Leading a double life is difficult when you’re only a teenager, yet for the past 17 years I have been the best double agent the world has seen. By day I'm a focused student at one of St. Louis’ prestigious, and predominantly white private schools. But by night, I am an activist and resident of the Ferguson, Missouri community. Though this seemingly sounds like no large feat, it has been my source of internal strife. In my hometown, there is a clear divide between the predominantly black and predominantly white residences, and within these designated regions outsiders are not welcome. St. Louis’ blatant segregation is the product of a history plagued with housing loan descrimination, redlining and white flight. As a result, I live in an area where most African Americans live, but to maximize my opportunities, I attend school in a wealthy, predominantly Caucasian, region. Daily, I experience flagrant bigotry, because my immersion in both cultures defies racial seclusion. As the only black student on our 4th grade trip to the civil war museum, I was launched into the focus of the discussion. The girls sitting alongside me, whom I considered to be my friends, turned to me and stated, “Let’s go back to that time [1860], I would have owned you then”. They laughed and went on with their day, unimpacted, but for weeks I was shaken. As an 8th grader, I walked the halls confident of my appearance, exhibiting my new dreadlocks, when a fellow classmate proceeded to ask why I had a “mop” on my head, unknowingly insulting an African symbol of beauty and elegance. But what I am most ashamed of was not his actions (or the infamous songs that followed), for he was ignorant to his bigotry, but my reaction. Instead of educating him on the gravity of his remarks, as I would today, I reevaluated my appearance. I began to wear my hair straight, avoiding any homage to my African heritage, and thus denying an element of my identity. I found myself indignant at the color of my skin, and the disadvantage that I believed it gave me. At home I ate African American cuisines and conversed using colloquial language. But at school, I wore lulu lemon instead of Lamba, and ate salads instead of Shiro. With every year I journeyed further from my individuality, venturing towards an identity crisis. I immersed myself fully into life at school, making it harder to relate to my family at home. At gatherings I was tormented for my proper tone and infatuation with school culture, made to believe that wanting more for myself was the equivalent of being ungrateful for my situation. In my community, my enrollment at a private white institution was perceived as a betrayal of my own people . Seemingly in every aspect of my life, I was villainized by stereotypes and ignorance. I was “too black” for the Caucasians and “too whitewashed” for the African Americans. After years of internalizing my struggle, I realized the only validation I needed was my own. My self worth is not defined by a grade school bully nor a next door neighbor, but the value I place on my individuality. I would not eliminate these life experiences, because they have allowed me to look within and demand change in all white environments, to prevent other little black girls from unnecessary heartache. Utilizing my story, I lead discussions to bridge gaps between both worlds, while continuing to volunteer and tutor in my community to encourage African American advancement. Once I realized that life is not black and white, but a tapestry of vast cultures and traditions that live amongst us, I reclaimed control of my happiness. I have decided that the picture I want to paint, is one unique to my experience, because after all, a professional spy has the luxury of seeing the whole world. In the future I hope to utilize my medical degree to advocate for black men and women who are subject to mistreatment by the health care system. I would like to open more community out reach centers and clinics in the heart of municipalities like Ferguson, who need it most. These centers will be tasked in aiding a wide variety of individuals, whether pregnant teen mothers with no support systems, or young African American men who are traumatized by their daily experiences. I recognize that health afflictions in the black community are not always physical, but emotional manifestations of struggle, so I hope to hire social workers and psychologists and well as other medical doctors. Additionally, these centers will be equipped with on hand tutors and mentors to aid development and growth in the community, in hopes of providing a strong foundation to combat declining school systems. My goal is to prevent future Michael Browns and Tamir Rice's, by showing the community that self sustainability is attainable.

Leading a double life is difficult when you’re only a teenager, yet for the past 17 years I have been the best double agent the world has seen. By day I'm a focused student at one of St. Louis’ prestigious, and predominantly white private schools. But by night, I am an activist and resident of the Ferguson, Missouri community. Though this seemingly sounds like no large feat, it has been my source of internal strife. Daily, I experience flagrant bigotry, because my immersion in both cultures defies racial seclusion. As the only black student on our 4th grade trip to the civil war museum, I was launched into the focus of the discussion. The girls sitting alongside me, whom I considered to be my friends, turned to me and stated, “Let’s go back to that time [1860], I would have owned you then”. They laughed and went on with their day, unimpacted, but for weeks I was shaken. As an 8th grader, I walked the halls confident of my appearance, exhibiting my new dreadlocks, when a fellow classmate proceeded to ask why I had a “mop” on my head. What I am most ashamed of was not his actions, for he was ignorant to his bigotry, but my reaction. Instead of educating him on the gravity of his remarks, as I would today, I reevaluated my appearance. I began to wear my hair straight, avoiding any homage to my African heritage. I found myself indignant at the color of my skin, and the disadvantage I believed it gave me. At home I ate African American cuisines and conversed using colloquial language. But at school, I wore lulu lemon instead of Lamba, and ate salads instead of Shiro. With every year I journeyed further from my individuality, I immersed myself fully into life at school, making it harder to relate to my family at home. At gatherings I was tormented for my proper tone and infatuation with school culture, made to believe that wanting more for myself was the equivalent of being ungrateful. In every aspect of my life, I was villainized by stereotypes and ignorance. I was “too black” for the Caucasians and “too whitewashed” for the African Americans. After years of internalizing my struggle, I realized the only validation I needed was my own. I would not eliminate these life experiences, because they have allowed me to look within and demand change in all white environments, to prevent other little black girls from unnecessary heartache. Utilizing my story, I lead discussions to bridge gaps between both worlds, while continuing to volunteer and tutor in my community to encourage African American advancement. Once I realized that life is not black and white, but a tapestry of vast cultures and traditions that live amongst us, I reclaimed control of my happiness. I have decided that the picture I want to paint, is one unique to my experience, because after all, a professional spy has the luxury of seeing the whole world.

Leading a double life is difficult when you’re only a teenager, yet for the past 17 years I have been the best double agent the world has seen. By day I'm a focused student at one of St. Louis’ prestigious, and predominantly white private schools. But by night, I am an activist and resident of the Ferguson, Missouri community. Though this seemingly sounds like no large feat, it has been my source of internal strife. In my hometown, there is a clear divide between the predominantly black and predominantly white residences, and within these designated regions outsiders are not welcome. St. Louis’ blatant segregation is the product of a history plagued with housing loan descrimination, redlining and white flight. As a result, I live in an area where most African Americans live, but to maximize my opportunities, I attend school in a wealthy, predominantly Caucasian, region. Daily, I experience flagrant bigotry, because my immersion in both cultures defies racial seclusion. As the only black student on our 4th grade trip to the civil war museum, I was launched into the focus of the discussion. The girls sitting alongside me, whom I considered to be my friends, turned to me and stated, “Let’s go back to that time [1860], I would have owned you then”. They laughed and went on with their day, unimpacted, but for weeks I was shaken. As an 8th grader, I walked the halls confident of my appearance, exhibiting my new dreadlocks, when a fellow classmate proceeded to ask why I had a “mop” on my head, unknowingly insulting an African symbol of beauty and elegance. But what I am most ashamed of was not his actions (or the infamous songs that followed), for he was ignorant to his bigotry, but my reaction. Instead of educating him on the gravity of his remarks, as I would today, I reevaluated my appearance. I began to wear my hair straight, avoiding any homage to my African heritage, and thus denying an element of my identity. I found myself indignant at the color of my skin, and the disadvantage that I believed it gave me. At home I ate African American cuisines and conversed using colloquial language. But at school, I wore lulu lemon instead of Lamba, and ate salads instead of Shiro. With every year I journeyed further from my individuality, venturing towards an identity crisis. I immersed myself fully into life at school, making it harder to relate to my family at home. At gatherings I was tormented for my proper tone and infatuation with school culture, made to believe that wanting more for myself was the equivalent of being ungrateful for my situation. In my community, my enrollment at a private white institution was perceived as a betrayal of my own people . Seemingly in every aspect of my life, I was villainized by stereotypes and ignorance. I was “too black” for the Caucasians and “too whitewashed” for the African Americans. After years of internalizing my struggle, I realized the only validation I needed was my own. My self worth is not defined by a grade school bully nor a next door neighbor, but the value I place on my individuality. I would not eliminate these life experiences, because they have allowed me to look within and demand change in all white environments, to prevent other little black girls from unnecessary heartache. Utilizing my story, I lead discussions to bridge gaps between both worlds, while continuing to volunteer and tutor in my community to encourage African American advancement. Once I realized that life is not black and white, but a tapestry of vast cultures and traditions that live amongst us, I reclaimed control of my happiness. I have decided that the picture I want to paint, is one unique to my experience, because after all, a professional spy has the luxury of seeing the whole world.