by King Kyles

Created on: January 29, 2007   Last Updated: April 30, 2007

WHY AM I SO DIFFERENT.....?

They were shouting at me openly. I didn't like it. The words rang in my ears and whirled around my head. "Nigga, Nigga, Nigga!" I know I get called a Nigga because I have coloured skin, my Mum says it's a bad word and nobody should say it. I go to a public, white, primary school, but with an Aboriginal name-Larapinta Primary School. There are boys and girls who go to my school and I'm friends with both.

Standing in the school playground having the words "Nigga, Nigga, Nigga!" shot through me repeatedly, made my cheek muscles twitch. Although I'm only in Year 5, I have been teased constantly about my coloured skin, for as long as I can remember. My name's Mary-Elice and I'm a 10-year-old Aboriginal girl. My brother is also coloured, but he is an American Negro; we are both adopted; I never met my real parents, but I don't care, I was too young Mum says my birth mother was called an ummmm an alcoholic, I think that's what she said And my father was really sick and he died a few years back. That's why I was adopted. The government came to my community and took me to another family (the family I have now). But like I said, I don't care. The parents I have now are my real parents. They respect me, love me, and accept me for who I am and not my colour.

"Mum, what truly is a Nigga? I know you said it was a bad word, but can you please tell me cuz the guys at school told me they were gunna bash me cuz I'm a Nigga" Mum sat in silence, while I stood patiently next to her, waiting for a reply. She appeared as though she was deep in thought. When she finally spoke, she spoke so softly I had to tilt my head on the side so she was speaking into my ear and not just to my face. "Hun. You're too young to understand" She stood up and hugged me tightly. Kissing my head softly, she walked off.

I went up to my room where my Playstation 2 was still switched on, clothes were thrown all over the floor, and the Lego was set up in the corner. Grand Theft Auto was displayed on the screen of my TV. I threw myself heavily down onto my single bed. Immediately, I stood back up, and tromped over to my hanging wall mirror. Staring into the reflection, the tears rolled down my face. Why was I a Nigga? The resentment burrowed in my stomach. Why did I have to be a Nigga? Couldn't I just be normal like everyone else? My parents werethey were both white and my brother doesn't get teased as much coz he ain't an Aboriginal The bean bag next to my TV looked comforting, so I flopped into it. Maybe I had some sort of permanent paint on me? So in the following hour I sat huddled in front of the TV, scratching my arm so hard, that I drew blood taking a layer of skin off. Nope, not permanent paint

I didn't, and just couldn't, understand Why was I so different?

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