30 days and change: DAY 4
DAY FOUR: Pick a number from 1-20. Write about your life at that age.
Word count: 439
Age: 18
I had just stepped onto campus; well,… wait. I was driven on campus by my Pop-Pop. One of the greatest men that ever existed. I am excited to share more about him in many of my spaces, including this one. But for now, we’ll get back to the story…
18 was such a pivotal year and such a visceral one for me. I became legal for the first couple weeks of undergrad, left a super white space back home, became fully immersed in an HBCU, and adjusted to life independently without a generational game plan on navigating the “ebony tower.” Some folkx (trying to be inclusive with the X) may be curious about what I mean by “white space.” To me, white space is any (and every) space in this country that lacks a direct infusion of a presence of folks outside of the dominant culture. My hometown and county were primarily largely white. They had for sure influenced (I would dare to say distorted) the ways in which I existed in a social setting, the ways I saw myself when looking in the mirror, and the ways in which other folks treated me. Attending an HBCU certainly chiseled away at the white marble that had crystalized my experience throughout K-12.
Landing at undergrad, I struggled a bit, got confused, and stumbled into my first man. I got a tattoo at the most raggedy shop in Charlotte, NC. Later in life, how would I know I’d end up taking residence a few blocks away over ten years later? At 18, I was scared; I spent the first year of my undergrad career stuck in my room most days, afraid to socialize, engage with folks around me, or even in my dorm. It was a culture shock, a state of delusion almost. I was trying to understand my own sexuality and truly had no idea the exploration I’d begin to embark on in just a few short months. After graduating from everything I’d ever known, with admission to the world at large, a new age of possibilities stood before me, and I had no idea how to seize it properly.
At 18, I was disillusioned. I thought I loved a man that paid me attention, and the first one at that. Little did I know he was less concerned about love and more concerned about his public image. At 18, I was hungry for a new life, hungry to chase whatever dream had landed in my heart or head. At 18, I still had so much more time and life to live, but for some reason, I thought I didn’t.
