With two leaps, a twirl and a plie-like gesture, seven-year-old me exclaimed, “I am a ballerina.” Every morning, my pajamas turned from sleepwear to a tarlatan tutu and my socks to pointe shoes as I danced around the house. In the same way a tornado answers to no one, I would leap and twirl. Sometimes into furniture and walls, knocking family photos out of frames, but when I danced, even ungracefully, the world seemed full of color and promise. Shades of blue, yellow and green came in new hues and the sky, contrary to popular belief, was not the limit.
But, as I grow older, the world doesn’t seem to be full of color as it once was. In light of recent events, when I enter public spaces like grocery stores, school buildings and retail shops, I find myself creating immediate exit plans should something happen. I have also trained myself to get from one side of campus to the other in under ten minutes because I have heard stories about women of color that disappear, never to be found again. Being in your twenties is a beautiful place to be and yet, I spend so much time worrying about the world I once saw in color and ruminating on who I am and what is to come of my life.
Like all good journalists, I sought to find an answer to these difficult questions.
In the quest to find out who I am, I decided to take a personality quiz. According to this quiz, I am ambitious but practical and kind with boundaries. It claimed I am destined to be a writer, an artist or potentially a mother and wife. Considering all of this was decided based solely on my zodiac sign, favorite fruit and time of day, it’s safe to say the results of this quiz were unreliable.
So, I did what most students do: I looked at my resume. On paper, I am a student, a student journalist and a volunteer. I maintain a high grade point average which landed me on the dean’s list of my college a few times. I’ve been awarded for my journalism – both as a columnist and an investigative reporter. I am a proud citizen of Milwaukee and give back to a community that has given much to me, but even my resume forgets to tell the story of the girl whose dreams are bigger than her fears, of the girl who became her mother’s dream. On paper, you can’t tell how much I love to laugh or how afraid I am of the dark or the depths of the sea. My resume doesn’t inform me much on who I am, and I imagine most people my age can relate, so I got a bit creative; I interviewed those in my life about who I am.
My mother, Simone, described me as gentle unless woken up from a nap unexpectedly. My sister, Ashley, described me as witty – I always have a comeback for her. Some of my closest friends described me as reliable, free-spirited and thoughtful. In talking with my family and friends, I realized that I am not just the seven-year-old girl I once was or the twenty-something woman I am today; I am every person I was in between. I am the nine-year-old version of myself that loved Taylor Swift and riding bikes with my family across town. I am the angsty, fourteen-year-old teenager who loved writing and spoken word. I am also 18 at the convenience store, buying my first lottery ticket which symbolized a new-found freedom and independence. It isn’t always pretty or perfect and sometimes the colors bleed and mix into each other, creating unrecognizable tones, but this is me; this is my world of color.
This story was written by Hope Moses. She can be reached at [email protected].
