My first time really being aware of police brutality and knowing what had happened came at the expense of Trayvon Martin’s life in 2012. I was a junior in high school and I never saw something get so much attention. It was on the news everyday. People were rallying for Trayvon. I watched my mother cry for his mother. It was also in this instant when I learned how unfair and unjust our judicial and penal system really is. It became very real the struggles that black people go through everyday just to maintain, survive and live. It has gotten worse every year since. 

Today would have been his 26th birthday and that really hits home for me. This year, I will be 26 and it’s crazy to think what has happened within the last nine years. In the last nine years, I graduated from both high school and college. I attempted to date and find love, unsuccessfully, but nonetheless. I’ve interned in NYC, moved back home and started my first job. I’ve quit my first job, traveled out of the country and remained unemployed for months. I’ve become an auntie four more times. I’ve made new friends and connections. I’ve found work again, lost work again, but all in all I’m still here. I am still living, breathing and witnessing more black bodies leaving this realm. 

In the last nine years, we have lost many other unarmed black people like Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Alton Sterling, Botham Jean, Sandra Bland, Philando Castille, Freddie Gray, Breonna Taylor, Eric Garner and George Floyd, to name a few. The list goes on and on. Trayvon’s life was halted at age 17. There was no prom for him, no college selection process, no homecoming, no winter break, no graduations, no nothing. 

It doesn’t get easier to watch, to witness or to ignore. It’s become very numbing and unfortunately a normal way of life. Police brutality was always there. It never stopped. Racism has always been there. It has only evolved. Police brutality has only been broadcasted and televised more in recent years. But what does it tell you when body cameras and audio don’t even rectify justice, when verbally saying “I can’t breathe” isn’t enough of a surrender, when lying in your own bed isn’t a safe place, when eating ice cream on your couch is a crime, when announcing a licensed weapon gets you killed, when walking home in a hoodie and purchasing skittles and tea ends your life?

It tells you that another year alive as a black person in America is a blessing. Tamir only made it 12 and Trayvon only made it to 17, yet, here I am still alive and grateful to have made it to 25 and soon to be 26. Today, we celebrate the life of Trayvon. He should be here. 

I don’t think anyone really thinks about what it means to be black in America, but I’m sure he didn’t think that he would die just walking home minding his own business.