primary colors

in sixth grade, i lost my best friend. not to mortality, a new address, or anything else that comes to mind. i lost her to race. it hung frozen in the balance between fragile seconds and centuries worth of ideals, the moment batanya told me her parents no longer would allow her to be friends with me because i was white and she was black. apparently, despite it being the 20th century, little black girls weren't supposed to have sleepovers and form "secret" clubs with little white girls. and those little white girls weren't supposed to want them to. i felt as if someone had kicked me swiftly in the gut while i was standing blinded in a dark tunnel, her voice sounding distant and muffled to my confused ears as it tripped through some weak explanation she most certainly didn't even understand herself. carlotta poston would be her new best friend, she said. "oh, and by the way, i think she wants to beat you up." as if it were not enough to have lost in one single statement the blissful ignorance that i wasn't just like everyone else, i also had the threat of having my ass beaten for no other reason than because of it. the moment unveiled an ugly truth this world fights and ebbs against every waking minute it spins round on its' axis. love is love and, sure, it's both universal and free to behold - but why doesn't everyone see it? why does it have to wear different covers and faces? with batanya, i saw my first glimpse of what it would mean to walk the fine line of too many "not enough's" and not enough "too's" (as in too white, not black enough, too gay, not feminine enough, or not enough money at the end of the month). we can all see love when it's before our faces, and feel it from time to time, but aren't we missing some of the landscape of life if we don't ever wear the same pair of glasses long enough to get used to them? to have an open heart means more than just dolling out kindness and warmth when it's convenient or when we remember to. it means more than just a shift in consciousness or perspective; it means action. it means living consciously every moment what we believe in our hearts to be true and choosing that every single time without fail or option. it's not about potential, it's about what is. love isn't perfect, nor is it associated with such judgemental terms as right or wrong. but, as my 12 year old heart found out, love has to be the canvas or all the beautiful hues of grey will be lost among such a primary sea of black and white. i'm of the belief that since we discovered the world isn't flat, our vision of it shouldn't be either.