Last week, I told you all about a teach-in on campus—those were the seminars, free for students to learn about culture or race or just start a dialogue on how different topics present themselves in our lives. I enjoyed it all and it got me thinking a lot about identity and how I define myself as a whole. But there is something we learned about that I hadn’t heard before and it was a huge thought process to look into… Chances are, you haven’t heard about it either.
The more I think about it, the more I question the reason I do all of these things, the reason I feel like I need to; I finally realized why the term “black excellence” isn’t just about pride or ability.
It’s Black History Month and this is one of those books that I felt was important to bring a bit of attention to. As Acevedo’s first novel, this one is special because it tells a narrative, but through poetry.
I’ve been working on a lot of different things lately, from screenwriting and prose writing (which are incredibly different, something I did not prep myself for) to tutoring and redecorating my walls (multiple times). But I have also been forgetting to notice the things that have come full circle.