We collect and congregate in groups of the similar. There are borders between us. So many borders. And we can’t even see. Borders we build without realising we’re building. Borders not just of place, though they exist too. We build borders of colour. Borders of religion. Borders of other.
Aspects of our identity mark us and keep us separate from other. Corralling those marked the same together. Fencing off those marked different. Race, religion, gender, politics. And on and on to the lesser markers such as accents, the logos you wear, the side of the street you live on.
We clump together like beads of rainwater streaming down a window pane, pooling on the ground. Drowning in sameness. Accepting no challenge to our identity. Clinging to it tightly, fearing it could be ripped from us.
We repel otherness like water repels oil. Sometimes specs of oil gather on the surface and we see the water polluted, unclean. We see others gathering in our bubble of sameness and look on them the same. But we must remember that we are neither oil nor water. Oil and water can not mix. We can. Oil and water rush away from each other through compulsion. The only compulsion that pushes us away from each other is ourselves. Us. Our identity. Words we have gathered to say to the world this is me. This is who I am. What I am. We use these words to separate.
Oil and water can not mix but we can. People of differing identities can come together to create new people. Our identities are arbitrary words assigned or chosen. They do not prevent black and white from coming together to create new life. They do not prevent Christian and Muslim from joining. We are human. All of us. Regardless of the words we use to identify us as individuals. We are all human. The words do not matter.
We need not be fenced in. We can become explorers of a larger world. We can be more. We must simply accept that we are all one. One great whole with parts that are the same but different.