope not), but a fantasy for people where they can self insert themselves into the story. If you think you’re fueling a delusion for people, then why are you writing fanfiction to begin with?

Since “it’s annoying because [you] can’t fully develop Y/N because [you] need to be inclusive”, then there’s no need to force yourself to do something you don’t like. If inclusivity is an annoyance and an inconvenience to you, then don’t write it, but then don’t call your fics x reader or Y/N. If you want to develop a main character with physical attributes, then by all means, go ahead and do that. Nobody is stopping you, but it would not be Y/N; you would call that an OC.

“it’s just confusing because people get upset about reading things that can make the fics sound like the physical appearance is not tailored to them” — it’s because this is a microaggression. “Microaggression is a term used for commonplace daily verbal, behavioral or environmental slights, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative attitudes toward stigmatized or culturally marginalized groups.” If you’re writing a reader insert, then it should be inclusive for all readers, not just some who fit the aesthetic you have in mind for the main character. as a poc, I have experienced this regularly in my life already, and although I do not read fanfic anymore, it would just be nice to not have to experience discrimination or microaggressions in fanfic as well. it basically feels like you’re unwelcomed even in a story where you’re supposed to be the main character. with your example of being an idol’s best friend, that’s part of the fantasy. anyone can be their best friend, and there’s nothing exclusive about that. being their sister implies you’re korean, which not all readers are, unless you state that the reader was adopted or the idol was adopted.

A story can have a well fleshed out character by giving Y/N a personality, opinions, goals, career, etc. But I don’t believe giving her brown eyes and blonde hair attributes anything to her being a well fleshed out character. Additionally, geniunely asking, how does physical appearance add to the plot line? In my opinion, adding in a physical trait is acceptable if it’s relevant to the plot. For example, Y/N has pink hair because people with special powers all have that hair color in this fantasy AU. In this case, the physical trait (e.g. pink hair) is an important aspect that contributes to the storyline. On the other hand, adding in an offhand sentence about how Y/N’s hair is silky smooth and naturally straight does not contribute anything to the story, besides excluding certain readers. So why does that need to be added in?

If you don’t want to be inclusive, nobody is forcing you to be. However, you would need to label your stories as OC because it’s not Y/N or x reader if you’re giving them physical attributes. Just as you are not obligated to write inclusive reader inserts, readers are not obligated to read stories that are not inclusive to them, and as such, the feedback will be less. That’s simply the trade off for writing Y/N versus OC !!

and I’ve been doing well, thank you for asking, sweetpea !! 🌸 I’ve been getting better sleep hours these days, so that’s been super nice :’) and I’ve been drinking water and eating lots of yummy food !!! how have you been, honey bee? 💓💓 I hope you’re also taking care of yourself and staying hydrated and safe !!! 🌿 and thank you, lovebug, I hope you have a lovely day / night too !!!!! 🌷🌷🌷

#asks #anonymous

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aroworlds · 5 years ago

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The Vampire Conundrum, Part One

When Rowan Ross is pressured into placing an aromantic pride mug on his desk, he doesn't know how to react when his co-workers don't notice it. Don't they realise he spent a weekend rehearsing answers for questions unasked? Then again, if nobody knows what aromanticism is, can't he display a growing collection of pride merch without a repeat of his coming out as trans? Be visible with impunity through their ignorance?

He can endure their thinking him a fan of archery, comic-book superheroes and glittery vampire movies. It's not like anyone in the office is an archer. (Are they?) But when a patch on his bag results in a massive misconception, correcting it means doing the one thing he most fears: making a scene.

After all, his name isn't Aro.

Contains: One trans, bisexual frayromantic alongside an office of well-meaning cis co-workers who think they're being supportive and inclusive.

Content Advisory: This story hinges on the way most cishet alloromantic people know nothing about aromanticism and the ways many trans-accepting cis people fail to best communicate their acceptance. In other words, expect a series of queer, trans and aro microaggressions. There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual", but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with romance.

Length: 2, 951 words (part one of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

What is pride merch for if not petty passive-aggression in response to allo folks’ amatonormativity?

Beset by dizzying anxiety, Rowan places a green mug, printed on one side with a five-striped flag, on his desk. Done. He exhales and takes another furtive glance around the poky ten-desk office, but only Shelby sits close and she’s too busy peering at her computer to notice him. There: mug at work! Right where people can see! He grabs his phone, snaps a quick photo to send as proof to Matt and then, before anyone can ask about the mug or Rowan’s behaviour, moves it beside his pen caddy, the handle angled to hide the stripes.

Why does he have to be this scared? Everyone knows he’s trans. Hormones aren’t yet magical enough to give Rowan cis-unquestioned masculinity; coming out felt less damaging than constant misgendering. At the same time, being trans is why he feels like to pass out from nervousness. The initial slew of queries, concerns and clarifications, followed by daily episodes of cissexism, isn’t something anyone should care to repeat!

Trans identity, after the passing of marriage equality, at least possesses the dubious state of being the new conservative-favourite punching bag. Before he sent Damien his “I accept the position, by the way I’m trans” email, few people here would have been ignorant of Rowan’s theoretical existence.

Aromanticism, by contrast, requires more than revelation: it requires conceptualisation.

He thought he was prepared, last time.

Rowan Ross, master of whiteboards and planners, came for his first day armed with a list of resources and print-outs of an article he wrote for his university’s student magazine. He’d written out answers to likely questions and rehearsed them at his mirror. He wasn’t going to have another panic attack when faced with questions he couldn’t answer. He was going to be fine.

Instead, he learnt again that one can’t prepare for all the shapes of cis ignorance.

Hesitating to mention his aromanticism because being out as trans already ramps up the difficulty of his working life shouldn’t be cowardly. Why can’t Matt see that?

He stares at the mug, dizzy. Damien may not notice the striped flag, but Shelby uses anything as an opportunity to provide unneeded reassurances. Melanie has enough enthusiastic, unrestrained curiosity for ten people!

I read that trans men bind their chests. Is it comfortable? Do you do it every day? Are you allowed to wear a bra when you don’t?

Rowan shudders. No. He’s survived her interrogations; can’t he survive this, too? He practiced a short explanatory speech, made an email-ready digital PDF booklet and packed printed versions inside his satchel. He rehearsed his responses to as many provocative and prying questions as possible, including the line I’d rather not answer that. Maybe it won’t be as bad, this time! Maybe they won’t notice immediately, giving him more time to prepare and anticipate. Melanie doesn’t come back until next month; perhaps this mug, so bright and green, will pass unremarked until then.

Does the want to return it to his bag make Matt right?

Rowan touches the handle for luck and wonders if this will go better should someone not Melanie ask first.

***

“Good morning, everyone!” Melanie breezes through the office in an aura of floral-with-vanilla perfume, making a beeline for Rowan’s desk. She’s small, curvy and grandmotherly-but-modern in appearance: coloured slacks and loose floral-print blouses worn with dangling gold pendants and stacks of bangles over freckle-dusted forearms. Aside from her pixie-cut grey hair, she looks to him like a walking Millers advertisement. “Rowan, can you tell me how to put the new logo in my email again? Please? I know you told me last time.”

Rowan doesn’t understand why people who send emails on a daily basis don’t take the time to learn these things, but he’s worked here long enough to accept this lack as a fundamental truth of the universe. He turns to face her, his flag mug held in his right hand. “Do you want the instruction PDF I wrote, or do you want me to just do it for you?”

A few months ago, caught up in a fit of hopefulness inspired by a new SSRI and the less-inspiring reality of being the youngest person in the office, he spent his spare time typing up Rowan Ross’s Ultimate Guide to Basic Office Computing—a guide languishing unread by anyone not Rowan.

“Just fix it for me now.” Melanie beams at him, paying his mug no attention. “Thanks, Rowan!”

What will it take for someone to notice? Pouring his coffee on their shoes? He swallows the dregs, stands and follows Melanie to her computer before setting his mug on her desk, flag facing outwards, to take up her mouse and open her email settings.

To think he worried about someone’s asking questions! Rowan didn’t consider the problem of a lack of interest, but he’s spent the last five weeks drinking from a flag mug without as much as a passing glance.

“You’re a doll, Rowan!” Melanie hesitates; Rowan holds back a sigh. Here it comes. “Wait. Is that offensive, even though there’s male dolls, like Ken? And gay men collect dolls, don’t they? But gay men like feminine things and you don’t when you’re trans-gender, do you? You’re a darling? I know! You’re a treasure.” Melanie grins, as though she didn’t make an easily-overlooked statement into a thing shaded with too many queer microaggressions for one bi trans man to untangle, and grasps his mug. “I’ll get you some more coffee! One sugar, a dash of milk! Thank you so much!”

Her pink-painted nails and beige hands cover the flag, only a small section of black and grey visible at the edge of her pinky finger.

Maybe she’ll notice when she fills the mug.

Maybe she’ll notice when she brings it back to him.

Maybe pigs will fly and she’ll stop placing that too-long pause between “trans” and “gender”, too.

This way, there’s no need to endure alloromantic absurdity or criticism. No suffering the pain of being unable to explain or correct, given how often cis people dismiss even small gender-related requests. He did what Matt demanded; he left the mug on his desk. How is it Rowan’s fault that nobody’s knowledgeable enough to express curiosity? That he forgot to factor in the remarkable cishet tendency to avoid anything suggestive of unknown queerness?

Going ignored, somehow, doesn’t feel like a victory.

***

When Rowan sees a mug online featuring a shield in aromantic colours behind a design of crossed arrows in pride colours for other aromantic-spectrum identities, he snatches one with frayromantic blues. He also buys an unneeded but matching pencil case followed by a journal covered with rows of arrows coloured in aro stripes.

If he needn’t fear curiosity or question, why not pride up his desk? At least he can gulp coffee from a frayro mug emblazoned with an aro shield every time Shelby asks him if he’s found a partner yet.

What is pride merch for if not petty passive-aggression in response to allo folks’ amatonormativity?

A fortnight later, he arranges his mugs on his desk, stashes his decorative paper clip collection in the pencil case and ponders, just for a moment, if anyone’s made a pride-themed whiteboard.

“Rowan!” Damien appears out of nowhere and claps his hand on Rowan’s shoulder. He’s a raw-boned giant of a man with an improbable ability for stealth; Rowan, cursed with a body that reacts to unknown stimuli as though lethal rather than first checking, still can’t keep himself from jumping out of his chair on Damien’s approach. “I’ve got this photo from last night I want for Facebook. Can you crop out an arm from the side for me? I just sent it to you.”

“Sure,” Rowan murmurs, once his heart stops threatening to burst from terror. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Thanks. I’ll get you a coffee.” Damien snatches up the new mug, tiny in his oversized hands. Rowan doesn’t care to imagine how much of Damien’s pay goes to custom tailoring, but his pinstripe suits are the living dapper embodiment of every How to Dress Like a Professional Man guide Rowan has read and failed to implement. “Huh. I didn’t know you were into archery. One sugar, little bit of milk?”

“Yeah. I … uh...” Rowan blinks, struggling to find an answer, but Damien heads for the hallway and the kitchenette they share with the rest of the floor. Archery? Surely none of the arrow designs are realistic enough for any archery enthusiast to regard them as an expression of interest for the sport? Not to mention the stripes?

How do cishets cultivate their air of continued obliviousness? They’ve all seen Rowan’s trans pride phone case and bi pride pin; nobody won’t have seen the rainbow flag in the news. Shouldn’t one of them catch on to the concept of pride flags?

Why complain when their ignorance is easier than their questions?

He shakes his head, opens his emails and finds the photo from yesterday’s event, complete with a stray arm on one side and a half an empty chair on the other. He crops out the arm and the chair before adjusting the contrast and colours, until the photo appears as though only maybe taken on a cheap phone, indoors, by a man with his back to the window.

“Hey, did you know that Rowan’s really into archery?”

Rowan looks up. Damien stands by the door, showing Melanie Rowan’s newest mug.

He should say something before he gets archery gear in the office Secret Santa. He should say something even though they’re on the other side of the room and a lifetime of good manners, parental expectation and disabling anxiety says one doesn’t intrude on someone else’s conversation. What if someone in the office secretly likes archery and asks him questions? But corrections mean doing the one thing Rowan hopes he can continue to avoid, so...

He slides his hands under his legs and inhales slowly in a vain attempt to head off the giddy anxiousness. Does this mistake desperately need fixing? Can’t he wait to see what happens first?

“Archery? How does anyone get into archery?” Melanie shakes her head. “You don’t do it in school. Is it a country thing? Or a rich kid thing?”

“I did. Year nine, I think? And my school wasn’t that fancy. I think kids do more of that stuff, now, than real sport.” Damien shrugs and heads towards Rowan’s computer, setting his mug down on the desk. “You fixed the lighting! I don’t suppose you can make my face less red? It isn’t that red in real life.”

It is, but that’s easier to fix than the burgeoning fear that this archery misconception won’t be a one-off incident.

***

Another awful conversation with his housemates pushes Rowan into getting out his sewing box, despite a Melanie-induced fear that showing himself to be good at a traditionally-female art will result in another expression of cis nonsense. Too many friends still ask why he buys plain T-shirts from the women’s section (better fit) or has lavender-scented shower gel on his shelf in the bathroom (he likes it). He’s a man to the not-completely-cissexist people in his life if he meets a boring, insecure definition of manhood. “Oh, great God of Trans Men,” he mutters, “please pardon me for the crime of unmasculinity, because everyone knows you don’t allow true men to embroider.”

How is cross-stitch not just analogue pixel art, anyway?

He flips off whomever it is Melanie thinks “allows” him to defy gender norms before sketching a pattern, struggling with the shape of the R. His embroidery floss stash doesn’t allow him to perfectly colour-match the greens, but after the best part of a weekend Rowan produces a patch reading “ARO” in aromantic stripes against a background of allo-aro yellow and gold. He needs another hour to stitch it to his satchel beside a cluster of badges (trans pride, pronouns, bisexual flag), but the finish is worth the late night and sore fingertips.

Surely this will tell people that those five stripes mean something more than a liking for archery or the colour green?

He fists his hands, lips trembling. What call does an allo cis gay like Matt have to mock the idea of coming out as aromantic when Rowan, who lost his home, his family and his dog to the mistakes he made in coming out, knows exactly what those words mean? Why did Matt have to say that “someone like Rowan” only put a lousy mug on his desk because he knew nobody will ask? Yes, he owns a collection of anxiety disorder diagnoses, illnesses fairly earnt, a disability unchosen. That doesn’t make him cowardly!

Matt doesn’t emerge from his bedroom before Rowan dashes to catch the train, so he lacks even the questionable satisfaction of seeing his housemate note the large patch on his bag. He’s just left with a mood bouncing between frustration, anger and the quieter, sickening fear that making the patch didn’t challenge Matt’s opinion as much as validate it. Should Rowan have done that? What else can he do?

Why does Matt have to be so damn allo?

By the time he arrives at the office, Rowan focuses just enough to concentrate on the distraction waiting for him in the kitchenette. The walls need painting and the air conditioning smells like mice, but sharing the floor with four other sub-governmental community projects meant everyone pitched in for a decent coffee machine without too many hassles. Damien needs to stop taking terrible work-related selfies, but he does enforce a cleaning rota so Rowan can enjoy avoiding the horrors of instant coffee.

“Aro?”

Groggy annoyance fades into a heart-pounding, palm-sweating, vibrant wakefulness. Rowan wheels to face Melanie; she peers at the satchel hanging off his hip. Matt’s wrong about Rowan. This will prove it!

“Uh, yeah,” he says, fighting to sound casual. “I’m aro.”

There. He said it!

“Oh, like the movie vampire?”

The movie vampire? What vampire? There’s no obviously-aromantic vampire in a well-known movie; someone online would have said so! “I’m sorry?”

“The Twilight movies! You know the ones the teenage girls liked, with the family of glittery, vegetarian vampires and the human girl? And it was supposed to be romantic somehow? My daughter had posters and a quilt cover and T-shirts and Barbie dolls.” Melanie pulls a face, her lips twisting. “But she loved them, and there’s a vampire called Aro.”

Belatedly, he remembers a joke that posts about a minor character used to turn up in aro hashtags. “I suppose? But it isn’t a name when—”

“Damien! Rowan’s called Aro now! Should we hold a meeting telling everyone? Or just send an email around?” Melanie looks out into the hallway dividing the floor into its suites of offices: Damien stands outside their door, his battered phone held to his ear. “I didn’t know trans people were allowed to change names twice! Although I don’t suppose there’s a limit, is there? If I married someone five times, I could change my last name five times, couldn’t I? Is it really that different?”

“It,” Rowan says into the barest break in sentences, “isn’t—”

“Damien! Stop gasbagging about golf or whatever … I swear, that man never listens when you want him. Always on the phone! Damien.” She bustles out into the hallway with the determined stride of a woman on a mission. “Rowan’s Aro now!”

Panic spurs him into running after her. “Melanie!”

“Aro!” Shelby grabs his forearm as Rowan skids into the hallway, her brow furrowed in concern. If Melanie seems like the plump, huggable sort of grandmother, Shelby looks like the muscular, marathon-running grandmother who hits the beach every morning. Salt-coarsened long hair in a single braid, a fashionable black blazer worn over a T-shirt, hiking boots. “Is that European? Don’t worry, we’ll all do our best to remember, and you’re allowed to growl when we don’t. We said there’d be no problem, and we meant it. You’re allowed to growl at us when we make mistakes, okay? Okay, Aro? Promise me that you will correct us!”

The self-appointed protector figure of the office, she was kind during Rowan’s first week. Kind in a way that draws unnecessary attention, given her inability to correct someone else’s misuse of pronouns without crafting a production of hushed voices and pointed nudges—followed by scathing lectures that never happen far enough outside his earshot.

Why are the only options complete stealth or queerness front and centre in a way that never lets him be just a different shape of normal? Where exists a blessed middle ground?

Melanie reaches Damien and stares up at him, waving one hand and tapping the opposite foot, until Damien lowers his phone.

“Uh … thank you, but my name isn’t—”

“You absolutely must correct us.” Shelby squeezes Rowan’s forearm in a firm grip. “We’re not used to all this, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. Aro. Do you people usually choose unusual names like that? You know, you trans people? Promise me that you’ll correct us. You need to know that we don’t mind in the least, truly we don’t!”

“I’m not—”

“Anyway, how was your weekend? You didn’t stay at home, did you? It worries me that you haven’t found a girl yet. Or a boy!” Shelby clasps his hand between hers, looking into his eyes as though hoping to impress upon him the depth of her sincerity. “You do know, Aro, that any girl—or boy!—will be lucky to date a sweet boy like you, don’t you?”

What does it mean, Rowan wonders in irony-fuelled despair, that returning to Births, Deaths and Marriages now feels like the easiest option?

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sailorportia · 5 years ago

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Femslash February 2020, Day 4

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power Pairing: Glimmer/Catra Prompt: Punk/Pastel

approx. 2,100 words, rated T

also available on AO3

Summary: Catra and Glimmer are forced to work together on a group assignment, and it's almost a competition to see who's more annoyed by this arrangement.

Tags: University AU, Swearing, Alcohol, Drunken Kissing

Catra was holding court in her corner of the student union building's cafeteria. "I can't believe Professor Prime stuck me with Sparkles for a group project!" She slammed her fist on the table, rattling everyone's lunch trays. "Anyone else would've been better than Sparkles!"

"I'm confused," Entrapta said, picking up tiny sandwiches from her lunchbox. "Who's Sparkles? Oh, do we have a new friend!?"

"Oh, um, that's what she calls Glimmer," Scorpia said. "Because, well, y'know," she leaned in and whispered, "Catra doesn't like her very much."

"Oooooooh!"

Catra ignored the exchange, lost in her own petty misery. "That girl is the worst. Total control freak. She never shuts up in class, always arguing with the profs and making everything a debate. She's not even that smart. I bet she only got in because her mother's got tenure." Her hatred toward Glimmer in no way stemmed from the fact that princess was now closer to Adora than Catra was. They were even roommates now. Not that it bothered Catra at all.

"Um, just out curiosity," Scorpia said, "this might not be important, but have you ever really talked to her? Like, other than insulting each other?"

Catra gave her a blank look. "Why would I need to do that? I don't need to learn her favourite colour to know I hate her." Knowing Sparkles, it was probably pink. Or worse, hot pink.

Entrapta frowned. "That's not a very scientific approach."

"I'm a political science major. Everyone knows that's a fake science."

"Okay," Scorpia said. "But she's one of Adora's friends. Isn't that enough reason to try to get along with her?"

"I don't want to get along with Adora's friends." Catra uttered the words as if they were a rule. If Scorpia and Entrapta had been feeling sassy, they could've pointed out that Catra was also one of Adora's friends, and that would explain why she didn't get along with herself.

"I'm just saying," Scorpia said with a shrug. "Maybe if you give her a chance, you'll find something you like about her. Or, uh, something you don't hate at least. Who knows? You might have more in common than you think."

"As if!" Catra and Glimmer couldn't have been less alike. First off, their appearances were complete opposites. Catra's punk style had attitude, conveyed through dark colours, unruly hair, spiked accessories, the patches on her jacket and other modifications to her clothing, such as stylish, strategically placed holes she tore with her own claws. Glimmer, in contrast, was a pastel disaster whose brightly-coloured outfits hurt to look at. Her hair was literally pink, like she was made of bubblegum or something. Secondly, Glimmer was a sanctimonious goody two-shoes, whereas Catra just didn't give a fuck. No way in hell were they going to get along.

"Well, you better figure out how you're going to talk to Glimmer," Entrapta said, "because she's headed this way."

A group of three approached their table: Adora and Bow, led by a pissed off Glimmer. Catra might have found it intimidating if she weren't wearing the softest possible shade of lavender. Her new haircut was something of an improvement. She was almost hot—but Catra wasn't into bossy girls.

"Hey, Catra," Adora said nervously as the group reached the table.

Glimmer cut Catra off before she could say her customary greeting. "If you screw up this assignment for me, I'm going ruin you."

Bow grimaced. "Glimmer! We literally just went over this!"

"You could at least pretend to be nice," Adora said.

"Why do I have to be nice?" Glimmer pointed at Catra accusingly. "If you heard the way she talks in class you'd get it. She's a war criminal waiting to happen."

Catra snorted. "Says the girl who's a shill for the monarchy."

Bow stepped between them. "Guys, guys, cool it. We don't want another fist fight on our hands."

"It was one time!" Glimmer protested. "And it was hardly my fault. Nyan Cat over here was being a belligerent drunk."

"Don't blame me for that incident," Catra said. "You threw the first punch after like six Shirley Temples."

"Who wouldn't punch you when you're so obnoxious?" Glimmer let out an agonized groan. "Just get your ass to me and Adora's dorm room tonight by six o'clock, or I'll come looking for you."

"Whatever." Catra stuck her tongue out as Glimmer stalked off, her friends running off after her. She didn't need any more proof that the two of them were incompatible at every level. Maybe she'd fail this assignment on purpose just to piss her off.

Glimmer was already regretting her decision to work on the group project in her dorm room. Her reasoning had been that she didn't want to be seen in public with Catra, but she hadn't anticipated how much having Catra in her living space made her skin crawl.

They were sitting on Glimmer's side of the room. Catra had attempted to make herself at home on Adora's bed, but Glimmer put that to a stop immediately.

"You don't shed, do you?" Glimmer asked, eyeing Catra's wild mane of fur. "I don't want to be picking your hairs off my clothes for the next month."

"That's an anti-cat microaggression," Catra said. "Not very politically correct of you. Besides, it can't be as bad as all the glitter you leave behind, Sparkles."

"That's not my name! And I do not wear that much glitter." Sure, Glimmer preferred sparkly eye shadow some days, and some of her clothes did have glittery details on them, but glitter wasn't her thing. "You're in no place to criticize how I look." She sneered at Catra's outfit, specifically the tears in her pants. "Nice jeans, were they 50% off?"

"Haha. Very funny. I'm sure you bought your clothes at 200% the price just to show off how bougie you are."

"Listen you—" Glimmer groaned through her teeth. She knew Catra was just trying to get under her skin. All she had to do was be the bigger person and let this go. "The sooner we start this assignment, the sooner we'll be done and out of each other's hair."

"Finally something we can agree on," Catra said. "What's the topic again?"

"We're supposed to pick one from this list." Glimmer retrieved the relevant paper from her desk and read them off. "There's one about arguments for and against raising the minimum wage."

"Eh? That sounds dangerously like math. Economics sucks."

"Fair. Next is one about the role of money in politics."

"Still too much math."

"Suggestions for electoral reform?

Catra laughed. "Maybe get rid of elections altogether? Then everyone's equally unhappy with the result."

Glimmer could've sworn she had some patience, but it was running out faster than she'd anticipated. "There's one about the ethics of torture."

"That one's easy. Whatever gets the job done is fine with me."

Never mind writing an assignment together, they were never going to find a topic they could agree on due to Catra having the moral centre of a Saturday morning cartoon villain. "Torture doesn't even work! The premise is flawed."

"Really? It's working on me right now."

Glimmer groaned. "Is this a joke to you? This assignment is for 10% of our mark! You might not care about your own future, but I do."

Catra smirked. "What's wrong? Afraid that Professor Mommy will be disappointed if her little princess flunks a class?"

"You don't have any idea what it's like studying at a college where your mother is one of the professors. Having to measure up to those expectations all the time."

"Hey, at least people expect something from you. You can't imagine what it's like to grow up in Adora's perfect shadow."

"Yeah, well now she's my perfect roommate, and I'm going to lose it if I have to hear one more time that Adora got on the dean's list last year and I didn't."

"Oh yeah? Well I would've gotten on the list too if I didn't have to deal with Professor Hordak's inferiority complex."

The conversation carried on way longer than it should've. It turned out the only way they could avoid bitching at each other was by bitching to each other instead. Before long they ordered a pizza and cracked open a couple of cold ones, the assignment lying forgotten on Glimmer's desk.

By the time they ran out of things to complain about, they were both a little beyond tipsy. They had moved to sitting on Glimmer's bed, leaning against each other. Glimmer was very aware of the fact that she had never been this close to Catra before, physically or emotionally. Not wanting to linger on those thoughts, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Hey, is it true that you wore a tux to your high school prom?"

Catra smirked. She put her empty beer can down and got out her phone. "Feast your eyes."

Feast, Glimmer did. She was tempted to ask Catra to send her the pictures. "Daaaaaaaaaaamn," Glimmer said. "Adora's so lucky. I went to mine with Bow as a friend-date, but she got to dance with the hottest girl at the prom."

If they were any farther apart, she wouldn't have picked up on the other girl's reaction: a low, rumbling sound in her chest.

"Oh my god." Glimmer couldn't believe her ears. "Are you purring?"

"No!" Catra stuffed her phone back in her pocket and crossed her arms over her chest, as if that would cover up the sound she'd already made. "You're imagining things. All that glitter must've gone to your head."

"Oh, looks like someone isn't used to hearing people say nice things about her." This was too good. "So that's how I get under your skin."

Catra's face looked like it couldn't decide if she were furious or embarrassed. "Screw off, Sparkles."

"Aw, you can dish it out but you can't take it? That's so cute." Glimmer honestly didn't know why she was winding Catra up. Maybe she wanted to see what would happen when she finally sprung.

Catra stood up, but didn't step away from the bed. "Isn't Adora going to be coming back soon? I should probably go..."

Glimmer grabbed Catra's arm and pulled her back down. "We've talked enough about Adora. Let's talk about you."

"I don't want to talk," Catra said. "I don't want Adora to walk in and see me getting along with you!"

"You care too much about what Adora thinks. Are you that hung up on your old prom date?"

"I am not! Screw you! I'm always getting the girls. I don't need to chase after Adora. I've got pull!"

Glimmer smirked. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Catra had hit her limit. The cat finally pounced. "You asked for it."

In one swift motion, Catra pushed Glimmer down and pinned her to the bed. There was a moment's pause before their lips crashed together.

Oh my god, Glimmer thought as she tasted the alcohol on Catra's breath, is Catra kissing me? Am I kissing her back? Even being tipsy wasn't enough to excuse this. But Glimmer didn't really care. She needed to blow off steam, and making out with a bitchy catgirl serviced that need.

The kissing kept getting messier and messier, which was a nice analogue to their interpersonal relationship. Glimmer vaguely acknowledged that she'd never live it down if anyone found out about this, but it wasn't like Catra was going to brag about it either. They were in the clear—

"Oh my god. I didn't expect you guys to get along this well."

Glimmer and Catra sobered up instantly. They broke apart, Catra springing away as if she'd suffered an electric shock. In absolute horror they turned in unison to see Adora standing in the doorway, barely containing her amusement.

"This isn't what it looks like!" Glimmer said.

"It's actually exactly what it looks like," Catra said. "Kill me."

Adora laughed so hard she snorted. "Looks like you guys had a party," she said, looking at the empty pizza box and beer cans. "You guys must've finished up that assignment pretty quickly." She raised an eyebrow at the sight of the pair's blank looks. "You did work on the assignment, right?"

As if a switch had been thrown, Glimmer and Catra were back at each other's throats as if nothing had happened. "This is all your fault!"

#she ra #spop #glitra #glimmer #catra #fanfiction #my fanfiction #femslash #femslash february #FauxGhostsFSF

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poemsfrommynotesapp · 4 years ago

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microaggressions

They tell me that i’m allowed to exist that it is okay to take up space but all i can remember is

ㅤ

1. it’s my first term of uni. I’m scared of being “the chinky type of Asian.”

funny isn’t it how it is an indian boy who throws that word at me and casually calls his friend a faggot

i smile politely and avoid his gaze.

ㅤ

2. it’s my second term of uni. I’m not friends with that boy anymore. class has just finished and I’m complaining about my instructor with a friend over pizza. “I kinda wanna get boba afterwards,” she says. “You?”

I shrug. “You don’t like boba?” she asks. I do my best to explain to her that it isn’t quite like the real thing that I have at home, something every Taiwanese person inherently understands when they move to the West.

“Just say that you don’t like boba,” she snaps. it is silent people turn to glance at us and suddenly the room is too warm

we leave and i tell her that the mexican man who works in the dining hall looked like he might cry because he had to make burritos with store-bought tortillas

She lights up. “I know, they’re totally nothing like my mother’s.”

i smile and stay silent

ㅤ

(2.5 the world is ending and i fly back home i speak mandarin to the customs agent the words feel clumsier in my mouth than they did in august

he responds in mandarin i do not understand what he says)

ㅤ

3. i tell my mother that i want an undercut she looks at me sadly and asks if i am a lesbian

(flashback. it is last summer and my hair is violet my mother scrubs at my scalp as i cry and scream and beg for her to grant me the humanity of washing my own hair and letting me remove my own identity

her tears mix with the lavender water as she apologizes to me for letting me ruin myself

she asks my sister to dye my hair black and asks if purple is a gay colour)

i deny it but there is fear in her eyes and she goes on as if she did not hear what i said (or maybe i didn’t say it) “I guess your father and I will just have to deal with it,” she sighs.

ㅤ

4. i am at a bar with a childhood friend that i have not spoken to in a year

she thinks i am the same person that i was before i let her believe the lie

she tells me that she is proud of me for becoming stronger i smile

ㅤ

(the idea that i am stronger now is laughable i am drowning–– ripping myself to shreds)

ㅤ

all i remember from that night is that i sat opposite her (i used to have a voice) as she told me that she would never let her boyfriend (i used to be able to speak) hang out alone with another girl (i used to be LOUD) in case he got tempted (i used to SCREAM)

“what if your boyfriend is bisexual?” i ask.

She pauses. thinks for a moment. “I guess they can’t hang out with any friends if I’m not around,” She jokes. “who knows what they’ll be up to?”

ㅤ

i smile conspiratorially. quietly.

ㅤ

She takes a sip of Her drink. “hey, we should definitely go to a gay bar when we’re in Taipei!”

“definitely,” i agree

ㅤ

5. another friend texts me

it is about her boyfriend (it always is, nowadays) they are very much in love and will one day get married (they have known each other 2 months) it is fate, she says

ㅤ

3:49 am: omg, i need you to get a girlfriend

(i am so tired)

oh? i text back

ㅤ

4:01 am: well, i just feel like you need a girlfriend

(i used to be a person)

why? i reply

ㅤ

4:37 am: i dunno, you just need one

ㅤ

(all i am now is a glorified purse dog taken out and paraded around when friends want to go to gay bars to subvert expectations and do something taboo

if i had known that i would become a handbag bisexual maybe i would have learned to shut my mouth at an earlier age)

ㅤ

a recap: 1. ...our campus values diversity and inclusivity.... 2. I really love how diverse the student body is here.... #blackouttuesday 3. I don’t mind if people are gay, but sometimes those queers at pride are just too much.... 4. I just don’t get it when people are homophobic.... how could you be so close-minded.... 5. I love and support you no matter what....

ㅤ

–– is it better to be by yourself or surrounded by the wrong people?

#long post #f slur #f slur tw #q slur #q slur tw #poetry #free verse #please be respectful of me and my experiences #thank you #racism tw #homophobia tw

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chenanigans · 6 years ago

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Just thinking aloud about my identity.

I’ve been IDing as asexual for about 4-5ish years now. Before I even knew it was a thing, I was a mix of indifferent and confused, I guess. When people would ask me if some celebrity was hot I’d be like:

I just didn’t get the sentiment. Even with ladies I felt no attraction. My friends and classmates were dating and all that while I felt that I was alone. I didn’t understand how that feeling felt. Like being attracted to someone. I of course loved my friends with all my heart, but I couldn’t love in that romantic kind of sense. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a relationship. It was more I didn’t want a sexual or possibly romantic relationship. I thought something was wrong with me. I felt out of place and disjointed from the world. Being in a relationship and having sex was like the end-all to all human experiences.

Or so I thought.

I discovered asexuality through tumblr and after some research I finally felt, clarity and validation. There wasn’t anything wrong with me. I was simply asexual. Despite the stupid and misguided ““discourse”“ I still IDed as ace. Nothing more, nothing less. I do wish for a relationship, but not something sexually intimate per se. I just want someone to hold hands with, hug, snuggle, maybe kiss, and just be vulnerable with. I don’t need or really want sex to live a full life. I’m happy with myself as is.

Another aspect of myself I’ve come to terms with is my ADHD. For the longest time I was undiagnosed and it’d be dismissed every time I’d bring it up. It was very frustrating and when I look back to how things unfolded in my life, I get kinda mad. My parents, my high school guidance counselor, and even my former doctor somewhat dismissed it. My dad went even as far as to say I was acting out because of a classmate who had ADHD and a mix of other things.

I struggled in college because of it. I went through two hellish years of feeling inadequate in comparison to my classmates/friends. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t sit and focus. I’d always be procrastinating than working on things later. Rushed jobs. Teachers feel like I’m holding back potential. After I finished college, I fell into a deep depression. Like it was so bad I was somewhat suicidal at times. I couldn’t even open the program I used in school because I felt like a failure and would get anxiety.

I later went to my former doctor and got into some social anxiety classes and began taking anxiety meds as well. The social anxiety classes were actually pretty helpful and definitely did boost my confidence a lot. Later, my former doctor retired and we got a new family doctor. And I saw it as an opportunity to look into ADHD things again. Since I was on anxiety meds at the time, she reccomended I start seeing a therapist. So I did.

From there, I met a great therapist and she also helped me gain confidence and said she’d vouch for me, should my doctor be skeptical. Luckily she believed me and actually refered me to an ADHD specialist. After years of suffering I finally got diagnosed. I was so happy. I finally got meds that worked instead of meds that numbed the feelings post-ADHD feelings. I would experience symptoms of anxiety and depression BECAUSE of the ADHD and I guess they didn’t get it.

In the future I hope I continue to deal with the ADHD and learn more management skills and all that. I also hope that teachers, doctors, and all those kinds of people learn how ADHD presents different in women. That way people like me can be helped earlier on rather than just discover it in adult life.

The last thing I wanna talk about is my blackness. Over time I’ve become more aware of all the things black people face. I used to hate my hair and wish to have white people hair. I remember how a classmate used to call me a wannabe-asian for loving video games, anime, and things like that. I never noticed the racism or microaggressions before, and now I’m a lot more aware.

I’ve learned to love my hair and myself more. I’m trying to incorporate more black people into my original art and fan art. I absolutely love when I see representation of black people in a positive light and I hope we get to see more of that in the future. I’m working on being a part of that too. I’m happy that I’ve become comfortable being black. I hope in the future, non-black people can be more aware of issues we face and stand up against others who cause them.

As an artist and gamer, I’m glad I’ve grown and improved.

I never could see myself animating again and I’m able to do it again. My art is ever improving and I’m always trying to learn new things. I’m dabbling in different traditional mediums like markers, Poscas, watercolours, coloured pencils. I’m learning some new programs such as Clip Studio Paint and hopefully I’m get the hang of Toonboom and Blender. I’m looking forward to drawing and animating again. I’m trying to build a professional website and eventually gonna try to get a job in my field.

I would say I’ve become a lot more skilled at games. Even if it took me a 1000 times to do one thing, in the end, I still did it. I beat Cuphead 200%. In Kirby Star Allies, I did Soul Melter with all characters. I’m working at Soul Melter EX with everyone as well as 200% again on Switch, the final Pantheon in Hollow Knight, and more of Death Wish in A Hat in Time. I wouldn’t have dared to do these things when I was younger, but now I can. I like to show others not to brag, but just to share my joy and relief of finally doing the hard thing.

I guess to summarize all of this is that I’m happy with what I’ve become and I hope to become kinder, more understanding, more assertive, and to continue with all my passions in life.

#chen's text

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simply-shakera · 5 years ago

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Matter is the Minimum

""Matter is the minimum. Black lives are worthy. Black lives are beloved. Black lives are needed"" -- Jay Urich

If you support the Black lives matter movement then continuous action is required from you. Having a black friend doesn’t make you an ally. Reading one book or taking one anti-black racism course won’t help you unlearn years of problematic behaviour. Posting random Black models on your social media means nothing if you’re not revising your overall business practices.

Then there were those black squares…

"Let’s not turn Black lives matters into Black lives marketing" -- The Black Enterprise

Tuesday, June 2, 2020, we saw millions of black squares flood our social media timelines as the world rallied together in solidarity against anti-black racism and police brutality. I felt proud and encouraged to see such high engagement on a issue that I feel so strongly about. Plus, Black Out Tuesday has started so much healthy dialogue and has been a catalyst for some of the change we are starting to see now.

However, in addition to the positive shifts, we saw lots of performative activism.

Here is an example that affected me directly:

If you’ve been following me, you know that I have been a Titika Active ambassador for years. Recently I have been partnering with them for a quarantine social media campaign. I am the only Black creator on team and although (till this day) one of my video’s has the highest engagement, my content has only been feature twice.

Moving on, Titika was also one of the many brands that posted a black square on their social feeds… but guess what they did after that to show their support Black lives? The answer is nothing.

Based on the general tone of their social media and the fact that I was the 1 of 3 Black faces that were seen on their social media since Dec. 2019, I knew i had to observe their action after “stance” on Black Out Tuesday. After days of their silence I decided to message Titika in their IG comments; the screen shot of my question is below. They responded with the most disappointing response followed by posting an unsolicited photo of my friend Julia to prove they are “making a difference”. The nerve. She let them have it though, read entire post: https://www.instagram.com/p/CBJMD-Bhtma/

After being publicly called out by Julia I received an email from Titika - where they acknowledged how much their response to my comment missed the mark (among other things). I sent them a response on June 9th being very transparent about my experience with the brand and how they could be more inclusive. I have yet to receive a response… and by the looks of their social media, it doesn’t look I’ll be getting one. They have gone right back to their old behaviour and have yet to acknowledge that they are against anti-black racism, value Black lives, or value they’re Black team members, clients or staff.

I share this story for a few reasons:

To demonstrate the level of bullsh*t Black women have to deal with behind the scenes (all the time).

To highlight what performative activism could look like.

Because we must hold people accountable. Even if there’s a risk attached - will you lose a job or friend? Maybe? …but at the end of the day, what’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong.

This generation will not remain silent! We cannot turn a blind eye to bad behaviour. NO MORE!

#BLM is more than a hashtag, it’s a movement. ⁠If we are a society that truly wants change, we must look inward and look at our surroundings to truly identify where to do the work. Take a look at the brands that you support. Celebrities you admire. Stores that you shop at. Your friendship circles. Your family at the dinner table. Are they for or against anti-black racism and police brutality?

…now take a look at yourself.

How are you contributing to the change you want to see in the world?

How are you making life brighter for the future generation? Will your current actions put you on the right side of history or the problematic side?

Look around you, then look within. How are you showing up right now? How are you contributing to one of the biggest civil rebellions this world has ever seen.

At first, I had a hard time with this, but the framework below helped guide me tremendously.

My role in the rebellion: A CAREGIVER.

I nurture & nourish the people around me by creating & sustaining a community of care, joy & connection. Carnival Spice has allowed me to complete much of this work. Here is how it began.

For over 5 years as a commercial dancer in Toronto, Canada, I was met with many challenges while gigging, teaching & training. For instance, I lost count of the number of audition castings that were looking for "Female 18-24 Caucasian". IF an "Open Ethnicity" came up, there were hundreds of women trying out for the one available spot. I yearned for community. In most cases, I was always the only black girl booked. Cue the microaggressions, folks trying to touch my hair, & the make up artists not having a foundation in my colour. This hurt & I often wondered why the industry was like this - what could I do to help? I loved what I was doing but often could not relate to many people in the room. It was lonely. Eventually I built the courage to create a community of my own. ⁠

@CarnivalSpice was born in 2013. I created the company to showcase Caribbean Carnival, its culture & its performing artists. It has become a platform where aspiring artists of Caribbean descent can further develop their talents, have access to paid work opportunity & gain support from others in the industry. ⁠This type of work is often met with resistance & stereotypes. However, as a collective, we’ve broken so many boundaries & showed up in spaces where “people like us aren’t suppose to be” - reaching thousands over the years through our social media, programming & performances. Education, connection & representation is the ultimate goal. ⁠

When you see a Black woman start a business, know that it took a lot for her to make that happen. ⁠

We don’t learn our history in schools. We don’t see ourselves represented on television or magazines. We are silenced in the board rooms. ⁠

We are hugely under served in a plethora of markets, rarely credited for brilliant ideas, paid less than our lighter colleagues, misunderstood, ignored & often disrespected. ⁠

STILL WE ARE RESILIENT. We are leaders, innovators, nurturers, advocates for change, critical thinkers, trend setters & so much more. ⁠

Black women are also six times more likely to start a business. We see a need & fill it. We make space that isn’t available to us. We create our own peace & transformative energy. Usually our own cheerleaders, we push ourselves to achieve our dreams… not just because we want to but because we have to. ⁠

It’s been said that if you aren’t offered a seat at the table, then BUILD YOUR OWN TABLE! That’s what I had to do. That’s what we had to do. ⁠

Looking back, when I started my business, I was scared & didn’t know what I was doing. What I did know is that my purpose was bigger than my fear so I had to at least try. ⁠

To my fellow Black female entrepreneurs, I see you, I feel you, I love you. Continue to rise. ⁠

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socialattractionuk · 5 years ago

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I’m a Black woman who’s only dated white men, but Black Lives Matter has changed everything

I’m a 27-year-old Black woman and I have never been in a relationship, or even dated, a man who is the same race as I am.

Most people are surprised, and when you think about it, it sounds kind of strange to not want to be with someone who possesses the same cultural values as yourself, but it hasn’t been on purpose.

Growing up in a predominantly white area, my options were limited. As I was navigating my teens, love was shoved down my throat on TV; I watched my friends pair off at house parties, and I started to become even more aware of the need to find my perfect match.

I carefully curated him in my mind. He was tall, authoritative, kind, and loving, but I never thought about what colour he would be. I suppose it didn’t matter to me, as long as he existed.

Aged 16, I entered my first interracial relationship. The topic of race never came up. When you’re a shallow teenager, the conversation rarely stretches past your favourite contestant on Big Brother – or perhaps he saved those conversations for his ‘main’ girlfriend. I was number two, possibly even three, but definitely a secret.

It became glaringly obvious that there might be a reason he had the picture-perfect blonde girl on the outside, and me tucked away behind the scenes.

I know now that if someone loves you they are proud of you, and I deserve to be loved loudly. But I went into my 20s without many Black friends and more interracial relationships followed.

With each relationship, I accepted the fetishisation of the curly-haired, mixed-race babies I could provide (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

I watched a few of my white friends date Black men. Others shuddered at the thought of it, insisting their parents would ‘kill them’ if they brought someone of another race home – despite the fact I had been in their homes several times.

I often wondered if that was what my boyfriend’s parents thought when they saw me too but batted the thought away.

With each relationship, I accepted the fetishisation of the curly-haired, mixed-race babies I could provide. One boyfriend’s mother squealed with excitement upon meeting me and said I would give her adorable ‘caramel’ grandchildren.

I didn’t mention the denial of white privilege during a very heated debate about the treatment of Meghan Markle or call out jokes about offensive racial stereotypes. I remember brushing off an ex’s dad when he was surprised that I didn’t ‘look or sound like Kim Fox from EastEnders’.

It wasn’t because I was OK with any of it – I remember feeling grossed out by it all. But I didn’t want to be seen as angry or confrontational so I tried to let it go and put it down to a few isolated incidents and ignorance.

I thought that’s how relationships were, because who doesn’t tease their other half about something, even if it does make you feel deflated?

Surely something like race wouldn’t matter when you’re truly in love? (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

It’s easy to call someone out on Twitter for their questionable behaviour, but when it’s someone you love, kicking up a fuss could end the relationship, it doesn’t always feel worth it.

In a way, just being with someone was more important to me than challenging the microaggressions.

Often race never got discussed at all. Paul* would actively go out of his way to avoid it, or anything that pointed at us being different. Asking him to describe the Black person nearby would bring him out in a cold sweat, tripping over his words to find every other word but ‘Black’.

At the time, I took it as a compliment, thinking it must mean that he didn’t see colour. Surely something like race wouldn’t matter when you’re truly in love? To be honest, it’s not something that I had thought about that deeply.

But then George Floyd and Breonna Taylor’s tragic deaths, and the Black Lives Matter protests that followed, put the spotlight on racial issues worldwide – and I couldn’t help but reflect on my dating life, too.

The race discourse is currently more open now than it’s ever been in my lifetime. On social media and beyond, conversations about colonialism, institutional racism and the systemic barriers that keep Black people one step behind have become our new normal.

If I was in love with someone, someone I thought I knew inside and out, why couldn’t I speak up about racism? (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

It’s taken me back to all the racist incidents I have experienced, even in my relationships. Frankly, it’s been traumatic.

And it’s not just me; it seems like white people are examining themselves like never before.

Reddit co-founder Alexis Ohanian – married to tennis legend Serena Williams and the father of a Black daughter – stepped down from the company’s board of directors and asked to be replaced by a Black candidate.

Meanwhile, rapper Eve and Strictly star Oti Mabuse admitted to having ‘difficult’ conversations with their white partners.

These admissions sparked an online debate about the discussions you should have if you’re in an interracial relationship, which I joined with enthusiasm. But had I even practiced what I preached?

Seeing Black people protest just to have equality, and to not die at the hands of the police, triggered something inside of me. If I was in love with someone, someone I thought I knew inside and out, why couldn’t I speak up about racism?

Whether it was comments they had made or the topic as a whole, I could never bring myself to broach it out of fear of causing unnecessary friction.

True love is being vocal and making sure your voice is heard (Picture: Jazmin Duribe)

So here I am, a Black woman that has only dated white men. I have been guilty of letting things slide for the sake of ignorant bliss but racism will not just vanish by ignoring it, or being silent, because that can be seen as complicity. Acceptance, even.

I believed that being in an interracial relationship was no different to being with someone of the same race. Like any other couple, you go on dates, meet each other’s friends and family and argue about what box set to watch.

But what I thought was a shared experience is simply a delusion. Even if you and your partner grew up in the same town, on the same street, being a different race comes with a completely different set of challenges and experiences.

I wouldn’t say no to entering an interracial relationship again – but there will be some rules.

Race will have to be discussed at the very start. Would a man be prepared, for instance, to raise a Black child who will come with a set of problems they’ve never had to face? What steps will they take to be proactively be anti-racist?

More: UK

Mum says police 'dehumanised' her daughters by 'taking selfies at murder scene'

Jurgen Klopp's wife played key role in Liverpool manager snubbing Man Utd job

Hotel staff 'warned about Glasgow stabbing suspect's mental state' before attack

I will not accept someone who refuses to acknowledge their privilege, thinks racist jokes are just ‘banter’ and who doesn’t read up on systemic racism. I won’t give them a copy of Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race and hope for the best.

True love isn’t colour blind, in fact, it’s the opposite. True love is about the ability to be open and honest with someone without fear of repercussions.

True love is being vocal and making sure your voice is heard. True love is recognising your differences, not ignoring them.

*Names have been changed

Last week in Love, Or Something Like It: My ex is my best friend

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Love, Or Something Like It is a regular series for Metro.co.uk, covering everything from mating and dating to lust and loss, to find out what love is and how to find it in the present day. If you have a love story to share, email [email protected]

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