I sat down on the couch backstage, crossing my legs, leaning my head on the back of the couch. I sighed. I knew I'd done good. More than good; I'd done fantastic. Not even Uchiha had spoken on the program; his speech had been in parliament. And this program was far more popular than speeches held in parliament. Even so, people would be comparing and contrasting us, two good speakers on opposing sides of the spectrum, political enemies who were both young.

And I had slaughtered him.

I heard footsteps. A hand reached out a glass of water to me.

"You did well."

It was the man with the Argentinian beer, Hank.

"I know", I said, smirking. "And thank you." No harm in displaying a bit of humbleness.

"So..." Hank sat down on the armrest, looking down on me. "I want you to apply for the parliament election. I'm certain you'll win a place."

I smiled. "Certainly."

"You're rhetorical skills are excellent. You will front our party many, many times from now on."

Hank left. I finished my water. 

The gravel crunched beneath my feet. The mornings were now frightfully icy, making the gravel necessary even in these parts of the city where the flow of people would normally cause any snow and ice to melt away almost instantaneously. I mindlessly looked into the shop windows displaying expensive winter coats and thick, long skirts, scarves and hats. The fairy lights in the trees lining the avenues were beautifully contrasted against the already dark early evening sky, the streets lined with happy shoppers.

I sipped my paper mug of coffee as I looked around me and saw stressed parents doing their Christmas shopping, elderly couples holding hands, teenage lovers, families trying to control their children among the temporary stalls lining the avenue selling candies grapes, churros, candy canes and mulled wine. I smiled warmly. They were all white, making the whole scene very soothing to the eyes. This was what I fought for, I thought. If the flow of immigrants kept going like it had done, all of this would be lost. The people lining our streets would be mixed. Coloured people would be taking the jobs of those who truly deserved it, making them unable to go shopping like this.

My eyes caught one particular family consisting of a mother, a father and a teenage boy. The teenage boy, with long, brown hair hanging over his eyes, probably a gamer, was walking with his eyes downcast, but the small smile playing on his lips made it clear he was actually enjoying being out with his parents in December. His mother had crooked his arm, his father speaking to him at his other side, pointing into a shopping window of the science fiction book shop. The boy's face lit up, and they went in. 

The whole scene inevitably reminded me of my own family, my own parents. I has been an only child as well, just like that boy, and just like him I'd been close to my parents. They had never let the flow of money into the household compensate their love and affection for me. My mother and I were closer than me and my father, and I often came to her with my teenage and early twenty problems. My father and I discussed politics. He had been very much to the left, always speaking about justice, immigration, healthcare policies and housing prices. I had still been searching for who I was politically, but I always played the devil's advocate with my father, asking him countering questions to his, according to most, very healthy and reasonable political ideas. 

One day, he'd sat down and had a talk with me as he'd been worried about my countering questions.

"Don't worry, dad", I'd said. "I'm just testing the grounds. Seeing how well your ideas hold. So far, they've held up good."

He'd looked relieved at this and moved on with his day, asking me if I wanted to have his special grilled burgers for dinner since the weather was nice and he had a whole new grill waiting to be used outside. Life had been perfect then. And it had kept being perfect.

Until one day, fourteen years ago, when I was twenty-two.

They had been murdered.

"Oy! Watch it!"

In my daydreaming, I had accidentally walked into a middle-aged man.

"Sorry", I said, turned around... 

And I saw him.

A bit further up front, my eyes caught a mane of black, choppy hair. It was far longer and wilder than it had looked on camera, when he'd had it up in his mahogany chopstick, and seemed to melt together with his black coat. He was standing at a stall, back to me, hands on a wheelchair on which sat a frail-looking Middle Eastern woman with so much poise, she could've said she owned everything and I would've believed her. Uchiha looked incredibly strong and tall, and I found myself wondering whether he was taller than me or not. Judging by the fact I was probably going to win a place in parliament and he was highly likely to keep his, I was sure I would stand close enough at some point to find out. He reached his hand out and took two sticks of candied grapes from the person working in the stall and gave one to the elderly woman. And as she said something he turned his face slightly so I could see it, and smiled warmly at the woman's words. To my great surprise, he wore glasses that made him look very expensive. He took one of the candied grapes in between his teeth and pulled it off neatly.

What the hell are you doing? I thought. Why do you enhance your heritage by associating with a brown woman?

I found myself feeling incredibly sorry for him. Imagine being so handsome, so competent and then be Asian. The poor man must feel so sorry for himself, wishing he were my colour.

But at that moment, he looked very unbothered by the fact that he was Asian. He turned the wheelchair and walked towards me. He passed me where I was walking with my paper mug of coffee without even noticing me, conversing happily with the lady.

And a thought struck me like a lightning bolt from the winter sky.

Do I think it's a pity he's Asian for himself... Or for my sake?