I do not like you. Try as I may, it is impossible to honestly like any human being. What a terrible thing, this "human"; that the most righteous of them are tainted and guilty of inhumanity.
The conditions of life promulgate this kind of judgment on humanity, any observer equal to the task of honesty cannot unsee this reality. This dislike is more keenly experienced with the humans closest to me. It is in those caring eyes wherein the evil of humans is most keenly observed. All that then; it is only when I stare into the mirror that one personally confronts this evil for the first time. This then renders it impossible to like myself.
We are born as innocent creatures, I believe, curious to grasp and absorb the world around us. Our first contact (for obvious reasons) is with the human hovering above our blurred vision, who is intent on perpetuating themselves through us. From the moment we gain our sight we're taught to see the works through the eyes of a human - a ghastly sight to behold. The natural world is a beautiful place, naturally beautiful are all its creatures as well. That much said, one may still argue that not all creatures are beautiful. The question then begs; who taught you beauty?
I was raised by a caring caucasian family in a predominantly caucasian neighborhood. Now that I think about it, I've never seen a black. I've only heard what my people say about them. In fact, for most of my life I believed that I wasn't black. You see, I lost my sight when I was eighteen months old, and therefore have no recollection of my blackness. You can imagine the shock when my rude uncle let it slip that during one of his drunken tirades, that I'm black. The horror that filled my mind at that moment caused me tremble and cry inconsolably. Of course, I'm the "good black" that was raised by whites - you are white inside, through and through. That's what my white mommy would say trying to console me. The rest are sketchy at the least, and downright dreadful beings at the most. I'm utterly scared of these blacks, even their accent sacres.
I am married now, to a beautiful (I'm told) black lady who turns out to be blind too, and who was also raised by a white family. She also unkindly found out about her blackness on her birthday, a gift from her cousin. She is one of the good ones, like me. We are both terrified of the other blacks, and have mostly avoided them most of our twenty-five years of marriage. Our daughter who just turned eighteen can see, and has a different view of the world from ours. She often tells us so much good things about black people, praising their beauty and intelligence. I don't believe her, I think those blacks got to her. I'd rather remain blind than to see the world from her distorted view. But I love her, and that's all that matters.
The fictional tale above attempts to drive the anthropological fact that a "human" is molded by their environment. We are not born human, we're born something else, a creature closer to divinity. What we are born as does no leave us even when adopt the ways of humanity. It lays dormant until it's kind cones to ressurect and claim it. That is love.
Love in it's purest form - its only form, has no conditions set. Every other iteration of affection that sets conditions or requirements ( beauty, wealth, intelligence etc.) on the one to receive your affection is not love. It's a vague and distorted attempt at love.
In as much as I dislike your humanity, I cannot deny you love. In the dingiest crevices of your being, that divine creature that is in you - in all its glory and purity, can never be diminished by your humanity. So, I love you with no conditions set.
Thank you for reading you wonderful creature 😊
