Journals of Color | Issue 4 by Journals of Color

CONTENTS

4 5 6 8 9 10 12 13 14 16 18 20 23

JOIN

THE

JOC

DIRECTORS

TEAM

COMMUNITY

LETTERS

HIGHLIGHT

APPLY

JOC

COMMENCEMENTENT

WHAT

COLOR

By Lois Owusu GOLDEN

CLAIMS

By Kahdija Jabbi

BLACK

HISTORY

EVERY

By Marie Toure HER

By Nickaylia Anderson UNNOTICED

BEAUTY

By Sunniha Hussain DEFINE

"BLACK"

By Elliot Babilonia X

By Jehlani Bowers SYSTEMIC

RACISM

By Suvidya Bishnudat

DAY

24 26 27 28 29 30 33 36 37 39 43

FROM

THE

By Evelyn Opara

ASHES

BLACK

FASHION

BLACK

WILL

RISE

By Tasnim Khanom

FREEDOM

By Kaylana Felipe WHAT

INTERNALIZED

By Alina Gao, Outside Submission DEAR

LOVE

YOUR

VOICE

RACISM

LOOKS

By Tanvi Nagar, Outside Submission

By Ada Tucker RASTAFARI

By Jeronique Campbell ART

PHOTOGRAPHY

JOC

PHOTOGRAPHY

JOC

ART

COMMENCEMENT

By Kevin Roman and Layla Hussein

By Stephanie Cuevas, Skye Knight, Ruby Moran, Fatoumata Drammeh END

JOIN THE JOC COMMUNTIY. @journalsofcolor.mag @journalsofcolor @journalsofcolor Journals of Color journalsofcolor.org linktr.ee/journalsofcolor

DIRECTORS

le tte rs

February 1st is a start of a new month, often symbolizing renewal, growth, and reflections. But for the Black community, the start of February represents the ongoing fight and journey to celebrate our culture, innovations, and experiences.

It is time to finally highlight our peace, learn our perspectives, and immerse ourselves with Black changemakers. There is loads of work that still needs to be done to ensure that the Black community does not live another century of systemic oppression. You do not have to be a part of a community to simply be an ally, so with this new month, think about what you can do to make February an actionable month for the Black community. Support underrated Black artists, read books from Black authors, donate to bail funds, help Black businesses, and above all, listen. Be comfortable with discomfort as you learn perspectives from your own. This month is not only a month for celebrating our history, but an opportunity for people of different backgrounds to educate, respect, and support to instill an inclusive environment for all.

sincerely,

Nicaulis Mercedes and Layla Hussein

your executive directors.

Emmanuella Agyemang Chazzel Ferbol Marielys Martinez

Teresa Bautista Fatoumata Drammeh

Nickaylia Anderson Elliot Babilonia Jehlani Bowers Chidera Eddie-Nkwoh Kaylana Felipe Sunniha Hussain Evelyn Opara

Kahdijah Jabbi Ada Tucker Tasnim Khanom Suvidya Bishnudat Alina Gao Tanvi Nagar

Kevin Roman Layla Hussein

Mamon Alivio Stephanie Cuevas Fatoumata Drammeh Skye Knight Ruby Moran

? R O

LS OF CO L NA

INTE R

J ING OUR IN

D I N E T JO S E

this is

JOURNALS OF CO OLLO OR R C the voices of the bronx.

What Color Am I?

By Lois Owusu

What color am I? pink, blue, red, white, brown, black. Regardless of our complexion, respect for our skin is something we should never lack. What color am i? In my eyes there should be no colors. In their eyes we are segregated. In my eyes we should all be treated the same in their eyes the color brown has a dangerous effect. In my eyes the color brown is warm to me in their eyes the color brown is cold. In my eyes the color brown deserves love in their eyes the color brown deserves punishment. In my eyes this world is damaged in their eyes brown is what makes this world damaged. What color am I? I wanna be treated like white but i’m brown. I want to have the same peace as the color white but I'm brown. I want to have the same opportunities as the color white but I'm brown. I want to be able to walk around at night without worrying about nobody questioning me but i’m brown. I want to be able to wake up and not get scared that this may be my last day but i’m brown.

Golden Claims

By Kahdija Jabbi Claim what is ours These teeth shine so beautifully They are stars in the sky. My skin in all its brown hues Exhibits bright gold, I am the sun. I am claiming what’s mine. Black, Golden, Refined They undermine my coils In turn, I twist my kinks Around their limbs And tell them, “Black Lives Matter.” We are claiming what is ours It has been too long My voice screams loud and angry We have every right to be To be Black, beautiful, and happy My hair is oh so nappy It works like magic Building empires all over my scalp These stories are filled with gold I come from a place Where pain is familiar but riches are everlasting And we are claiming what is ours.

Black History is Every Day

By Marie Toure Throughout history, Black people have been pushed to the sidelines despite all their efforts. Take Harriet Tubman for example, despite her epilepsy and the risk of being killed, she freed many slaves. Or Martin Luther King Jr., was assassinated for standing up for telling his truth and advocating for African-American people. Malcolm X as well. He wasn’t as peaceful as Martin Luther King Jr., but he still fought for African-American people. Do you know about Mary Ellen Pleasant? Just like Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, Pleasant worked for the Civil Rights Movement. Many do not often hear about Bessie Coleman, the first Black woman to become a pilot, or Jesse LeRoy Brown, the first African-American aviator to complete the U.S Navy’s flight training program. What about Matthew Henson, do you know about him? He was an arctic explorer who became the co-founder of the North Pole. Meanwhile, William H. Hastie was one of the first African-Americans by a presidential administration. He served as a lawyer with the Department of Interior. He was also the first Black governor of the United States Virgin Islands to serve a full term. Maybe you do not know these names, or maybe you do. Or maybe you do not hear these people being praised for their hard work and their groundbreaking achievements. It is great that the month of February is dedicated to Black people. They deserve to be celebrated every day, every week, and every month of the year.

Her.

By Nickaylia Anderson

Respect is due to her melanin Her melanin is rich and sacred A sight that your eyes do not deserve to beholdHer silence does not mean complacency She is a force to be reckoned with No man can dare to compete with her talents Nor does she dare them into thinking they can, She shows her confidence dailyAlmost like a beauty on display to the outsiders People who can never understand her past, try hard to determine her future Her black is beautifulAn ancient gold underappreciated in our era She is a black woman, The neglected woman, The almost forgotten woman. Of course, she knows that she could never be forgotten or tossed aside or be dismantled under the pressure. They try hard but success lives in the eye of the beholder. Her struggles have not been commended, Her ancestors before her are unofficial legends The journey has been long But the accomplishments have been worth it Black women have constantly upgradedFrom the roots of slavery To the grips of sexism and racism To being a businesswoman

A boss woman A working woman. Permission was never granted So she had to take it She is a fierce competitor and contributor In a world molded around misogyny Her intersectional identity is a threat But only to the insecure and the power-hungry. She is an unidentified asset To society, to her community, to the world. This Black woman has been thriving And will continue to thrive In a society not meant for her But she adapts because she’s strong Her past does not define her, Neither does fear or intimidation. She fights for herself She fights for equality She fights for justice And the thousands of young girls behind her, Young black girls who will see their worth Her fight has not ended And will not end Until she is given the respect she deserves Because she is a black woman Her melanin is rich Her drive is highAnd nothing can get in her way.

Unnoticed Beauty

By Sunniha Hussain Every history textbook claims to deliver the stories of the past Claiming to help us truly understand the American journey But we struggle to find a chapter on African American inventors We only see one sentence detailing African American’s immense achievements As if they were intended to be unnoticed But Bayard Rustin is far too outspoken to be unnoticed His belief in civil disobedience and his ambition for universal change Are the roots upholding our America? But Whitney Young Jr. is far too courageous to be unnoticed His goal of bringing inclusion into industries and fighting for equal opportunities Are the roots upholding our America? But Madam C.J Walker is far too creative to be unnoticed Her line of hair cosmetics and massive donations as a philanthropist Are the roots upholding our America? Our America is like a tree Without our beautiful, brilliant, and brave African Americans This tree would have been dead, defeated, and damaged From ingenious inventors to ambitious activists The beauty they contributed to our world is beyond what a couple of words can describe They saw us as children they wished to nurture Through twists and turns, they found a way to bring the separated to become integrated

From “I Have a Dream” to “Keep Hope Alive” Each day we grew less afraid and more powerful Powerful enough to love who we are and embrace who we are Because their voices were like a lullaby Reassuring us that tomorrow would be a lot brighter A history textbook can never summarize its efforts Because their efforts can not be translated into words, but rather emotions Without these courageous people, an “only whites” and an “only colored” life would exist How bleak it would have been How fearful we would have been Their voices continue to echo through the narrow streets Because their words are like those songs we put on repeat Reassuring us that it’s okay to feel defeated, but it’s important to keep fighting As our BLM activists fight for justice today Their voices continue to echo today So we can remember a textbook doesn’t have to prove to us that they are the roots upholding our America

Define "Black"

By Elliot Babilonia We grow up reading books, watching tv shows, and learning about those around us. You would think that would include everybody, But let’s be real, who runs this world we live in? Not Black people; As much as I would love for that to be true, I can’t seem to find a reflection of myself within the entertainment industry. Usually, when a Black person is on television you see someone loud, “ghetto”, and immature. Usually, when you see a Hispanic person, you see them with a sombrero on, eating tacos. and working in some labor jobs. It’s rare to see us thriving or in positions of power, that’s one similarity between what we see in entertainment and in real life. What you don’t see is our culture, our upbringing, and our history. But not every Black person on television is how they portray us to be, I don’t even like fried chicken. I am not dark-skinned with 4c hair or have much Black culture. So am I really Black? Ask that to anyone in my barrio. They will see my pale skin and small eyes and say no. But what about the numerous amount of times I’ve been called the n-word? How about my Black, brown-skinned mother who gets called a “negrita” all the time? You sure wouldn’t look at my family and call them white. Why don’t I look like them? My momma fucked a white Puerto Rican guy. Pale skin, hazel eyes and all. And unfortunately, I came out just like him. The man who left me when I was 10 years old, how typical. When she gave birth to me she was so happy to see that I came out looking as white as snow. She told me to trim my eyebrows, suck in my lips, dye my hair blonde, wear contacts, and not to tell anybody where I am really from. Now I’m a little white boy just like the ones in the movies.

My momma did not want to take me anywhere. She would get weird stares and people would scratch their heads. Everyone thought she was my nanny. Nobody would tell me I look like her. Instead, I look like the man that left and never came back. Hide your accent, hide your hair, definitely hide those lips of yours. After coming from the Dominican Republic my mom just wanted me to live the best life I could. The life of a white guy. But what if I wanted to finally embrace myself? I do not wanna be them, I wanna be myself. I look at everybody in my hood and don’t nobody know what I really am. If I am not white then what the hell am I? I’m DominiItaliRican. Dominican, Italian, and Puerto Rican with Haitian ancestry. I’m a Black Latino man, That’s my truth. My disguise was over when it came to signing a form and there went my “white privilege”. When they saw me with my momma and the dye in my hair would fade away as my hair started to curl up again. When I started to really love myself, you could see my big lips. What you see when you really look at me is a beautiful Afro-Latino man who just so happens to have some white in him. You do not learn about no Black history, no Asian history, no Hispanic history and you certainly don’t see anybody looking like me walking around. I do not look like my own family anymore, I don’t see half of em’ and I have finally been trying to embrace who I really am. So you can try and define Black. But the truth is that Africa is the most diverse continent in the world. Filled with many different shades, shapes, and sizes. We are all unique and rich in culture and beauty. That’s where we all come from, some more than others. I’ll never forget where I really come from.

By Jehlani Bowers I knew my day would come... the moment I pressed my young hands in my ”gods” hand. I should have never given my loyalty away for sale. Was it my fault I took a leap of fate when I saw stress stains on my brothers and sisters faces, when we try to save our own tongues from being clipped off just... for letting our voice be heard. You never liked the idea of seeing me speak my mind. Your words could never swivel and curve “our” people together like mine. You only made mindless, empty-minded soldiers to take me down. A weak man sends people who are desperate for something of value in return to do his dirty work... to send some sort of signal to take me down. Just say it out loud with your god-like voice. “You have to kill him to take him away.” This was so transparent that at 3:45 a.m. SUNDAY... 45 Pistol... Was enough to shut me up... Temporarily... Bet you thought you could stop a dead man from speaking. Think again. You didn’t end me. You just cut my limitation on physical, Moving from place to place But by taking my physical appearance away from... My people My wife. My children. I am now able to whisper to my brothers and sisters to continue... fighting for our people. Even the most stealthy and the most powerful In the jungle get caught. You were never going to run with a smile on your face every day. Because, with every breath you take, another flicker of my face will appear in your mind. By leaving your so call community, I was able to take a taste of society for myself. It had the most vibrant colors and the rawest taste. Would I do the things I did again? Hell yes!

Never in my lifetime would I go back to your ways. Your ways create monsters With human-like names. It had to take one of your own soldiers to do the job. Yet you’re so powerful, you could not do it yourself. For all the people whose mouths were full of venomous hateful words towards my light... It’s a shame you could not taste the blood in the same soil you plant in. If you could not see the bigger picture then what were you seeing? Do you know how it felt to hear my last breath escape my mouth? But what hurts the most... was no one would hear my side of the story. X means the unknown The unexpected Dangerous I was the unknown. The unknown to the community will help them rise to greatness whether I’m there with them or not. It was the unexpected. Unexpected to not only succeed with doing something that one could not imagine, But I did it with real support. Real family... Real chemistry... Real words of wisdom... that will sweep up those who had fallen and get them right back up. Being their face, their heart, their mouth... I was not expected to do something more powerful than using my hands for cleaning or making carpets. I was dangerous. Dangerously a threat to the ringmaster of the mindless empty army, with one word, a whole plan of his will... get pushed away any threats towards my brothers or sisters would be protected by my finger of truth. My goal was never to threaten your make-believe power over people. My goal was to be ...

An individual who will make a change for young and old... females and males... An individual who will walk with my kings and queens while their princes and princess would be able to Be themselves without hiding from the evil men in blue. Did you lead me to my success in my short amount of time? No. Will you ever be forgiven? No. Will you be remembered more than me? Yes. Will your wingman be represented as a novel hero to your community? Yes. Will you get away with it? Not a chance! Thanks to Abdur Muhammad, my story will never be put to rest nicley. Now my children who have seen the truth... My young princes and princess will fight with their words and leave the physical fights For last resort. You made a community of people who will only believe in your fairy tales of you, But I did something much more... I made a dangerously wise community Of black, young, and strong females and males leaders, who will not just seek for the truth, but bring truth to light. If you don’t remember who I am, I don’t blame you, for only lies were told about me. If you are reading this, this is from a man who will never die. In fact. I'm a part of you... in your mind. I walked in your shoes once every day. I’m the unknown page in your textbooks in school. the unexpected picture that’s shown on schools walls and sometimes on black history month fliers. I’m the dangerous name that your teachers are afraid to mention to your young ears... I Am

Systemic Racism

By Suvidya Bishnudat Did you know Black American families have a fraction of white American families' income? This makes them more politically vulnerable and with even fewer career mobility prospects. Fewer income results in fewer upward mobility opportunities. Lower levels of income and less ability to create capital or transfer inherited wealth on to future generations. There have been a variety of causes of the social divide in America, including police brutality and racial injustice. Only because of the colour of their skin can people believe their lives are less important. If you are Black, the justice system is harsh but compassionate if you're white. These are issues that aren’t be heard, seen, or even brought up. Our system needs to be reestablished. This inequality has seen enough protesters marching through the streets. They insist that Americans no longer cause themselves to be monitored as they have been. To traitorous men who will already make them enslaved, they tear down memorials. They call for lynching to be turned into a federal felony. They want fair pay. They want reform in politics. They want people to listen attentively, thoughtfully, carefully. Few access to decent careers, fair pay, and retirement opportunities at work are open to African Americans. And if they are investors or have retirement savings plans, they also earn fewer tax incentives. The destructive process of income inequality is compounded by continued housing and labor market racism and segregation. In our classrooms, workplaces, the court system, police departments, and elsewhere, structural bias continues. How? Well think about it, since white people hold most decision-making positions, it is impossible for people of color to get a fair shot, let alone get ahead.

From the Ashes We Will Rise

By Evelyn Opara A life’s journey One filled with a history of R acism I nequality S lavery E ndless cases of brutality A continuous fight goes on As history repeats itself An endless mindset Passed down from generations The words of cruelty Their inferiority complex The fear in their eyes Yet still Despite all this, We come out stronger Bolder than ever With a new kind of determination Knowing that ‘From the Ashes, We will Rise’ In the midst of the chaos, We are only made stronger Built back up with the newfound unity we all share A longing to be recognized To be treated fairly Burdened by the continuous fight We watch as mistakes are repeated

A world filled with offsprings of hate Only taught with what they see Taught to despise To discriminate To mock Taught to humiliate With a single word Childhoods are destroyed With all their might They push down on us An unequal fight One which always has a continuous victor But success isn’t possible without the presence of failure It’s not always the results that matter But rather the path taken Oh, boy, has it been a journey One which we call A life’s journey Filled with its ups and downs We watch persistently As the endless fight for equality continues Knowing that From the ashes, we will rise...

Black Fashion

By Tasnim Khanom

When we look at modern fashion today it is fast, acceptable, and there are constantly new trends every month. And it becomes more apparent when one factors in modern consumerism trends like streetwear or Stiletto nails. A few years ago, these things were seen as “ghetto” or “poor.” So why are they so stylish now? Sadly, with the system today, most ideas or art are stolen. In the case of modern fashion, it was stolen by lower-income black people. Take the Lo-Life crew, for example. Founded in 1988, a young group of men from Crown Heights and Brownsville neighborhoods of Brooklyn had one goal and one goal only… which was to be decked out in polo. But why? At the time, Ralph Lauren was a designer brand only wealthy white people would wear and had access to, such as a wealthy family going to The Hamptons for vacation. By these men wearing something designed for the rich completely changed the brand’s image. It was a form of rebellion. We can still see the impact of the Lo-Life crew when we look at social media trends; the lower class wearing brands made for the elite. And in this case, the lower class are also people of color. Conclusively, Black people have made payments for fashion whether it was high fashion or everyday streetwear. This is important because clothing is a form of expression. And if we forget where it came from, we forget its meaning and impact on the world.

Black Is My Freedom

By Kaylana Felipe I want to be free, I want to be me They swear I'm free but I can feel I'm not free I can taste I'm not free I can smell I'm not free I don't remember the last time I felt free What's it like being free? Is it being able to express how I feel without getting glanced at? Is it eating McDonald's because that's all I can afford? Is it wearing the same vans every day because that's all I own? Is it only knowing what 2+2 equals because I'm uneducated? Oh, these four walls I want to be free, I want to be me The taste of this food is sickening How is this food even edible/digestible? It tastes like someone's feces They don't care about us, swear they do but we hold the highest population in here Every day is a struggle, wondering if we will get out or raped or shanked Co’s barely help us too Looking at us as if we both aren't in the same rigged game called life as BLACK You'll think you and them are the same until you are in here Oh, these four walls I want to be free, I want to be me It smells like blood, cigarettes, & loss of ambition Everyone is just considered that this is their fate That there is no farther destination other than here Why did MLK, Rosa, & Malcolm die? So we can sit here and wait for better days to come? So we can rob a rich white family instead of grinding for those same bands and diamonds? So we can go off having multiple bodies thinking it's cute rather than admitting when we've found love? Memorial black people dying don't mean anything if we don't create change My fault I keep forgetting when blacks want to see the change it means we're a riot Oh, these four walls

What Internalized Racism Looks Like

By Alina Gao, Outside Submission You read picture books with white families and you can only dream about how “normal” and “perfect” it is. You tear down Chinese New Year’s decorations because they make the house “look Chinese” and they look tacky. You despise Chinese restaurants (for reasons you can’t quite explain). You refuse to recite Chinese poetry at your parent’s old coworker’s dinner. You cringe at Chinese and hate the way it grates at your ears, the way it sounds like it’s always being yelled. You viciously hate going to Chinese school (like Sunday school but instead of a bunch of white kids it’s a bunch of Chinese kids and it costs more money). You shove down the way you feel when you stumble over pinyin and the “zhi” sound. You loathe the Chinese government (as a result of many heated rants). You refuse rice. Hate it when people ask “why have you never been to China?”, like Henry over there has ever been to France. Actively avoid C-pop and C-dramas and scoff at CDs and demand to turn off the radio when it switches to “foreign language”. Feel out of place at Asian markets that smell overwhelmingly of herbal medicine. Resent T&T and its weird fish smell and old Asian people hitting honey melons and squeezing pomelos. Hate the hand-drawn food prices and dirty floor and overflowing fruit baskets and the opposite of every clean, neat, white grocery store you’ve ever been in. The language you associate with yelling and cursing and threatening making you recoil from learning it and then being asked “why”. Hating the broken English you associate with shame and annoyance filling in the silence at parent-teacher conferences. Being told “you can’t speak unless it’s in Chinese” and then not talking for a week straight. Friendsof-parents compliment saying “ni zhan pan le! (you got fatter)”. (I asked my parents and they said it was a compliment but to the 8-year-old ears of me it sounded like a cruel tease). Not even considering the career of a doctor because it would conform to the stereotypes, hating when people said “but aren’t you supposed to be good at math?”. The playful jabs in Chinese that sound like taunts when translated into English. Wondering why I was being shunned for speaking choppy Chinese when “we’re not even in China? This is Canada? This is what I speak literally everywhere else? You send me to a very English-speaking, extremely white school every day?”. Maybe… maybe if you wanted me to speak Chinese like Belinda you should have shown me that our culture was beautiful and speaking two languages was cool not just beneficial for work and China is full of amazing, fascinating culture and people and history, that we didn’t move to Canada because it was horrible, but because its systems were flawed, though it’s still somewhere that is special and unique and colorful.

Dear Love

By Tanvi Nagar, Outside Submission Dear love, I have always wanted to understand you more, But first of all, you must know you are the one who I most adore. Dear love, will you stand by me through the most rugged journeys of all? Dear love, as years pass by will you be there still standing strong? When there’s solitude that surrounds like the charcoal darkness of night, Will you be there, like a solid rock strong by my side? When gloom envelopes me, when pain is only what I feel, Will a single touch of yours make my wounds and scars heal? Dear love, when my life is nothing but a misty, smoky mirror, Will you be the sunlight and beat life’s grey weather? Dear love, when the sprinkler of affection waters our gardens of destiny, Will you be treading upon this path with me as zestfully? Dear love, when distaste is the only thing that binds us, Will in our relationship arise a sense of distrust? Dear love, life will put forward tests, how many would you beat? Would circumstances change, would they be bleak? Without words would only my silence be enough to communicate? Would we know what destiny stores for us, our fate? Dear love, when I’m absorbed in the deepest of darkness, Will you still love and not consider me wicked and heartless? Dear love, when we are separated by the barriers of cold war, With all your heart and soul, will I be the one who you adore? When my glass hopes and dreams are shattered and I bleed at heart, Remember life and death can not tear us apart, Once soul mates, we will always have a single heart, Having a single soul, we’ll live together, together we’ll depart, Our souls are united forever, regardless of storms or thunder, Ours is just an ordinary story of two extraordinary lovers.

Your Voice

By Ada Tucker The bell rings to dismiss the last period of the day. I start to pack all my material. “Remember! don’t forget that your assignment is on who is important in your life and how this person in your life inspired you and why.” I stand up from my desk and collect my work that I have to turn in. “You have the weekend to think and write your story for three good days. I hope you have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.” Even though I’m still confused about what she wants me to write about. I’ll just go to my mother to ask for help with this assignment. After placing my work in the due in the class basket, I walk out of the classroom and head to get my locker to get my coat and get ready to leave the school building. Unlocking my locker, I put on the items I don’t need to bring home for this weekend. Just as I slipped on I felt someone jump on me. “RUBY!?” They shouted, tackling me to the ground with a poor attempt because I held myself up. “Bruh Zandie chill I could have hit myself on the locker.” I glare down at my friend who can get carried away at times. “Sorry, Ruby.” I close my locker and let out a sigh and smile at her. “Chill it’s all good I know you didn’t mean that to happen.” We start walking down the hallway together to head back home. “So are you excited to write this assignment that Ms. Shabation gave us?” I sigh and take a bite of my meat bun that I bought at the street market. “Not really I don’t even know how I’m going to write about.” She was humming and amused. For the first time in our friendship, I was stuck on a creative writing assignment. “Hey, how about you talk about something about black history since it is this month and someone in your family that’s important to you.” She suggested as I swipe in the train station where the 2,4, and 5 trains meet at. “You know you are not wrong though. I’ll think more about it and talk to you later.” I wave goodbye as I go down the downtown section to where the only 4 trains come on. I plug into my headphones and go on Spotify and press the vibing playlist and start playing my song as I wait for the train to come. It didn’t take two songs for the train to come in. The thing that surprised me was how less crowded than the normal time I have gotten on the train but I didn’t care and sat down on the single seats so I don’t have to deal with anyone sitting next to me. As I sit down and listen to my music I dozed off to sleep as the music played my dream.

In my dream, I woke up to a blank room which confused me a bit but as I walked into the white room I started to see images. Images of my past life. I touched a picture of my mother and me talking when I was little. “You are more powerful than you know.” The little me looked at my past mother looking confused. “What do you, mama?” “Well, you see the way you act you can change the world with your writing. Your stares looking and speaking to them you change their heart or show them the path of greatness. Ruby, I can see you would change the world, be proud and independent women.” I walked away from the images of that past then found myself talking with a girl who was crying. I press it so it can play. “Hey Hey...don’t cry, please. You don’t need him. He was using you for his own benefit.” I saw my past self stand up and pull her up while given her a sweet smile. “You know what!? Just forget him I know it won’t be easy but still, you become stronger and leave these toxic annoying ass bitch who can only think about themselves. You will become the worst bitch in the land if you are selfish for once.” I watched as I took her hand and guided her somewhere out of the spot. “Come let’s get something from Dunkin Donuts to cheer you up.” The images fade out as I am pushed back into this weird white room. I continue to walk down the room to find other images of my little sister and me having a talk. “Ruby, do you see me as a weirdo?” She asked my past self to sit down on the dining room table doing my math homework and was about to get to my English homework. “I see you as my annoying demon sister rather than being a weirdo….” My sister let out a sigh and looked down as continue to do her work. “Why did you ask?” “Well, people are calling me weird because I don’t act like the others.” My past self put her pencil down and looked at her with a worried but angry look. “That bunch bollenie! Just because you don’t act like the others doesn’t declare you weird. You are a unique child. Don’t you dare let anyone change you so you can fit in the crowd. Those are not true friends because true friends would accept you for who you are.” My past self watched my little sister start to cry at the words she said to her. She let out a sigh and opened her open out for my sister to hug her. “How about we watch Naruto Shippuden and you work hard on your homework? I'll look over it if there are any mistakes.” My little sister hums happily. “I’ll start it up and make the popcorn.” “I’ll do anything for you demon sis.” I back away from my past and start to release what I should write for creative writing.

I start to wake up as I notice my playlist is about to restart. As I flutter my eyes open, I look on the right at where the door was open by a stop and see it was Wall St. So I know that the next stop is my stop. “Next stop is BowlingGreen. Stand clear of the closing door please.” I press the listen to a playlist without any ads so I can listen to my song in peace. I stand up and put my bag on one of my shoulders and walk over to the door that will open on my stop. The train came to a complete stop at my station and it opened the door saying welcome to the station as it burst out the door running up the stairs to smell the fresh air. I walk down the street beside battery park towards oh so common travel root home. I enter the Staten Island Ferry terminal and step on the escalator to go up to. I turn to my left to get some small snacks from Wendys as I wait for my mother and little sister to arrive at our normal spot on the ferry to go home together. I lean on the glass wall while holding my drinking as I start typing away on an open blank page on Google doc. “Ada 2.0! How is my baby girl.” My mom shouted as she walked over to me with her big smile as always. “Oh, you know the deal the usual. I have another assignment of creative writing.” Mom tilted her head as took a sip of my drink wondering what it’s about. So I explained to her as she took my drink away from me. “Ah okay, what have you chosen what it’s gonna be about.” I looked up at her and gave her a smile. “It’s gonna be about me, an African American girl in high school who inspired people to do big things with their words.” Mom nodded in approval of my story. “I can’t wait to read it.” As we laugh and chat about our day as we wait for my sister to come to join us. I just remember that just like the people before and after me. We push forward and never give up and not go back on our words. Whatever we put our mind to it we can create. The wisdom that you give is the personal pain you were given by the person you trust and cared about. People can hurt us but we can overcome it. We know who we are better than anyone. You have the choice to make your life for the better or for the worst. We can do whatever we want but the only way we need to find out what’s good or bad is if we were given the best advice. Do you and you can succeed in your dream even if society wants to hold you down against it.

Rastafari

By Jeronique Campbell February 6, 1945 It was a day of blessings. A day of hardships A day of confusion A day of tears and relief… It was a day like any other in St.Ann Darish, Jamaica. On that day, a young black West-Indian woman Named Cedella Booker gave birth to a baby boy A baby boy she kept and called her son. Her son, who was destined for greatness Greatness that would make him a legend The boy began to grow and found himself a best friend A young man named Neville “Bunny” Livingston. The boy and Livingston went to school together They had fun together They played music together They grew up together. Livingston inspired the boy to learn the way of the guitar The boy learned, play and embodied the guitar. And as days and weeks passed by, The boy and Livingston became young musicians. They worked, studied, and enjoying their crafts together and apart Later on, Miss Cedella Booker and Livingston’s father became involved Their formula and chemistry brought the boy and his mother To Trench Town, Kingston, Jamaica Even though poverty made things hard For the boy and his new family The now young man was about to the importance of hard work and morals And when there was nothing to do the young man Would find inspiration through local music and American artists Like Ray Charles, Elvis Presley, Fats Domino, and The Drifters And under the vocal guidance of Joe Higgs and Peter Tosh The young man and Livingston became devoted to their music...

From “Judge Not” being his first-ever debut song at seventeen To “Simmer Down” being his first song to hit the top Jamaican charts The young man was beginning to make a name for himself And He, livingston, Junior Braithwaite, Beverly Kelso and Cherry Smith All decided to form a group and be known as “The Wailers” And together they made music that rocked Kingston to the core The group was doing well and gained popularity But by 1965 the group had to go their own separate ways Without the financial support The wailers could not keep up with the requests and bills And this led the young man to leave his homeland and travel to America So by February 10, 1966 The young man got married to his wife Rita Anderson And moved to America After eight months, the young man came back to Jamaica And he reunited with Livingston and McIntosh And they formed the brand new “Wailers” During this time the young man was exploring His spiritual perspective Along with the growing interest in the Rastafarian movement The Rastafarian movement began in Jamaica in the 1930s It drew its beliefs from many sources Which included Jamaican nationalist Marcus Garvey The young man began to work with other artists Like pop singer Johnny with the worldwide hit, "Stir It Up" The Wailers also worked with producer Lee Perry during the 1960s And together they created the successful songs "Trench Town Rock," "Soul Rebel" and "Four Hundred Years." And from music on the radio to music on tv The young man and the wailers were gaining the fame And the platform they needed to spread the message Of freedom and peace But on December 3, 1976, their lives changed forever

A group of gunmen attacked the young man and the Wailers During rehearsals, two days before a planned concert in Kingston One bullet struck the young man in the sternum and his bicep Another hit his wife, Rita, in the head And their manager, Don Taylor, died shortly after that incident As a result, the young man, the wailers and all moved to America From 1972 to 1981 The young man developed the reputation of a peacemaker And he continued to do more for his community and the world He had cancer cells developing in his toe and needed surgery The surgery included an amputation Because he didn’t want to go against his morals and Rastafarian religion He couldn’t take or any add anything to or from his body So the surgery was never given to the young man And as he grew older and his family grew He had more that he wanted to accomplish And one of the accomplishments was going to Africa The young man finally went back to Jamaica to bring peace to the country That got the young man an Order of Merit from the Jamaican government The young man grew up and became a legend A legend that brought unity and awareness to the world The legend is well known to the world and today everyone knows him The legend’s name is Bob Marley He died May 11, 1981 He lived a life of love, joy, and respect He had 11 children and a growing family Bob Marley stood for the freedom of the world And their release from mental slavery A legend like Bob Marley has to be honored And remembered for his words, music, and mindset He had no value in money and hatred And he was the one who said “Love the life you live, live the life you love.”

introducing the

from JOC artists and photographers. The series of photos and art depict pivotal messages and idols of the Black community, such as the Black Lives Matter movement, Chadwick Boseman, MLK, Angela Davis, and Cicely Tyson.

Photography by Kevin Roman

Photography by Layla Hussein

Artwork by Stephanie Cuevas

Artwork by Skye Knight

Artwork by Ruby Moran

Artwork by Fatoumata Drammeh

THE END OF ISSUE FOUR

journals of color