This is for all the brothers that ain’t here.

—Preach (from the film Cooley High)

After a greatly needed spring break, many students expect to return to school with a new outlook, a returning focus and a tan, myself included (except for the tan, which isn’t really high on my list.)

However, over spring break I suffered a loss in my life. A loss that upset me a great deal and caused me to evaluate a lot of things in this world.

You see, a young man whom I knew was killed last week. I can’t exactly call him a friend of mine, but he was an acquaintance. He talked to me at least three times a week.

We didn’t really know each other all that well. I probably knew more about him than he knew about me.

His name was Christopher Wallace, but many people came to know know him as Biggie Smalls or the Notorious B.I.G.

People will make issues out of why he died, who killed him and whose fault it was. However, there is a much deeper issue out there than that.

The fact is that this 24-year-old man was a lot of things to a lot of people.

I feel sorry for those people.

Not just his fans who loved him and his musical talent and skills. But also for his family.

His mother has lost her son.

Faith Evans, his wife, has lost her husband as well as the father of her children.

Sean Combs has lost a protege, friend and partner.

A lot of people have lost in the death of this 24-year-old man.

The world has lost an artist and a voice to be heard.

The black community has lost a voice, but more importantly, it has lost one of its own.

There are some alarming statistics in my community: The most dangerous time for young black males is ages 18-35. One in five black men will die before he reaches the age of 24. There are more black men in jail than in college.

What’s up wit that?

Some will say that Biggie Smalls brought it on himself because of his music. They will say that his lifestyle and his lyrics caused his death.

Even in his own music Biggie, like another fallen rapper named Tupac, said he was ready to die and knew that his life was destined to be short.

Ready to die — not wanting to die. There is a difference, a very big difference.

At the time of his death Biggie was preparing for the release of a new album, enjoying a new addition to his family (he recently had a son named Christopher Wallace Jr.) and was preparing to reap further benefits of his success.

Like Tupac, Biggie had been through many different trials and tribulations in his life but was attempting to write a new chapter in the book of life—one that was full of success, respect and a better life.

Many questions can be raised by the death of this young man. Was it the result of gang violence? Who is responsible? Is it related to the Tupac murder?

Nevertheless, these questions may never be answered and will always be speculative.

The most important question being asked is: When will the violence stop?

Because the fact still remains that another young, talented, strong, black man is dead before he saw his 30th birthday.

Those of us who are here and alive should be thankful for those things. At a time when so many of my brothers are killing one another, I know I am thankful for every day the elements and the fall of the cards pass me by.

Even here, on this campus, there are those of us who do not make the most of the opportunity. You know who you are, and others know who I am talking about.

Think about how many people you know who are nowhere near where you are.

Think about all the people you know who are in trouble, in jail, dead or just plainly on their asses not doing a damn thing.

I think about them all the time — Ray-Ray in Cook County, Craig in Joliet, Earl in Oak Hill cemetery, Sha-Sha who got caught breaking and entering and all them fools at the 7-11 doing nothing.

Then I think about all those who are doing something with themselves — Omar, Anthony, Neveen and Gerald. The list of people who are making the most of their opportunities is five miles long.

I hear the mothers crying and the fathers weeping. I hear the wives, girlfriends, sisters and brothers asking why. I see the children who are now fatherless, the nephews and nieces who have lost their uncles and I say, damn!

Biggie, Ennis and Tupac were my brothers, not by blood but by spirit and soul. I’m sure gonna miss them. No, I never met these men, but should I have to in order to mourn men who should still be here?

My community is self-destructing. We fight over the silliest things, like greek letters, silly colors, different schools and such. It’s time for it to stop.

What can I do? Make the most of my ability and opportunity. Learn what I can and know what I need. Search for the truth and strive for the best. Work hard and maybe take a few of y’all with me.

Peace, love and soul.

I’m out, holla if ya hear me.

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Rhaason Mitchell is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Chicago.