Where is my home?

(Miranda, 41 – Cashier – Houston, USA)

Am I different? Most people I’ve interacted with don’t seem to think so. I know I am, but, what does the color of my skin has to do with anything?

Blacks go home

Less than a month ago, I came home to see a racist graffiti in front of our building. It was clear as a day that it was aimed to the only two African-american families that lived here.

“Blacks go home!”

This was my home. My parents were born here, I was born here, how is this not my home?!

First, I was worried for the safety of my kids. Then I started to fear coming home alone. Then I started suspecting every white person to be a racist. I didn’t want to live in fear for the rest of my life.

Mutual misfortune creates a bond

The thing that helped the most was the support from our neighbors. They showed support and assured me that none of them shared the opinion. I have actually never been so close to my neighbors before that graffiti appeared.

Another great thing that came out of this was the bond we created with that second different family in our building.

We weren’t alone

Was I still afraid? Yes. Did it become easier? Also yes. The text on the wall was removed and it did not show up again. The neighbors we closer than ever. I knew we weren’t alone in this, and more important, we weren’t surrounded by racists.

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