Growing up in the age of the internet, I became an avid gamer, anime watcher, and social media addict, leading me to believe that death was a casual thing. However it happens, death just happens— unexpectedly, purposely, or accidentally. The concept of having multiple lives or reincarnation only made matters worse. I was just so sure that it was possible to become a transcendental entity if I believed hard enough. I chalk it up to my childish imagination being fueled by all the internet’s enchanting myths. I was high over the moon off fantasy until faith brought me back down to earth. The internet was my escape from my bleak existence as a poor, black, fatty. Even my family didn’t think I would be anything beyond my unfortunate circumstances. I got bullied at school, and most people thought I was a boy at first glance. They said I was handsome, so I think that still counts for something. Nevertheless, I felt like crap. Not in the game though; I could transform into a sexy unicorn goddess with magical powers and immortality. Looking back, I might’ve had a slight case of imposter syndrome. I was definitely my school’s outcast. I wasn’t praised for much except for my art and my intelligence since those were my two greatest strengths. The only reason people interacted with me was to use me to their advantage. I was such a loser; I just wanted to die. I thought about it all the time; how I’d do it, who would care, who wouldn’t. I thought that if I killed myself, I could become some sort of yokai or evil spirit and handle my unfinished business. I’d get back at my bullies by haunting them; that would be my revenge arc. Then I’d make my family rich; that would be my atonement arc. I should’ve written a book with that kind of imagination, but it wasn’t just a story idea; it was genuinely my plan for when I killed myself. Thankfully, those plans got derailed by God. In lieu of absorbing the virtues of Christianity that I had been fed since birth, I was drunk on the digital elixir that was endlessly supplied by the internet. As I grew older, my faith in God deepened, and my wisdom strengthened. The more I listened to God, the less sense my silly delusions of immortality and magic made. I realized the power of the blood of Jesus was more precious than the power of my will. Regardless of how much of a loser I was, I couldn’t kill myself when I was taught to believe in a God who died on the cross so I could live. My newfound faith granted me peace and knowledge that I thought was only achievable through death. I was able to use my creativity and intelligence to accomplish what I thought I could only do as a ghost. I showcased and sold my artwork, and soaked up the glaze I got for being so smart. As a Black girl, I know I’ll face racism, bias, and sexism on my path towards becoming an architect, but I defeated suicide by the grace of God, so there’s nothing I can’t handle. People think I’m a great leader, friend, and a sweetie pie, but they can’t see the layers. No one in my circle today would believe me if I revealed my loser syndrome because God turned a zero into a hero, a fatty into a baddie. Today, I’m the Don; yesterday, I was just the Julio.

“When you get baptized, you’re going to turn the water black.” My saucer-sized hand was about to meet the face of a peanut-butter-colored brother after he said this. I knew it was a joke—ha ha, you’re corrupted beyond repair—but he didn’t know the weight his words carried. Every prayer I had ever prayed began to echo like 9/11 sirens in my ears. Every self-inflicted wound reopened, pouring out like water from a broken fire hydrant. This rush of pain was brief, though. As quickly as it surged, it was replaced by feelings of worthiness, growth, and overcoming. This happened because I remembered where I came from. I came from the bottom. I like to say I was raised in the hood, not by the hood, but I was still a statistic: an overweight Black girl in a single-parent, low-income, urban household. I was out of a home, out of a car, and sometimes out of my mind—but I had my intelligence. I was the stereotypical “smart kid,” always attentive with an answer for everything. I also got bullied. Of course I did. I was obese, my hair was never done, I probably smelled like ten cans, and I wobbled around in Walmart walkers. I wanted to kill myself until I met God. I thought I knew God, but really, I only knew about Him. I was raised in a family that prayed and attended church faithfully, but my relationship with God had not yet bloomed. My faith grew through participating in praise dance and community service. At school, I cried on worksheets I earned A’s on. I marinated in my musk while taking exams I received honors for. While classmates cheated off me, I was cutting myself in a corner. Coming as far as I have literally took blood, sweat, and tears, but above all else, it took God’s grace. Through that season of hardship, I learned who I am beneath the shame. I am kind, humble, helpful, forgiving, understanding, and talented. These traits fuel my dream of becoming an interior architect—someone who creates spaces where people can feel safe, seen, and restored. Although my connection with God allowed me to move forward from my past, I was still unsure about fully giving my life to Him until a trip to Florida changed everything. During a sermon, the preacher shared that she tried to kill herself in seventh grade. She was poor and bullied for wearing Walmart walkers, just like me. Her suicide was delayed by a message from God she received in her sleep. He told her He had other plans, ones more unpredictable than death, plans she needed to live to fulfill. That same night, she saw a vision of an event with chairs prepared for a crowd of ten thousand. I wondered if she ever made it to that event—until she revealed I was sitting in one of those chairs. In that moment, I knew when the baptismal appeal came, I had to be front and center. My insecurities needed to be dissolved in the baptismal pool. Preparing for college meant preparing for release. I needed to let go of doubt, depression, and uncertainty to make room for growth, greatness, and peace of mind. The next stop on my route to success was underwater. In the baptismal pool, Pastor PB and J held my hand and pulled me under. I kept my eyes open and was overjoyed to see the water was crystal clear. I did not turn the water black. The only thing clearer than the water was that I had a prosperous future to claim.