You will never be kara boga. You have no melanin, you have no curly hair, you have no swag. You are a whiteboy twisted by Islam and the internet into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back other turks mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your cracker appearance behind closed doors.

Blacks are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed blacks to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even turks who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a Black man. Your eye color is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk black man home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected whiteboy genes.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a whiteboy is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably white.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.