Some people are prone to sinking into comfort and disregarding other people’s discomfort. Such is human nature. The perception of our own mental and physical state is one of the most important things; noticing another person’s total current state is extremely difficult, and acting towards helping that person can be even more difficult. Such is the case when someone born with melanin is dealing with a person who does not have it. And this is not to say that people without it can’t understand people with it, it’s just that, through experience, you see that there’s always a metaphorical wall between the two individuals where certain bits of information don’t pass. For example, culture. My brother and I couldn’t even walk down a supermarket aisle in North Carolina without scared mothers rushing their children away from us, whispering, “Did you see the niggers in the next aisle? Don’t go near those.” The year was 2014, but the mentality was 1914. And they, just like my brother and I, are a product of their culture.

Melanin means that you come from a history that is a mix of tragedy and triumph. It means that you are born with two separate images: the people around you want you to realize your glory and become the King or Queen that you’re meant to be. The people who have never experienced us before want us to stay in our lane. Stay in the hood. Stay in the courtroom. Stay in the grave. Their heroes are comedians in movies. Our heroes are activists who were gunned down. They forget that Mansa Musa was richer than their parents ever were. They don’t realize that crocodiles aren’t native to Italy, so their fancy Italian shoes really come from Africa. They call them boxer braids because Kim wore them, but people with melanin have worn them for ages. They forget that Garrett Morgan, a man with melanin, invented the traffic light, and they wonder why we are always ready to go.

A lot of people with melanin have, at some point, considered these two different images but that doesn’t mean they are true. Being born with it doesn’t make you a saint; it doesn’t entitle you to a throne. Being born without it doesn’t make you cruel, nor does it mean you cannot empathize. But, the sad thing is that there are cases where these ideas come to mind for me, even up here at Penn State. Last semester, I had the cops called on me on the west side of campus. The officers pulled up on me with a van and a car on either side, spotlights flashed in my face and hands on hips. One of them got out the car and approached me, saying they were here for a belligerent man. I was the only one there, and I was on the phone with my girlfriend who heard this whole interaction, fearful for my life.

Now that’s something to focus on, she was FEARFUL FOR MY LIFE. I had to think in that moment about the young men and women with melanin who died in similar situations, and I had to speak to this officer as if I wasn’t preparing myself to fight him; recent history had prepared me to fend him off in order to preserve my life. Luckily, he turned out to be understanding and apologetic. Tragedy and triumph.

A hand up that we have to consider is that there are people out there who actually understand. Sympathizers who don’t see people with melanin the same as their families might. These are the people who can casually make a friend

with me just as easily as they can with anyone else. The kinds of people who can sing along to a song but pause when the word “nigga” comes up, then immediately get back to it, and we all can laugh about it. The kinds of people who “Can come to the cookout.” Whether they have ever met one of us before or not, they see that our history is different from their own and they recognize that, but don’t let that get in the way of a good potential friendship. Having people like this around in large numbers is what separates 2014 from 1914; that’s why I couldn’t be too mad inside that supermarket in NC.

I could, however, be mad when during the Schreyer dinner for parents, my father and his wife were approached by a

couple who lacked melanin, and the wife asked, “Oh! Did you two sneak in here for the free food?” My father, who saw me work for months on end to make it to the honors college, felt insulted by a woman whose child would be one of my peers. We had to really reconsider who we were walking alongside here at Penn State. Long story short, we didn’t sneak here for the food. I didn’t work two jobs over the summer to be insulted, I didn’t write essays for several dozen scholarship applications just to be insulted, and I didn’t sacrifice endless nights of sleep for this college just to be insulted. You see, we with melanin don’t take that as a joke when it comes from someone without. We with melanin, who actually are goal oriented, don’t hear things like that and feel beat down like our ancestors before us. We keep on doing our own thing.

I decided to ascend the metaphorical wall and see things from the other end of it, so these insults don’t hurt me anymore. There is something too valuable in having people from either side coming together and being better than the misguided. We all are contributing to a world built on love and respect, not hate. I sink into my comfort and smile at the discomfort of those who want me in the hood, want me in the courtroom, want me in the grave, anywhere but where they are. I smile because I’m way too comfy with my melanin to frown.