“Your dad must hate you,” the girls say with disgust. For context, it’s not because of anything he said but more of what he did. Whenever people ask me where my name comes from, I’m honest. “My dad named me after the hurricane,” I say with a sheepish smile. In response, I get constant comments like the one you saw above. To them, my dad wanted me to be destructive, to hurt people. That notion stayed with me, so much so that I told people that my name meant chocolate in German, trying to distance myself from my name as much as possible. It shaped who I was and was going to be. However, that all changed this past semester. My dad, an immigrant from Trinidad and Tobago, works as a “maintenance man” for a Jewish real estate firm. In other words, whatever they want him to do he does, no questions asked. Whether that’s cleaning without proper protection to late nights guarding stores in some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Brooklyn, he does it with a smile that warms any heart. For over 20 years, everything was ok- until it wasn’t. He got a bad case of pneumonia and had to be sent to the hospital to undergo massive surgery. Seeing him, my hero, weak in a hospital room almost broke me- almost. It angered me that this could have been prevented. This firm used him as cheap labor, risking his life every day all because my dad didn’t understand his rights as a worker and a human. I know what you are wondering- how does this relate to my name? Well, my dad named me after the hurricane because he wanted me to have the strength to reawaken a vision for a world lost in corruption and chaos- he wanted me to create a world of peace. This experience taught me the power of cultural anthropology and political science in understanding and addressing systemic injustice. Anthropology reveals how deeply our lives are shaped by culture, labor systems, and community values. Political science, on the other hand, provides the tools to analyze and challenge the power structures that perpetuate inequality. Together, these fields offer a holistic approach to fostering change. My studies at Cornell University focus on this intersection, with majors in Government and minors in Anthropology, Inequality Studies, and Law and Society. Cultural anthropology reminds me of the importance of understanding the lived experiences of others, while political science equips me with the tools to fight for policy change. These to work hand in hand with each other: anthropology shows us the human stories behind inequality, and political science shows us how to dismantle the structures that enforce it. For example, understanding immigrant communities’ cultural and historical contexts allows us to effectively advocate for policies that protect their rights and dignity. My ultimate goal is to become a civil rights attorney. I want to use the lessons from my studies—and from my father’s journey—to create a world where no one must endure exploitation in silence. By pursuing the ideas of cultural anthropology and political science, I aim to reimagine systems of power in ways that honor human dignity and create equity. This scholarship will help put my knowledge into practice by elevating the voices of the unheard and changing the laws and institutions that have an impact on their daily lives. So like Hurricane Katrina, in the end, I will unify people through the strength of their loved ones who have been exploited and hurt to create a world of peace.

“Your dad must hate you,” the girls say with disgust. For context, it’s not because of anything he said but more of what he did. Whenever people ask me where my name comes from, I’m honest. “My dad named me after the hurricane,” I say with a sheepish smile. In response, I get constant comments like the one you saw above. To them, my dad wanted me to be destructive, to hurt people. That notion stayed with me, so much so that I told people that my name meant chocolate in German, trying to distance myself from my name as much as possible. It shaped who I was and was going to be. However, that all changed this past semester. My dad, an immigrant from Trinidad and Tobago, works as a “maintenance man” for a Jewish real estate firm. In other words, whatever they want him to do he does, no questions asked. Whether that’s cleaning without proper protection to late nights guarding stores in some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Brooklyn, he does it with a smile that warms any heart. For over 20 years, everything was ok- until it wasn’t. He got a bad case of pneumonia and had to be sent to the hospital to undergo massive surgery. Seeing him, my hero, weak in a hospital room almost broke me- almost. It angered me that this could have been prevented. This firm used him as cheap labor, risking his life every day all because my dad didn’t understand his rights as a worker and a human. I know what you are wondering- how does this relate to my name? Well, my dad named me after the hurricane because he wanted me to have the strength to reawaken a vision for a world lost in corruption and chaos- he wanted me to create a world of peace. That experience allowed me to reimagine what it means to strive for success. Striving for success centers on the belief that your personal growth and achievements should contribute to uplifting others. It’s not just about individual milestones but about how your journey positively impacts those around you. I can have all the opportunities in the world, but if I don’t know how to harness them, how will I help others understand their rights? I’ve already begun striving for success by contributing to organizations like Justice for Black Girls and Cornell University Diversity Admission Ambassadors. These experiences have deepened my commitment to ensuring that marginalized communities gain access to education, opportunities, and justice. The Concrete Rose Scholarship represents the next important step on this journey. It would allow me to continue to gain resources to focus on my studies and advocacy. With this support, I could amplify the impact I hope to make in law and policy, empowering women and families of color to live free from exploitation. Like the rose that grows from concrete, this scholarship will help me rise above challenges and use my unique story to transform adversity into advocacy. So like Hurricane Katrina, in the end, I will use the scholarship to become a human rights attorney, unifying people through the strength of their loved ones who have been exploited and hurt to create a world of peace.

“Your dad must hate you,” the girls say with disgust. For context, it’s not because of anything he said but more of what he did. Whenever people ask me where my name comes from, I’m honest. “My dad named me after the hurricane,” I say with a sheepish smile. In response, I get constant comments like the one you saw above. To them, my dad wanted me to be destructive, to hurt people. That notion stayed with me, so much so that I told people that my name meant chocolate in German, trying to distance myself from my name as much as possible. It shaped who I was and was going to be. However, that all changed this past semester. My dad, an immigrant from Trinidad and Tobago, works as a “maintenance man” for a Jewish real estate firm. In other words, whatever they want him to do he does, no questions asked. Whether that’s cleaning without proper protection to late nights guarding stores in some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Brooklyn, he does it with a smile that warms any heart. For over 20 years, everything was ok- until it wasn’t. He got a bad case of pneumonia and had to be sent to the hospital to undergo massive surgery. Seeing him, my hero, weak in a hospital room almost broke me- almost. It angered me that this could have been prevented. This firm used him as cheap labor, risking his life every day all because my dad didn’t understand his rights as a worker and a human. I know what you are wondering- how does this relate to my name? Well, my dad named me after the hurricane because he wanted me to have the strength to reawaken a vision for a world lost in corruption and chaos- he wanted me to create a world of peace. That experience allowed me to reimagine what it means to strive for success. Striving for success centers on the belief that your personal growth and achievements should contribute to uplifting others. It’s not just about individual milestones but about how your journey positively impacts those around you. I can have all the opportunities in the world, but if I don’t know how to harness them, how will I help others understand their rights? With the Bright Lights Scholarship, I will gain the tools and experiences to make a meaningful impact. This scholarship is an essential part of my journey. It will allow me to continue to learn, intern, and grow in environments where I can understand the mechanics of systemic inequities and develop solutions to address them. So like Hurricane Katrina, in the end, I will use the scholarship to become a human rights attorney, unifying people through the strength of their loved ones who have been exploited and hurt to create a world of peace.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. Majoring in Government at Cornell University, I am able to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Comparative Politics and International Relations to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian Creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. I grew up not knowing who I was. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, but then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, a special word is used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. “Wow, she sounds like she came straight out of the jungle,” they sneered. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I was seeing red. Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder. It was a hand that removed all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drove Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. I soon realized that writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" is no longer a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and at the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will do both of these things by continuing to write poetry surrounding the issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. Also, I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this scholarship, I know that I could continue to do all these things and be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over. Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent. The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over.  Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent.  The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over.  Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent.  The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Dear Future Black Girl By: Katrina Greene Dear Future Black Girl, You are a wonder in this world. You shine like a beautiful pearl, Dancing in the sea with a luminous twirl, That even the waves tremble in its presence Powerful and tempestuous, desirous of pleasance. Your chocolate skin melts with cocoa butter, With a glow that makes everyone mutter. Your blinding confidence is bold stars, Written with many memoirs, And spoken in seminars. But there is much more to you than I can ever know. Dear Future Black Girl, You are the future of this world. Your power is an omnipotent pearl, And you will change the lives of so many girls. They’ll climb the distant mountains, To a peak that will have overflowing fountains, Enriched in dreams of wonder, That will never go under. You will inspire so many girls, From their beautiful smiles to their coily curls. You will strengthen their minds to be steel, Without making them lose what is real. In spite of the fact that not everything is ideal, You will know how to make it appeal, To create a space where it will never be concealed. Dear Future Black Girl, Make that change, Because the future can not be rearranged.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over.  Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent.  The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over.  Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent.  The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over.  Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent.  The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

Everyone in my family called me “The Odd One Out.” I am a second-generation American born in Brooklyn. Growing up, my Trinidadian family whined to soca singer, Machel Montano, the smell of bake and saltfish lingering, while I listened to the Notorious B.I.G. I snuck dollar slices from around the corner, “garbage” that my mom hated me eating. “Don’t eat that pizza, gyal,” she’d say after catching me. I loved my family, but despite how close we were, I felt so far away from them. I never could understand why my mother always cooked pholourie every time I was sad and why my siblings always spoke Trinidadian creole at home, a language I could understand, but never fully lend my voice to. Sorrow filled my heart. “The Odd One Out” became a burden that stuck to me like pumpkin on curry goat and roti. I didn’t think I’d ever find myself, then one day in my sophomore year that all changed. In Trinidad, there is a special word used to describe an incident marked by drama or conflict. It is called bacchanal. A bacchanal occurred that day. My mom and I were at a bank and I had sat down when suddenly she called me over.  Two Black girls behind the counter were making fun of my mom’s accent.  The icing on the cake was that no one did anything. I. SAW. RED! Just as I was about to open my mouth, a gentle hand appeared on my shoulder, removing all anger from my body. It was my mom. The moment I looked at her, I saw who I truly was. Her eyes did not tell a story, nor did she cry. As though in the eyes of a hurricane, she was a house broken by the torment of the world, a frame and foundation, just enough for someone to rebuild. Silence. We left and got in the car. My mom turned around, stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “Be strong” and I cried. I cried for my mother, who used food as a way to comfort me. I cried for my siblings, who hid their roots to fit in. I cried for all Trinidadians who tried to find their way in the “land of opportunities” while struggling to survive in low-income neighborhoods. Finally, I cried for myself. I realized that those in my community felt unwelcomed, just as I did. Eventually, I wiped my tears away and thought about how to bring light to these conflicts. I found purpose in being “The Odd One Out.” I wrote poems about issues that drive Black girls like myself to feel confused, and about how we might put an end to racial disparities within Black communities. My former 7th-grade teacher was so impressed by my desire for change, she invited me to present my poetry at Columbia University’s Diversity in Research and Practice Conference. I enjoyed every moment of it. I soon realized that the process of writing poetry was essential to my identity. By researching cultures and conversing with neighbors, I embraced my roots and allowed myself to see the world differently. I am now immensely proud of my family. I understand their struggles trying to assimilate into American culture and finally appreciate all the ways they tried to connect me to my heritage. The resilience they instilled in me will remain for the rest of my life and I will continue to use poetry as a beacon of hope. Being "The Odd One Out" no longer stands as a burden, it is a gift.

One of the activities that have played an important role in shaping who I am is Justice For Black Girls, in which I have been an ambassador for over 5 years. This group has helped me strive to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community throughout New York through workshops and presentations. The amazing group of women I collaborated with aided me in finding out more about my heritage while helping me develop a newfound confidence that I never knew was there. In college, I will continue to learn how to advocate for Black girls in Caribbean communities by joining a Caribbean club in college. As a Caribbean American girl growing up in Brooklyn, I developed my passion and appreciation for the inclusion of intersectional ideas and social justice. Studying the origin of steel drums outside of school, analyzing how cultural diffusion between the U.S. and the Caribbean has reshaped the “American Dream” over the years in high school, and exploring Cyril Lionel Robert James' theory that socialism and liberalism can be combined to combat racial inequities throughout the world, I gained a sense of closeness to my heritage while wanting to explore the uniqueness of the world to make it better. Striving to modify the racial disparities within the Caribbean community in and out of the U.S. drives me to want to become a U.S. ambassador for Trinidad and Tobago and learn how to use my passions to help advocate for the Caribbean community in college. I am, also, interested in the criminalization of black girls throughout the U.S., and I believe that it is due to the school-to-prison pipeline. The increase in school disturbance laws and zero-tolerance policies has caused an increase in police presence and harsh punishments for minor misbehaviors in school, which targets Black girls who live primarily in low-income, Caribbean communities. I spoke about this at Columbia University's Annual Diversity in Research Conference and the National Urban League. I read my poem "Life, My Black Life" which describes my experiences growing up as a Black girl in a community where violence and discrimination are prevalent. The poem ends with a call for Black girls to use their voices to save their communities. I will use my two passions to compare and study policies around America, learn the history of policymaking, change the laws that criminalize black girls, reinforce the school-to-prison pipeline, and silence the voices of these girls. By majoring in social anthropology/criminology/political science at any college I attend, I will be given the chance to explore these ideas while also learning to grow my community. This inspires and pushes me to study the areas of Inequality and Identity and Politics, Law, and Rights to research how colorism and sexism during slavery influenced the criminalization of Black girls now and why it has caused Black people to turn against each other. Through this, I know that I could be a part of a future that is full of kindness and more open to reasoning.