As Fleeting as Skin Color

Skin color should matter so little that it needs no metaphor to put its insignificance into words. No comparison could do justice to how trivial a difference it is, especially when it has no business carrying so much weight in anyone’s life. And yet, for centuries, it has been used to divide people, justify violence, and determine who gets to enjoy freedom, respect, and dignity.

I want to know who you are beneath the surface. Your character, your kindness, your struggles, your joys, your fears, and all the contradictions that make you who you are. I want to see how you treat others, what you reveal when life gets hard, and how you respond when someone is vulnerable. That’s what shapes my decision to stay or walk away, draw closer or keep my distance, seek you out or go my own way. Your skin color tells me none of that.

Color has its place in the clothes I wear: the sneakers, shirts, and outfits I choose to stand out, catch someone’s eye, or try a new combination. I enjoy the freedom of changing things up. Seasons shift, trends fade, and what seemed essential yesterday soon loses its appeal. New colors come along, new choices take their place, and the cycle starts again. Skin color has nothing to do with that. It’s not a fashion trend, an accessory, or a style statement. It should never be a measure of someone’s worth.

What matters to me is the feel of someone’s skin against mine, a comforting touch, a familiar scent, the warmth of another body close to me. It’s the embrace that says more than words, the conversation that carries on late into the night, the trust that lets us share things we’d rarely tell anyone else. It’s the closeness that grows when two people can simply be themselves together, without having to explain or defend who they are. That’s what makes me want to stay.

Skin color can’t tell me whether someone is generous or cruel, loving or disrespectful. It reveals nothing about their intelligence, sensitivity, courage, or flaws. Still, some people use that one physical trait to keep others at arm’s length, enforce hierarchies, and decide who deserves respect. It’s hard to fathom how something so superficial can shape the way we judge another human being.

I want to meet someone without letting their appearance color my expectations. I want to discover their strengths, see their flaws, admire their choices or disagree with them. I want the freedom to care, to desire, to trust, to be disappointed, and even to walk away. There should be no need to justify getting close to someone based on how they look, just as prejudice should never be a reason to keep our distance.

Skin is also where we feel the world: its warmth, its chill, the gentleness of a caress, the strength of an embrace. But the pigment in someone’s skin is not what makes those moments matter. Their meaning comes from the person, the feeling behind the gesture, and the connection that reaches beyond what we can see.

We give far too much weight to a difference none of us chose, while overlooking so much of what we build and become over a lifetime. Skin color may stay the same, but thoughts change, feelings deepen, and convictions evolve. No one’s appearance tells their whole story. We reveal who we are through our actions, our relationships, and the way we treat the people who come into our lives.

Compared with everything a human life holds, skin color should count for next to nothing. Not because it fades away, but because it should never determine a person’s worth. I want to know people, not labels. I want to recognize someone’s humanity before passing judgment and see their dignity for what it is: something that has nothing to do with how they look.