But inwardly she frowns, fretting and possibly regretting her color choice for both her skin and the little blue bikini she’s in. She thought again and reflected within that a light brown or even white might have been better. And in that instance she revealed a world about who she thought she was inside. I could see that someone had called her black (as though it was an insult) and she tried to disguise the pain it caused, confused about why the statement impacted her at all. I could see the grim reminder of the shame she’d been forced to feel for wearing that skin. She wasn’t the perfect Halle Berry hue. She wasn’t going to lighten up like some reverse mulatto tanning syndrome in which her time spent in the sun might lighten her skin. But she continued to look in her mirror daily and repeat her mantra, “I am beautiful.”
How could we have inflicted such a crime on such a gentle soul? How was it possible that her beauty was cloaked and negated by color. It was all part of the production played out real and imaginary acts everyday. That she was less than others.
This beauty with the perfect full mouth to compliment her incredible face outshone those “others.” The fact that all that was required for her mouth to gleam was a light application of a little Vaseline. The others made trips to clinics and doctors whre they spent small fortunes to pump and primp – their lips.
But this beauty shied and tried to shrink from sight because of the skin she lived in.
That’s a life of purgatory and the victims of that hell find no humor or comedic relief in “That’s life on the black hand side.” It’s their only side.
And while we call label each other by color — black, blue, blue-black and purple we add to the stain and stigma that bigots have used throughout history to make us feel less than. Each day that we participate in this ugly word play, making our own feel small — how could we be that way?
This beauty’s self-esteem had all but fallen away. She could stand in front of her mirror with her daily affirmations, but she had to chizzle away the life time of hurt and to convince herself even a little that she wasn’t that way.
I wondered and wondered each day as time went on. I told her how beautiful she was but she thought I was just singing her physical praise. But there was a moment when i saw her come to the realization and embrace in her mind, that she was naturally beautiful — short hair, natural hair or even no hair — she was still beautiful.
Here she was smiling and thinking of what she was going to do with this new perception and pride. I wondered exactly where and when the embers of self-esteem would ignite again and who would stand with her while she built herself back up again.
She would need to follow women like Maya and Cicely who exalt in their rich dark tones and recognize that Michelle Obama is not Halle Berry’s particular shade either, nor is her hair quite as straight, but she is Michelle Obama after all and she is beautiful. Some women know that the victory is in the fact that they are accomplished black women — achievers and milionaires, like Oprah.
Everybody calls the caterpillar ugly, but we all know that that story ends with a beautiful butterfly. The beauty in blackness is just like the butterfly when you finally look and learn to love yourself you see you’re the rarest kind of butterfly with a myriad of colors. Follow the butterfly’s lead and fly away inside your mind and expect the world to be awestruck with your easy but spectacular beauty.
Don’t doubt and no that God didnt create a word like ugly for you. So each time you fly, I say that you’re a butterfly inside – naturally and beautifully black and there’s nothing to hide. Be black, be proud and be lovely each day.
I love you. Please take the time to be black and stay.
