My racism, seemingly quiet, is, in fact, the catalyst of a devastatingly painful reverberation, particularly when coupled with millions upon millions of other people who like me, fail to question their privilege. By accepting my privilege, I have volunteered for racism. By failing to challenge my own privilege, I have implicitly accepted the task to carry out the oppressive goals of a racist majority.

For me, as a woman of color, being "woke" is not a trend. Being woke started when I opened my brown eyes at birth, my dark brown eyes set inside of my brown face and my brown body at birth, and saw America for the first time. For me, and for countless others, woke-ness is not a hobby or a cause for me. It is existence. It is irrevocably a part of who I am. For a person of color, sometimes I feel like I’m keeping my tired eyeballs open to make sure I survive in a world full of misunderstandings, misrepresentations, missed kindnesses. To me, acting purposefully, with an aim toward social justice and promoting the normalization of diversity, is how I stay aware of the ways that American society treats different communities differently, how the external world tears down some while uplifting others, and how society often seeks to minimize the personhood of those termed as “Other.”