Unless something egregiously racist happens, I tend to undermine my gut feelings that something is in fact race-based. I’d so much rather pretend someone is staring at me because my attempt at the perfect cat-eye is melting all over my face than simply because I’m black. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my race—I absolutely think being black is something to be proud of, and I would never change the color of my skin. I’m not into the whole color-blind thing because I don’t want people to be ignore something that’s such an integral part of me. But I also don’t want it to be the source of anything unpleasant, which is where the second-guessing comes in.