So. I thought It was time for an update. I can’t pretend anymore. Or at least, not to you. To myself, I always can, I know how. Now that businesses and life is starting to go again, I won’t say normal because it will just never feel normal again. Not after everything that happened. But, the bright side is that we stand together, there’s been some results yes, but it’s an everyday going battle. We have to fight for our lives and our rights everyday. For us, for our families and the next generations.

I’ve also lost my grandma a month ago (in May actually, remember this is an old draft so from April..). So it was really hard mentally between that and everything that happened (is still happening..) in the world but especially in the States.

You know, I’ve never really get what it feels to be Black in America before I moved here. I never really knows what it felt to be Black, somewhere else. Because I’ve always been black. I’ve never really had to prove it or to justify it, been born and raised till my 18y in Benin, West Africa. I grow up with my people so logically I didn’t experience racism in Benin. The first times I experienced racism was in France. I used to visit Paris almost every summer while being a kid. And while I was visiting with my parents, they used to sent me a few times on some kids trips during summer, in other cities of Europe. My skin color, my hair, my accent, I could tell I was been looked at in a different way, by the white kids. But when I really realized what racism meant and was a victim of it, was when moving to Paris at 18 to go to college. I honestly hated it. Mind you, I went natural ‘nappy’ and did my big shop at the same time. So imagine moving from Africa to France first but then with my natural hair ? I was truly challenging. Everyday going at school wearing my hair was like going on a mission. I was tired of the jokes about my natural hair and you know at that time, 6/7 years ago, natural hair wasn’t that known about, or wasn’t something Black women were proud to daily wear.. So yes, from the jokes comparing my hair to a sponge that you use to do the dishes, to not being invited you know to hang out after classes because of no don’t invite the girl with the accent, I don’t really have good memories of college in France. Maybe I will tell you another day in another post about how I then move here, in the US. I had a pretty long post on my previous blog (I lost my two first blogs if you didn’t know) on moving to Nyc and it was pretty great but maybe one day soon I’ll rewrite that story. I wasn’t feeling good at all in my skin or mentally, I was suffocating and not happy anymore in France. So I left for Nyc. To be continued..

PS: This post was actually in my drafts since a few months I guess (don’t ask, we can’t trust my memory, that’s just an estimation based on… not sure) but I waked up in tears today (as always since lately) and wrote something but I thought I would share this draft first. See you in the next story and thank you. Thank you. Writing is always a good remedy.

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