Brian Jin

Constant Color

A classroom dominated by the 90% while I belong in the 10%.
They are all brown while I’m the only yellow.
I hear them talking about a “partido” and a potluck.
My eyes face the opposite direction, but my ears cover all directions.
I can close my eyes but not my ears.
I try to comprehend the differences between us.
The only difference I can clearly see is our “kulay.”
My skin itches with deception.
I bask in the sun to try and change my identity.
Why did I think identities could be distorted or erased?
I just want to shorten the distance of separation.


What has happened to the light? Why do only shadows of the night remain? Has the day gone by so quickly that the night now dominates my identity?

My body and mind begin to transmute as my eyes begin to weaken. One now occupies a house that was once occupied by many. The land’s soil deteriorates and the grass’ bright color begins to fade. No sound or light escapes the house. My identity struggles to hold on. My vision starts to corrode further, and I see only shapes and shadows of objects around my surroundings.

What has caused the weakness of light and strength of darkness in my eyes?

I awake in this empty house as an empty shell of myself. Every action seems to be like a clock that ticks every second, every minute, and every hour. Time changes but the clock continues to tick and remains unchanged. The sun no longer touches this house and land. I come across an object of reflection. With my eyes I open with what last light I have. In the object I see my body that has fused with the dark background and an unfamiliar face that has become my face. Yes almost like this world now, yes like that of a raven.

Brian Jin is a first-year student in Questrom School of Business at Boston University. When he has nothing better to do, he listens to music and contemplates life. You might see his behaviors as odd or troublesome.