Ace of Spades

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

Maybe I don’t know myself like I thought I did. Memory is weird like that.

I think anyone can be nice, but it’s not about being nice. You can’t escape a history like that and not be affected.

“World’s not ideal,” he reminds me. “And if it was?” I ask, turning on the swing to look at him now. “If it was, a lot of shit would be different.”

I realized quite quickly that people hate being called racist more than they hate racism itself.

é que nem dizer que nenhum homem presta, qualquer outro homem vai ficar mais incomodado com a generalização do que em combater o machismo

“Why?” I whisper. “Why are you doing this?” Mr Taylor’s face morphs, his expression confused. Like the answer is so obvious, and I can’t see it. He leans back against the oak door-frame. “Because I can.”

achei essa parte tão cruel