My skin defines who I am.
My grandmother often tells me that I am beautiful. She calls me her "black princess" and believes I am destined for greatness.
However, school was challenging. Classmates would insult my skin color, calling me "the little coal girl," and I felt isolated because no one wanted to study with me.
One terrible day, I fell for a handsome boy named Arthur. I wrote him a love letter, but his reply was cruel: "I don’t like black and stupid girls." His harsh words broke my heart.
From that moment, I realized I needed a space to express my emotions, so I joined an Afro community. There, I found happiness, made friends, and learned to play guitar.
Eventually, I discovered where I truly belonged—a place where I am valued for who I am, beyond my skin color.
