June 4th, 2020 I started a new chapter of my life. Everyone wished me congratulations and asked how it felt to be 25? I could not formulate a deepened answer to describe the numbness I felt. Being a quarter of a century should feel nice. I should be excited that in America I can now secure a rental car without problems when traveling. That I can go to all clubs and lounges now without age discrimination. You know be happy about the first world problems.
A statistic was released during the increased police brutality in America (which happens across the world mind you)… that the second-highest killer of Black and Hispanic lives is from police injustices/convictions.
The prime years of this death toll are between 25-29 for minorities, especially males. Ahmaud Arbery was 26 when he was shot down for exercising. A year older than me.
When I think about being 25, I think about how many from my older friend circles are already dead and can’t celebrate with me in person. I have to entertain the thought of whether or not today is the last time I walk as a free man—or profiled to subjugation and detainment— whether or not I get a to make it home to my family—answer the phone call of my partner or will she receive a call that I am no longer here…
I did not make it to 25 easily. I have been profiled more times by cops and prejudices than my following on social media.
Just because I am a citizen does not mean I have rights. I am still a three-fifths man in a nation that parades itself to be fair for all. I am still labeled as an unidentified strange fruit that grows from trees.
The only thing I thought I could control was my breathing since it was gifted to me as my own, but George Floyd’s autopsy challenged that.
A lot of my friends died at a young age. Some will tell you they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Some couldn’t handle the pressures of being black anymore. Some were just look-alikes that were killed by mistake of another. If you survive the struggle of the streets, then the next war is the judicial system that’s source is from slave laws per state designed to keep me alienated.
I am weary but must remain strong. I am conditioned to think my racial classification is supposed to be a curse, but it is beautiful. I am targeted because I am resilient. It is frustrating knowing you are born fighting statistics. Fighting ghosts of William Lynch and Jim Crow. Do you know what being born into a war you didn’t ask for feels like?
I am 25 now, in the peak season of a killing spring by both a global pandemic and nationalized justice system. The world has shut down, and my people are still dying.
We are running out of the real estate to bury the bodies. Did there are an average of 30 trillion cells in the human body? Unclassified by race or socioeconomic class. I wonder why we can’t live in the same unison as our cells?
I am 25 and don’t know how much longer I get to live since it is out of my control.
