It Was Easier For Me

Yellow, black, red, white. What does your photo say?

My father was a black shoeshine boy, my grandmother black housemaid, her mother slave, and Zé Índio my grandpa (Zé Índio, his nickname, is a reference to Jose + native Indian person).

I may be light-colored, but melanin does not define who I am. I am Italian, African, Brazilian, American. I am a citizen of the world, I have a little bit of everything.

I was a street boy, a country boy, the boy from the store, the boy from school, now I'm from California. I have a mulatto story that my appearance neglects.

I am the same as them, those judged by their outside. An injustice that kills. But it was easier for me.

Close the car windows, hide belongings, feel the fear in the eyes. I've been on both sides, being scared and being judged, but any outfit changes my status.

I can be rich, poor, well dressed or torn. I am just what I decide to be. I have the black color in my blood, which my skin doesn't show. But life is unfair, and it was easier for me.

I am the same but different. And it's a lot easier for me.

I was never a president, a high-performance athlete, or a good guitar player. I'm not a famous artist, a respected writer, or a thinker. Why would I be superior? What am I better at?

If there's a virus that kills, put the handkerchief in your face. In the mirror what do you see? Does the color of the cloth change you? Do you feel stronger, smarter, more noble? Does the color change you?

If we cover our faces, if we look in the eyes, aren't we all the same?

You think you are different, but what are you better at?

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Rodrigo Tomaz.