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Carrying the Unseen: Amara’s Everyday Journey
A Short Story By Margaret Lewis
Amara sat upright on the train; her hands folded in her lap as she watched the city pass by outside the window. Despite the carriage being full, the seat next to her remained empty. Other passengers glanced in her direction, seemed to consider sitting beside her, and then moved on. Amara tried to convince herself that she was unaffected, but every glance felt like a silent rejection, leaving her with a quiet ache beneath her composed exterior.
This subtle exclusion was ever-present in Amara’s daily life. In shops, she observed security guards and staff paying her closer attention than others. Whenever she picked up or put down an item, a staff member was always nearby, monitoring her actions. Shopping was an exercise in vigilance; she noticed other shoppers becoming guarded, some clutching their bags more tightly, others offering awkward, uncomfortable smiles. Amara took deliberate steps to avoid suspicion, keeping her own bag zipped, holding her purchases in clear view, and always requesting receipts—prepared to prove her innocence if questioned.
Amara felt the weight of stares directed at her locs, each one a carefully maintained expression of self. Yet, instead of seeing her individuality, strangers seemed to perceive only tired stereotypes, making assumptions about her based on her hair and appearance. These preconceptions shaped how she was viewed before she even had a chance to speak, settling over her like an invisible shroud.
At work, the exclusion continued in more understated ways. She found herself left out of kitchen conversations and encountered awkward pauses whenever she spoke in meetings. Comments such as “Your accent is hard to understand” or “Could you slow down? I can’t understand you” were frequent, despite her calm and clear tone. Although Amara was born and raised in South England, colleagues often questioned her origins, asking, “Where are you from?” as if her presence defied their expectations.
Microaggressions became a daily occurrence. Offhand remarks about her lunch, her favourite songs, or her locs, and the unspoken expectation that she should speak for everyone who looked like her, created a constant sense of otherness. Even compliments—“I bet people find you intimidating,” or “You’re beautiful for a Black woman”—were laced with qualifiers, implying that acceptance was conditional and always tinged with surprise.
Some moments of discrimination were more blatant and painful. On one occasion, a person joked about plantations and slavery, shattering the surface of politeness and revealing outright racism. In these moments, Amara realised that her efforts to avoid confrontation—her habit of keeping quiet—had never protected her from harm. Instead, her silence had only made her more vulnerable to both subtle and overt prejudice.
The pain Amara experienced was not hers alone. She felt a deep, inherited grief for those who had endured unimaginable suffering and indignity before her, paving the way for future generations. Yet, she could not escape the question—after so many sacrifices, what sense of belonging was she left with?
When Amara asserted herself, she was often labelled “aggressive” or “intimidating.” After one meeting where she spoke with care and composure, a colleague claimed to feel threatened by her presence, and the office door quietly closed and locked in the aftermath. The concern of others shifted away from her, her calmness and professionalism overlooked, her presence recast as dangerous.
On her way home, the pattern repeated. In the lift, a woman drew her bag closer, prompting Amara to offer a practiced, reassuring smile—a smile she had been told to wear for the comfort of others. She remembered hearing, “Smile, love,” as if she owed warmth to strangers. Each day, she performed these small acts to ease the discomfort of those around her, even if at the expense of her own well-being.
By the day’s end, Amara would shed this carefulness like a heavy coat. Some evenings, the exhaustion was overwhelming—the fatigue of constantly reassuring others and shrinking herself to fit their expectations. Only in the quiet of her flat did she let her shoulders relax. Looking at her reflection—brows at ease, lips uncurved, locs framing her face—she allowed herself to exist without pretence or explanation. In these precious moments of solitude, she reclaimed a small measure of peace, a reminder that she belonged wholly to herself.
Epilogue
Long after the echoes of each day’s challenges had faded, Amara’s story remained—a testament to quiet strength and unwavering self-acceptance. Her journey was not just her own; it reflected the experiences of countless others whose struggles were often unseen or misunderstood. By naming these moments, Amara claimed them as truths, refusing to let them remain hidden or diminished.
In the sanctuary of her own presence, she discovered that peace was not something freely given by the world, but something to be reclaimed, day by day, through small acts of defiance and tenderness. The persistent weight of expectation could not diminish the fullness of her being. With each silent evening, each breath reclaimed from the demands of performance, Amara affirmed that true belonging begins within.
Her story invites us all to listen more closely—to notice the invisible burdens others carry, to challenge inherited biases, and to honour the many ways people find their own quiet peace. In the end, it is the courage to simply be—without apology or explanation—that paves the way for others to do the same.