A couple of days ago, I found myself having a conversation with a colleague and we found ourselves suddenly skating on the thin ice of "the race conversation." For those of you who have been privileged enough to never have had this conversation, it occurs when two people of two different races (one of privilege and one not so much) come together and end up having a painful, awkward conversation about race in which nobody understands the other side.

I dreaded having this conversation with this particular colleague, considering she has said iffy things about race, things that were not so much racist, but instead a sheer show of her innate privilege and inability to see beyond her own life experiences. I've let her opinions slide under the rug before, simply because I have to consistently see her and getting into an argument about race isn't the foundation for the best work relationship.

But here we were again, having a conversation about race and she uttered the three words I despise more than anything:

"Color doesn't matter."

My immediate, reflexive response to that was a simple, "Yes it does." She responded, "No, it doesn't." I could only respond with silence because I've become tired of explaining myself to people who will never get it.

But it's been eating at me since it happened. I don't believe my colleague is racist and I certainly don't think she had ill intent with her statement, but it continues to amaze me how different of a world people with privilege live in. Because every day of my life, I wish color didn't matter. And to her, it doesn't. However, it does to me. It always has.

My color matters when I walk into class, one of the only black girls, if not the only black girl and I have to be hyper-aware that there is a huge possibility that others are viewing me as angry and loud without me even opening my mouth.

My color matters when I'm dealing with a guest at work and I have to change the way I speak, just in case a guest complains that my natural way of speaking is too harsh, lest I come across as rude despite what words come out of my mouth.

My color matters because when I was 7-years-old, a little girl called me a ni**er and I didn't know what it was. When I asked my mom about it, I saw fear in her eyes because she knew a part of my innocence was gone.

My color matters when my father gets stopped by the police for a traffic violation and the first thing my mind goes to is that I am going to witness my father die in front of me. There's the possibility that he could become another statistic.

My color matters because I know that before I walk into a store I'm going to get followed around and that there's nothing I can do about it because then I'm the angry black girl I try so desperately not to be.

My color matters when people tell me I need to smile more, but never my non-black counterparts. I know it's because a black girl with a resting face is automatically an angry black girl with an attitude in everyone else's eyes.

My color matters when my mother tells me to change the way I speak or I'll never get a job. I tell her I don't care because this is who I am.

My color matters when I pick up the phone call from a prospective employer and change my voice anyway because I can't afford to not have a job.

My color matters every second of every day, when I have to be hyper-aware of who I am, of how people are seeing me, of what people might be thinking about me. My color matters when I have to wonder if people are treating me different because of it and usually they are. My color matters when I look in a magazine and barely see any people who are my color in it.

My color matters because it is who I am. And it always will be.

I desperately wish I could have said all of this to my colleague that day, but there are only so many times you can explain to someone something they will never live. A privileged life in a bubble where color is an abstract concept is something I will never experience and life as a woman of color is something she will never experience. But whether or not a white person chooses to be "color blind," reality remains reality.

Color is real. And it does matter.