From the moment he stepped through my door we were met with shock, but also joy and good wishes.
In contrast, when I moved to his small town, we were met with discomfort, judgment, and misunderstanding. How could a vanilla ice cream be dipping into chocolate caramel fudge?
It still baffles me how outdated and closed-hearted some people choose to be.
The mixture of their stares of disapproval and eyes that land on me never disheartens me. I cannot be discouraged, because what they see, what they turn away from, is not a blasphemous act—but two soulmates who stepped up to claim their rightful place in each others journey.
So, the next time someone asks me what it’s like being with him, here is what I will say:
You want to know what it’s like being loved by a white man?
I wouldn’t know, because all I see is a man who holds the stars in his eyes and throws them at me with every loving gaze.
What I know is the love of a man who still holds the door open for me, every time, without fail, and will never let me carry my burdens alone.
I know a man who has finally made me comfortable hearing the words, “I love you” 8, 9, 15 times a day, and each time I let those words sink in—where before I shied away from them because I never heard them at home.
What I see is a man who embraces my past and still manages to see beauty beneath my salt-stained face. He’s not afraid to love the darkest parts of me. He sits with my fears and insecurities and lets me know he’ll still be here when they stop raging.
I’ve never felt such a solid love, one of acceptance and forgiveness.
With him arguing isn’t about who wins, but how we can both win. I see a hero who will fight for me until his sword breaks and will still continue to do so with his bare hands. A man who comes swiftly to secure me when I wake him with my screaming nightmares.
I see a beautiful soul who looks me dead in the eye when he says those three words. I cannot not feel or believe the depth of his words. My shield is broken because it’s no longer needed. It took a real man to break the armor and invoke in me stirrings that only he can fulfil.
When he breaks down it’s my turn to be the hero for him. He’s beautiful—inside and out.
I don’t see the color of his flesh, but the feel of his strong, thick, naked skin that welts as I run my nails across it. Hands big enough to cup my face as well as the most sensual parts of me, giving each other pleasure in so many ways. A mouth I could kiss until the last sunset because nothing tastes so good.
I love a man with arms that keep me safe and that pull me closer to what I call home. And as I use his heartbeat as a pillow, I smile inside and drift away on a gratitude trip. We have touched on love and, for the first time I am immersed in the depth of it.
I don’t know what it’s like being loved by a white man— I don’t even know what white really is. But I do know what it’s like being adored by a courageous one. It’s a kind of safe that every girl wishes she had. And he’s the kind of safe that every man wishes he was.
What is the first thing you see when you see a man walking down the road? Or the woman in the coffee shop?
When you look yourself in the mirror, do you look for the qualities that make you beautiful, brave, and unique? Or is your focus on the outer shape and color of your physical body?
And then tell me, does it really matter what physical form you decide to show up in?
Imagine the world if we were color blind.
Author: Ulenda Myburgh
Editor: Lieselle Davidson