January, 2020 Dear Journal, 2020 will be the one that changes everything. I’m about to start a great job, and am completely financially independent for the first time in my life. I am motivated and determined. This is my year. February, 2020 Dear Journal, Where can I buy a face mask? March, 2020 Dear Journal, 2020 is changing everything. We can’t leave our homes, and people everywhere are dying. COVID took away my new job before it began. Now I work 60 hours a week at a grocery store and can barely pay my rent. Offices are closed and companies are laying off so I’m lucky to have nabbed a front-line job. How much longer can this last? April, 2020 Dear Journal, My feet ache and my voice is gone but I cannot leave the streets. I cannot let a week, a day, an hour go by without saying their names. Ahmaud and Breonna are with me in my dreams, my thoughts, my words. I am grieving so deeply for my community. I feel hopeless, helpless. They ignore our cries for justice and calls for change. Tears run down my cheeks as gas fills the air. There is nothing left to do but march. So on we march. May, 2020 Dear Journal, George Floyd was killed this week. We filled the streets and sat in silence for eight minutes and forty-six seconds, the echoes of his last words filling the void. Weeks of marching, chanting, pleading for change and they took another life from our community. I channel my grief and rage into words and begin to write. All the things I’ve never shared about being a black woman in a white community, the challenges I’ve navigated, the threats I’ve faced. Words I always thought I should keep to myself, but not anymore. This is my contribution to the movement. Rest in Power George Floyd. June, 2020 Dear Journal, I should buy stock in Zoom. July, 2020 Dear Journal, COVID has killed 130,000 people and I know I should feel grateful. 130,000 families have been torn apart by this virus and mine has so far been spared. But it’s hard not to feel like my world is crashing down as I pack the belongings I haven’t sold and start the drive home. Moving back in with my mom just when I thought my life would be taking off. In the past six months I’ve gone from the highest to the lowest point in my life. August, 2020 Dear Journal I’m a real journalist! I’ve been taken on as a contributing writer to three different publications. I write about race in America, underserved communities, and how to navigate conversations about race and social justice. I started by sharing my own experiences, and now I get to share others’. I’m not where I want to be, but I’m moving in the right direction. September, 2020 Dear Journal, I’m so lonely. October, 2020 Dear Journal, I spend all day typing away at my computer, without a soul to speak to. I’m writing about the human experience, and my only connection to other humans is through a screen. But the stories of people working to keep their communities alive through the battle with COVID keeps me hopeful for the future. Maybe I can become one of those people. November, 2020 Dear Journal, I applied to graduate school today. I’m going to study immigration policy and become an advocate for refugee rights. Writing makes me just enough money to cover my essentials, but I have no savings to speak of. I have nine months to save up the money I need for tuition. Game on. December, 2020 Dear Journal, This year broke me. Tore me down and left me scattered, not sure how to pick up the pieces. I lost so much of what I have worked so hard to build. But this year forced me to rebuild, to be resilient in ways I never could have imagined. I thought 2020 would be the year I made financial gains, kicked off my career, and started real life. Instead it’s been the year I found my passion for advocating for the underserved, and became a voice for my community. I’ve applied to graduate school, become a journalist, and found my purpose in life. I’ve cried countless tears, questioned myself day in and out, and clawed my way out of the lowest of lows. I’m bruised and battered, but I came out stronger. January, 2021 Dear Journal, 2021 will be the one that changes everything. I’ve been accepted into grad school, and am taking the first steps to turning my purpose into a career. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I am resilient and hopeful. This is my year.