The thought of attending a Historically Black College or University first crossed my mind at the age of 16. I was on Winter Break, staying with my sister somewhere close to Boston for the remainder of my time off. We had talked briefly about college in the past, but at that point, entering only into the second semester of my junior year, college seemed so far away. However, I knew I needed to gain some clarity about what I was going to do. So I sat in her office, attempting to warm up after trekking through the snow and two-degree weather– no, that is not an exaggeration. I didn’t know much about where I stood with the hundreds of potential colleges flashing on my laptop screen, but I knew one thing– I knew that I wanted to attend an HBCU. For far too long, I had existed as a minority. Moving from New York to South Texas was a struggle that seemed to be worsening as I became more aware of what it really meant to exist as a Black woman in America. I was tired of being the only Black face in my classrooms, having to politely advise my peers that I would prefer it if they didn’t touch my hair, or telling white boys that they could not convince me to give them an “N-word pass”. I wanted to exist in a space that appreciated me for me, not as the Token Black girl with the big afro but as Cory, a curious and ambitious writer who was becoming further enthralled by the prospect of being a journalist. Writing has always been an outlet for my self-expression. It allowed me to question myself and the world around me without fear of interruption or judgment. Readers might not always agree with my words, but they certainly had no choice but to absorb everything I had to say if they chose to consume my words. By putting my pen to paper, I could talk about anything from the airy vocals of my favorite singers to the injustices that I was privy to. Names such as Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner and Sandra Bland are permanently embedded in my heart, and as more Black names get added to the lists of lives stolen by racism and white supremacy, writing has given me a space to express each emotion that surfaces with each new name– sadness, anger, hopelessness and more. To me, social justice is more than a theory that encourages fairness– it is a necessity if we aim to imagine a world in which Black lives are truly valued. I do not care simply for fairness but rather for equity, for the distribution of resources and ideals that truly better the quality of life for marginalized folks. As I enter my senior year at Howard University as a journalism major, my main goal post-graduation is to promote social justice and intersectionality as much as I possibly can. I was born in a world much better than the one that my ancestors experienced, but it can be made entirely better. I give back to my community not only through lending my voice but through aligning myself with organizations that aim to better the lives of others. My work with nonprofits such as The Borgen Project, HealthHIV and Shepherd’s Table has allowed me to advocate for poverty, health equity and more. I am grateful to my community for the way that it has shaped me, and I am honored to be an attendee of a Historically Black University.

Ambition runs through my veins as does the blood of my ancestors. But for a large portion of the pandemic, my ambition and aspirations felt dormant. I found myself subscribing to the idea that the world was over, that there was no need for me to try any longer. “What’s the point?” is a question that I would ask myself at the end of each day. However, one can only have so many self-pity parties. If you were to give me this prompt a year ago, I would say that the pandemic affected my life in the most negative of negative ways. But I have since learned that the only thing that stands in my way is myself, not a virus. The pandemic shook me to my core and forced me to grapple with my inner demons. In doing so, I have regained that raging ambition. It showed me that I must meet every moment in life with gratitude because life can be taken at any moment. In summation, the pandemic taught me something expressed best by a line in Erykah Badu’s “Didn’t Cha Know”: “Love is life, and life is free”. And I plan to live this life blissfully.

They say that with a sister, you are given a built-in best friend. You laugh, you cry, you vent, and you overcome the obstacles of life with her, connected by much more than blood or DNA. But for a long time, my sister was just that-- my sister. As the youngest of three by seven years (with my sister) and 12 years (with my half-brother), I will admit that I grew up with many advantages. I was permitted to be annoying, inconsiderate, and at times plain rude, with very little punishment. I was “the baby”-- I could do little to no wrong. Unfortunately, my sister received the brunt end of my adolescent shenanigans. We argued, we yelled at one another, and I never hesitated to “tattle-tale” on her. For a long time, I knew that she loved me-- because I was her sister-- but I was not entirely sure that she “liked” me, nor was I sure that she would anytime soon. Yet as I grew older, I became less annoying, more considerate, and I kept my rudeness to a minimum. Our relationship became much less strained, and I even began to think that she liked me. At the same time that I was coming into my own, she was blossoming into her own. I watched her become an amazing woman, and I have long looked up to while navigating through my own adulthood. My sister, a graduate of Northeastern University, was a communications major just as I am, and she now works as the Senior Manager of HR Operations at a mere 27 years old. She loves to travel, and has visited a number of countries. She loves to try new things. She is a dedicated cat mom. She is outspoken. Ambitious. Graceful. Talented. A radiant light in every space that she enters. I look up to my sister, not only for her success, but for her character. She is considerate of others, she is accommodating, and for me especially, she holds the extreme willingness to help. My sister has helped me with college applications and essays, resume building, interview prep, and much more. She has never been hesitant to help me along my journey. To top it all off, she is extremely humble, but also extremely aware of her value. She is the type of woman I aspire to one day be. I have learned from my sister that I do not have to lose myself in order to be successful. I have learned that I can make a difference in any space that I enter, and that my ambition need not be dulled down for the comfort of others. She has shown me that Black women can be strong and sensitive, powerful and humble, self-assured yet always seeking improvement, all at once. She has shown me that Black women do not have to fit in a box in order to be successful. By watching her blossom over the past 19 years, I have learned that success is not some unattainable notion; that through hard work, passion, and dedication, I can achieve anything that I want to. Although I do not have a younger sister by blood, I plan to one day use the lessons that I have learned from her to encourage young women-- especially Black women-- to never tone down their light. I want to encourage them to be their best selves, to exist with a sense of pride and confidence in their identity. I hope to show them that the world truly is their oyster. My sister’s name is Courtney Utsey, and she is my role model because she is unapologetic about who she is, where she comes from, and the places she intends to go. With her, I gain much more than a built-in friend or best friend. I have a role model, a cheerleader, a future travel buddy and much more. Courtney Utsey is one of the most influential people in my life, and I am thankful everyday that I have the privilege of calling someone so special, someone so destined to change this world, my sister.

To be a Black woman is to be in possession of a double-edged sword. On one end exists pride in our history and in our resilience, and on the other end exists the danger of being too much for the world. For a long time, I felt as though I could not exist in this body to the fullest extent. I felt as though I had to shrink myself, dim my light, and pursue my passions quietly in order to be accepted by my non-Black peers. I was led by insecurity and complacency rather than pride in my identity; I was not even sure that I was “allowed” to be fully confident in myself. But they say that with the faith of a mustard seed, one can move mountains, and I work every day to plant seeds of faith, confidence, and pride in myself and in my identity. My tree, while far from fully grown, bears the sweetest of fruits, each seed sown by way of the blood, sweat and tears of the Black women to come before me. The fact of the matter is that my experience as a Black woman has never been easy. Each day, I fight to feel as though I am enough. At times, it feels like that double-edged sword barely scratches the surface in regards to what I am up against. But I yield that sword with the utmost pride. I thrive as a Black woman, I thrive because of Black women, and I thrive for Black women. There is power in this existence, and I would never trade it for anything else in the world. In all that I do, I try to channel the passion, strength, and resilience of myself and of my Black sisters. As an aspiring journalist, I often write about the intersectionality of the Black woman’s existence. I write about our contributions to this world, along with the way that we are fully deserving of love, respect, and protection. Through my words, I hope to inspire others to continuously advocate for us. My experience as a Black woman is at the core of my best attributes; it is the reason for my passion, my ambition, and my continuous strive for change. Though I have little control over all that will occur in this lifetime, I hope to use all that I have learned, and will continue to learn, in order to contribute to a world in which Black women are not ignored, suppressed or abused. Black women are radiant, and I will continue to share their light with the world through my words, through my testimony, and through my existence.

It is often said that individuals, when in adolescence, are like sponges. It is proclaimed that they absorb knowledge, wisdom and mounds of experience in their young lives, and as they get older, they become much more stubborn. Although I am about as stubborn as a 19-year-old gets, I still believe that I have yet to be shaken from that “sponge-like” nature. Even in moments where I fully believe that it is my way or the highway, I try my best to remain absorbent of the perspectives and wisdom of those around me. There is much for me to learn, much for me to experience and much for me to absorb as I become more seasoned in this thing that we call life. As uncomfortable as these processes can be, I am a proponent of the transformation of self, and I believe that the absorption of the knowledge of those around me, as well as this constant change, has shaped me into the woman that I am today. My name is Cory Utsey and I am an ever-growing, ever-absorbent, passionate writer who aims to change the world. I was born to Jeff Utsey and Kya Farrow in New York City. Though we moved through different boroughs such as the Bronx and Brooklyn, I often claim Queens as the borough I am from, as we lived there the longest and my fondest memories of New York take place there. However, I hold somewhat of a dual-citizenship in regards to where I am truly from; I was born in New York, but I have spent the last nine years in Corpus Christi, Texas-- the home of Selena Quintanilla, Eva Longoria and Kevin Abstract. My time in South Texas has not always been pleasant, as I was usually the only Black face in the spaces I entered. I almost became desensitized to the microaggressions, the usage of the n-word by my non-Black peers and the confederate flags flown proudly on cars in the school parking lot. I felt out of place, misunderstood and undervalued as a Black person, and especially as a Black woman, but my experiences in Corpus Christi, Texas are ultimately what led me to attend Howard University and pursue journalism as a career. To be completely transparent, I kind of stumbled into journalism. I took a choir class on a whim during my freshman year of high school, and after I realized that I lacked the passion and the patience to remain in the class, I picked up a “class drop” form and began the search for a replacement. For some reason, I felt compelled to take journalism, as I always enjoyed writing and telling stories. Taking this course ultimately heightened the love that I had for writing, so I decided to stick with it by writing for the school newspaper. From hard news stories, to school event coverage, to feature stories and music reviews, I fell in love with journalism. I was enthralled by the idea that I could use my voice to create compelling stories, that the transference of my thoughts from pen to paper-- or from fingers to keyboard-- could change lives. It became inherently clear that I needed to be a journalist, but I also knew that I no longer wanted to feel like a minority. So I did my research on HBCUs and decided that Howard University was the place for me. I was filled with joy when I learned that I got in. Attending Howard is arguably one of the best decisions that I have ever made, as my professors and peers in the Cathy Hughes School of Communications have taught me so much about what it means to be a good writer. I have learned that storytelling is about more than using good grammar or fancy words. Good writers and storytellers are passionate and adaptive. They know how to reach their audiences by means of any platform, and they offer perspectives that are both well-formed and nuanced. Good writers can approach any topic and understand how to make it compelling. Good writers are compelling. Though it has saddened me to be apart from my peers, professors and campus as a whole due to the pandemic, I have still felt connected to both my Howard family and my passion as a writer. Since we have entered into this COVID-19 world, I have picked up a variety of random interests and hobbies, such as yoga, meditation and roller skating, but I have also started a blog and become a contributing writer to four online magazines and publications. I have covered topics ranging from politics and current events, to Black culture and entertainment, to lifestyle and wellness. Writing has been the method through which I express my views and employ my passions, which are often shaped by intersectional feminism and social activism. I have learned that my voice as a Black woman is important, and that I can use this voice to enact real change, even if it starts small. I believe that this world in need of change, and as a journalist, I hope to contribute to this change. I hope that in my career as a journalist, I will be able to amplify the voices, stories and experiences of marginalized groups, especially Black people. I hope to offer a nuanced, compelling perspective on the contributions that the ignored and undervalued members of society make to society, as well as the ways that we can go about providing equity to these groups. All in all, I hope to facilitate real, tangible change-- even if it starts on a small-scale. I prepare myself for the goals that I have as a writer by staying consistent, doing my research and acknowledging that there will always be room for improvement. As stated previously, all that I have absorbed over the last 19 years has shaped me into the woman that I am today, and I hope to both remain absorbent and create real change in this world.