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One Simple Sentence

4 years. It’s been 4 years, and yet I still hear those words every day. It has never been worn out - the memory is as clear as a reflective mirror. Back then, it felt like a wound, but I now realize that it is a scar - nothing, not even time, can wash away the pain nor heal the hurt.


So I suppose all I can do is talk about it. I’ve decided to tell you, but I plead with you, don’t laugh when you first read it. It may appear small and childish, but it isn’t until you’ve experienced it that you truly feel the everlasting impact.


Back when I was a chubby little 8 year old, running and wildly yelling around the playground, oblivious to all the sorrows of the world around me, I had encountered a new kid. New kids are always an exciting phenomenon when you’re in elementary school, and so I approached this kid with a pale, snowy face. I thought it would be nice to make him my friend! So I found my legs moving towards him, my mouth about to open to blurt out an introduction, when he took an immediate step back. Words aggressively pushed out of his mouth, and I registered them as, “Get away from me Indian!”.


Those words! What a terrible thought they conveyed. It was like sticking a sharp dagger in my soft heart. Of course, my 8 year old brain didn’t truly understand the full implication of that sentence. I didn’t realize that being Indian was seen as a disgusting, appalling characteristic. Only now do I understand the importance of that one additional word at the end of the sentence. It could’ve been just “Get away from me!” but he specifically wanted to stay away from me simply because I was Indian, and didn’t look like him.


After that incident, I avoided him. But even after all this time, I can still taste the poison of that hatred and cruelty. It is like a virus, spreading across the world, slowly eliminating our humanity. And for me personally, the taste has never gone, and I fear it never will be. While nothing drastic has ever happened after that incident, I still worry what sort of treatment may befall me next simply because of my color.

 

This is a personal story written to us by a 12 year old student living in the Bay Area. Before

publishing this article, we got it approved by him to confirm that this narrative describes his

experience accurately.


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