That night, he went home after seeing a group of friends. Mostly white people. He remembers their
conversations. They were littered with racist bullshit. It was more than usual, and he felt sick as he
made his way home.
He entered the bathroom, it was dark. The light was broken… He couldn’t see his reflection in the
mirror. The mirror was black. For a few seconds, he actually hoped he’d disappeared. He was afraid
to see what was in the mirror: someone he always tried to hide from others, but mostly from
himself.
In the dark, the mirror was shattered. In each piece he could see a different reflection of himself, a
myriad of truths about himself. He always knew he was multifaceted, dynamic, and complex. These
were truths about himself his environment never wanted to accept.
He didn’t understand why people around him never wanted to see him entirely. See the black man,
but also the indie rock fan, the soccer player, the artist, the friend, the lover, the immigrant, the
clown, the ghost. He always wondered what they were seeing instead.
He realized years after that what they wanted to see in him, was themselves. He turned into the
mirror of their own limitations. He became their expansion. He became their strength and let them
take his energy and vision away from him.
The only moment he was truly himself was in that dark bathroom, in front of the black mirror.
Multiple faces, multiple realities, multiple outcomes.
He remembered his parents. When they moved to Belgium in the late 80’s. He remembered how
they were acting different in front of white people… It was their way to survive a world that was
openly violent with them.
Now that he is older, he tries to reclaim the past he never had to change his future.
But digging the past always brings up unexpected things...