It's in our head, in our head.

The best stories told are the ones that are well-remembered even after being read quite a while ago. I have a story to tell, and even though it might not be the best story told, it’s still worth keeping a record of it.

It was a mid-summer day, and the sun was exceptionally glaring. Beads of sweat were glowing on the children’s forehead, yet it didn’t deter them from learning. The little hut they called school had no benches or desks for the children, let alone a blackboard to write on. I started talking about gravity, passing to them what little knowledge I know about the subject. (It’s strange how I went all the way to Central Africa, to teach a subject that I’m weakest at.) I remembered seeing a pile of books stacked up high, kinda like how we played Jenga, except we couldn't pull out the books from below and stack them up on top - it would've been the same height anyway. -.- Didn't really know what's the point of all that, but it was then when the other tribal people blew their horns and ambushed us from nowhere. Chaos were everywhere, people screamed and ran for their lives, except for me because I was too stunned to move my feet. Alas, a good number of us were captured and brought back to the attackers' base. Details were blurry from that point on but I knew the gist of what happened. Turned out that that particular African tribe wasn't trying to conquer our tribe by having us as hostage, but rather to feed the whole tribe. And since there were girls, the men thought they should just make 'full use' of the female species before they slaughtered us, if you know what I mean.

In that dream, I sat through the whole raping scene of all the women, and of course - I couldn't escape my fate too. But what's even more disgusting was that after they'd had their pleasure, they sawed off my leg and ate it in front of me. AND they had the balls to offer me my own leg!!! OMFG. I refused to eat it, duh. I mean, would you, if it were you?? So that was where my dream ended. I couldn't believe I actually dreamt that whole scene!!! Lost my appetite that morning. Don't know which is more petrifying - my dream itself or the fact that I was the one who created the dream. I must be sick in the mind. :/

What hit me afterward wasn't so much about the rape but the people who did that to the women. More specifically, the race/color of the men. To most people it's nothing worth noticing, because it's just a tiny detail and there's nothing much to dwell upon. But really, why is it that of all race and color, it was the dark-skinned people who committed such atrocious acts in my dream? No it has nothing to do with them per se, but rather the social stigma, the stereotyping that was preset in our head at a very early age. Since the beginning of time, it's known that the fairer the skin color is, the higher status the person will presume. It's so widely practiced it almost seemed like a law of nature. But really, is it? Says who? Did God create humans in various tones of color so that we could be ranked and socially stratified? So that a group of them could feel more superior than others and rule over them? No one seemed to question this anymore, and I don't know if anyone ever did back in the days. Oh yes, we fought for rights and have affirmative actions etc, but the truth remains - one way or another, subconsciously everyone still thinks that fairer skin is the better, more superior kind of people (even though you'll find a lot of people who'd deny it). I wonder, were we taught this in school or at home? Perhaps it's both, since parents were once taught/brainwashed in schools after all. And because nowadays we go to school to learn not how to challenge what we were told but to learn how to follow and obey rules, I doubt the social stigma will ever change.

I'm not writing this to ask people to change or to try convincing others to overturn the institution. Although, I do wish we could one day get out from this boundaries set by the institution, but I'd have to read more and do some research on it. I'm just writing this as a reflection of myself, a person who's always taken pride in being nonjudgmental toward others (or at least trying my best to do so). Yet my dream told me: as much as I want to recoil from the social stigma, I still can't help myself from falling into the pit of stereotypes. Whether I'm aware of it, I'm still no better than the rest of whom do not realize they're doing it. Sigh. But such is life. Isn't it?