Pleasure as Resistance A Joyful Anti-Colonial Mix

The door opens again…and shuts…nope…Ring…Pinky… Ring…Pinky. The tickle in your throat turns into a lump. It’s still only you. This is when the anger sets in. The disbelief that it can’t just be you…right?

You tried to find safety only to end up alone. Only to still feel unsafe. Open…Open…Open… shut…still only you. The tips of your fingers are sore now. The seats fill, but the emptiness of the room weighs heavy on your mind. Open……shut. Something pulls you to look up one last time. Thumb…Thumb…Thumb. And fin-a-fucking-lly!!! Someone walks in, and you lock eyes. This time you’re holding each other's gaze. Your throat starts to clear as your environment slowly begins to feel safer. You’ve become part of a pair even if you are strangers. Relief washes over you as they sit one chair away. The relief you feel is small, because you’re still outnumbered. You’re still the minority. It’s only you two.