Nina Nwofia

I feel as though I’ve been through an emotional ringer the past two weeks, and I know I’m not alone. I, and others like me, have been assaulted with headlines, videos and links to bleeding, dying black bodies. I have watched young men and women, bold enough to cry out in front of cameras, critics and cops, suddenly silenced. I have watched murderers walk away from dead black men and women with little consequence and proactive protection. I am tired.

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I'm more sure of me than I was.  Stronger and more confident than I was, although more wary to a decision and less certain that I'm right about everything.  I will speak up faster, defend myself without thinking twice.  But I'm more likely to go num on a topic where I don't have enough information, shyer to an opinion where my input is unnecessary.

I'm still picket-signed and megaphoned.  I am unapologetic in my taste, and proud where my roots show.  I see the world a bit clearer, see where my vision fits in. I'm more passionate about unheard voices, most especially in my continued discovery of how often mine, and voices like mine, are ignored. I didn't think it would happen, but my dreams have gotten even bigger, along with tribulations.

My introversion makes more sense to me, and I'm glad.  I'm more aware of the good parts of me, and see more of the evil in others.

I'm quicker to ask for advice, more appreciative when it's given.  I seek the input of others in major life decisions where I didn't, in which cases I'm grateful for my introversion, because I'm generally only close to people I trust.

I work more on first impressions, and am wary of becoming hardened, or eventually led the wrong way into the person I never want to be.  Somehow, I'm just as idealistic, more and less sensitive to others, just as self-conscious.

I'm much more needy, much more honest, much more afraid of where my own thoughts could lead me.  I'm more morally grounded, less sure my vision of the world is correct, more disappointed in reality.