When I was 5 years old and first learning how to read and write, I struggled. A lot. It was incredibly frustrating to see my peers reading longer books and writing more sentences with far more ease than I could. What made it worse was that my older sister was an absolute wizz at reading. She was only two years older than me, but she could read hundreds of pages within a few days. I wanted to be like her so bad, so I pushed myself my hardest to try and get close to her level. My hard work paid off and within a year I was able to read longer books as well. Although I lacked her speed, I was able to read with ease. That year when I could finally, fully read kickstarted my love of literature. I began to read every day about every genre, and I loved every second of it. To this day, nothing beats the feeling of having a good book in my hands. Becoming literate gifted me with the greatest love of all: the love of literature. Even after I developed the ability to read longer “big kid” books, I still fell back on my trusty picture books. There was something so magical about having both literary and visual stimulation that attracted my attention. One of my favorites was rainbow fish, not only due to the vibrant colors of his shining scales, but also the sensory stimulation they gave me. My absolute favorites, though, revolved around female protagonists like Fancy Nancy and Pinkalicious. Though I loved each and every one of these picture books, it hurt that I rarely saw protagonists like me in them. I had never seen a black protagonist in a picture book until a friend gifted me Dionne Warwick’s “Say A Little Prayer” as a birthday present. I read that book several times, often playing the accompanying CD as I did so. There was a little black girl, just like me with a love of song and a bit of stage fright. I was so happy to see someone like me with the same passions as me reflected on the shiny, illustrated pages of a picture book. My family eventually found more books with black and brown protagonists, but they definitely were not as easy to come across as those with white protagonists. I’m thankful that today there are far more diverse picture books and women of color behind the scenes writing and illustrating them, but there is still so much work to be done to create inclusivity in the field. Women of color still do not get the same opportunities as their white peers in the publishing industry. This is why my dream is to work in DEI initiatives within the publishing industry. I wish to create and highlight the representation that I didn't have. I will use my knowledge as an Africana studies and Comparative Literature major to give representation to diverse voices and make my own strides with storytelling in the children’s book industry. To accomplish my dreams of writing, publishing, and launching DEI initiatives in the children’s literature market, I need to complete my senior year of college. I unfortunately lack the financial resources to continue my education and further my professional career. As such, I hope to receive this amazing award so that I can continue working towards making my dreams come true. I want to do my part in creating greater representation for black and brown children, and I am in need of aid to make this goal a reality.

Like many young people, Nintendo games were the games of my childhood. I still remember the Christmas day in 2009 when ‘Santa’ gave my siblings and I a Nintendo Wii. I remember the way we jumped for joy as we waited for my dad to finish setting up the console. We started simple with playing Wii Sports, but then we quickly graduated to the next game ‘Santa’ had bought us: Mario Kart. To be honest, I absolutely sucked at Mario Kart. I was incredibly frustrated that my five year old thumbs weren’t pressing the right buttons or turning the wheel the right way, but I still loved playing with my family, especially playing as Princess Peach on the motorbike. Over time my Mario Kart skills improved, allowing me to get third and second place in some rounds. However, the moment that solidified my love for Mario Kart as my all-time favorite co-op game, was when my sister and I played against our godbrothers. The two of them are absolute gods at gaming, so I was reasonably terrified of going up against them. Somehow, despite my fear and anxiety, I was getting to the lead. Me and my Princess Peach motorbike were finally in the lead. The further I got ahead, the more anxious I got. I was praying to every god out there that I would win the round. Somehow, despite my usually terrible luck with Mario Kart, I was the one who crossed the finish line first. I was so happy that I was crying. Me and Princess Peach were finally the winners. I rarely won first place after that lucky round, but that moment solidified my lifelong love of Mario Kart. No other co-op game compares to the joys of grabbing your plastic wheel attachment and turning like your life depended on it with each twist and turn on the different paths. Nothing else brings me the same level of joy, laughter, or frustration that Mario Kart does. That is why it is my favorite game to play in co-op mode.

I was first made aware of my blackness when I was nine years old. Of course, I knew that I was a mixed African-American, but I had never been made uncomfortably aware of my race until one of my classmates called me a n*gger. I was confused by the word; I had never heard it before. The gasps that exploded in my classroom made me know something was wrong. My friends pulling me aside to ask if I was okay, made me know something was wrong. When my parents sat me down that night to have the ‘race talk’, that’s when I was finally made painfully aware of what separated me from the non-black majority in my town. That moment of fear and discomfort catalyzed my passion for activism and advocacy, a passion I still hold today. High school was the period where my activism and advocacy began to flourish. I would make projects to educate people on the history of anti-blackness; I would attend BSU meetings; I would attend protests; I would fight against city council members during their town halls. I would also painstakingly educate my non-black classmates whenever the ‘race talk’ resurfaced. It was exhausting, but I knew that my actions were a necessity. It was during this period that I became fascinated with the intersections of my race with my gender identity, sexuality, and presentation. This made me inspired to educate people on misogynoir and racism within the queer community, especially within digital spaces. This was also where I married my passion for anti-racism with my passion for digital media and explored the history between race and media production, whether that be film, anime, animation, comics, or literature. When I graduated from high school, I was accepted into Barnard College, the historic Women’s College of Columbia University. I thought that being amongst like-minded individuals would mean living in an anti-racist and pro-lgbt utopia, but I quickly realized that I had thought wrong. Despite being in a place of people seeking intersectional education, it was clear that there was still work to be done. As such, I have joined a plethora of organizations on campus dedicated to the well-being and empowerment of marginalized students. I am currently the co-treasurer of Barnard’s black student organization (BOSS), the treasurer of Columbia’s club for non-binary and transgender students: gendeRev, and a member of the DEI initiative committee. In these roles, I eagerly fight for the demands of black students on campus, highlight the intersections of blackness, womanhood, and queerness, and create events to foster empowerment and joy for black students. I have organized diaspora dinners, hosted black film nights, organized collaborative meetings between different marginalized student clubs, advocated for increased funding for black student groups, and I had the privilege of collaborating with the Apollo Theater to purchase tickets for Ta-Nehesi Coates’ “[At] The Intersection Festival” for black students on campus. Outside of my official roles, I also aid in protests for marginalized groups on campus, attend other diverse organizations’ meetings, and participate in community discussions and roundtables. Though I have been made painfully aware of my differences multiple times in my life, I did not let those wounds stop me from succeeding; instead, I chose to let them be the catalyst for my activism and my passion for fostering diversity, equity, inclusivity and representation of black voices within predominantly white spaces. Although there is still much work to be done, I proudly do my part by advocating for the needs of my community and fostering joy and opportunity for black students on campus.