What color am I?

I am white. And I am black too. I am the light that reveals and the shadow that does not kneel. I am white and black, because there are moments when doubt is a veil over blood, a fog over fate, a silent way of betraying yourself to keep the world comfortable. I did not come to dissolve into comfort, into shades of gray that soften everything and transform nothing. I did not come to be acceptable, or to file down my edges to fit within the gaze of others.

I did not come to be perhaps. I came to be!

I am root and flight, earth that does not forget its origins, a wing that asks no permission of the sky. I am the voice that does not break even when the wind defies it, the steady step on the tightrope of a world that trembles at its own decisions. I am determination. And I do not fade away. I do not bargain away my soul to belong, or change my shape to deserve a place. My light does not apologize. My shadow does not hide. Both inhabit me, both name me, both uphold the truth of a woman who has stopped fleeing herself. I did not come to be half of anything, or to live with my heart suspended on the threshold of every possibility. There are choices that lay our foundations, truths that make demands of us, paths that reveal themselves only when we stop retreating. I came to be yes or no. Beginning and end. Life and death. All or nothing. With the dignity intact of someone who knows the price and, even so, does not sell themselves. Because some grays are wisdom, but others are fear disguised as prudence, surrender dressed as balance, silence pretending to be peace. And I do not want that peace that demands I abandon myself. I prefer the blaze that reveals what is essential, the ice that preserves what is inviolable, the passion that does not ask forgiveness for burning with its own strength. But never, never the lukewarm ash of someone who burned away trying to be what they were not. I am white and black. Not because I am unaware of the world's complexity, but because I have learned that understanding everything does not mean giving up choosing. That not every truth allows concessions. That not every door deserves to be passed through. That not every kind of belonging is worth the price of no longer belonging to yourself. And if the world insists on asking me which side I am on, I will not seek refuge in the mist or hide my name among shades. I will look straight ahead. With light in my eyes and my shadow at peace. Because I have not come to be understood by everyone, or to find in every gaze a place to rest. I have come to inhabit myself fully, to uphold my truth even when it leaves me alone, to walk without betraying myself even if the path narrows. What color am I? I am white. I am black. I am the certainty of someone who has passed through doubt and no longer needs to disguise it as fate. I am the contrast, the limit, the choice. I am the flame that will not bargain away its fire. And if belonging meant I had to stop being, I would rather have the whole world against me than live at war with myself. Because I did not come to blend into the landscape. I came to leave my mark.