Being black is like showing up to a costume party you were personally invited to and you're the only one wearing a costume. Even though your costume is fly af and you look beyond lit, people are staring at you. And you can't tell what the nuanced look on most faces mean, but some make you really uncomfortable. There are however, some nice people at this party who are kind enough to offer you a change of clothes, but you really like your costume and don't see why people care so you decide not to change. They stop talking to you before the night is over. Despite having to navigate this party and deal with awkward interactions as well as some down right assholes who go out of their way to make it known you are out of line and need to learn your place at this party, you find two or three gems who make the rest of the night a tolerable event; maybe even fun. This, my friend, is what it feels like to be black. Except at the end of the night we don't get to go home and take off our costumes and feel at peace knowing that this will never happen again. No. We go home, lick our wounds, and fix our face in preparation for the next battle. One that might cost us our life