Communication is necessary for any healthy relationship, and in an interracial relationship it’s paramount.
Every white man I’ve dated has, sometimes consciously and sometimes not, asked me to explain to them some aspect of blackness.
It’s an odd thing to then go back to my date and continue the performance of “getting to know you.” I fantasize about walking up to him and saying, “Gotta go!
What I’m craving right now from a partner — more than feeling beautiful, more than anything — is a “black nod” version of a relationship.
I know a man isn’t going to get me through the Trump era.
Later, I tried to convey how hurt I was that he didn’t say anything, but he didn’t seem to understand how bewildered I was.
There are, in my relationships with white men, so many moments like that.
The other day, I was on the subway platform playing my usual game, and I caught the eye of a black guy.