I was sixteen when I saw Trayvon Martin get murdered on the news. A kid the same age as me, I didn’t yet understand the world I lived in. Racism had died a long time ago, that’s what my parents and school taught me. I didn’t notice the stares while window shopping, the comments from teachers about my broken language, the fetishization of classmates whose goal in life was to touch my hair. I didn’t see a thing, until I saw someone who looked like me get killed. My eyes have been open ever since, and it re-sparked this fire, this passion I've had since I was five years old. I need to create. 

To fantasy worlds, to scientific inventions, to bad jokes, and cheesy love stories. When Trayvon was killed, I learned again who I was and what I needed to do. I, Shumon, need to create. I need to create different forms of escapism, this world can be too much sometimes. I need to create to understand, to take information, and make it digestible. I need to create to become a better Shumon. I want to be a black man who feels, loves, cries, and isn't ashamed. I need to create because it's who I am, it's the reason why I live. 

And whatever years I have left, I would like to achieve at least a handful of dreams. A few published books, a house, a dog, a wife and some kids. But if I can't do it all, I hope I reach the one most precious to my heart. I want to make that sixteen-year-old Shumon proud. That no matter what happened, I held on to our values; respect, kindness, empathy, laughter, and imagination. That no matter what happened, I never forgot about our loved ones; the ones who are still here and the ones who are waiting for us. And finally, I want him to know, that the five-year-old kid, the one who wanted to create, the one we thought disappeared a long time ago; he lives, he breathes. And he's telling us, it's time to wake up.