If there was one thing I learned in my life that sticks with me every day, it’s a simple statement that I hear frequently from the mouth of my grandmother: “Know where you’re coming from.”

It’s a safe assumption that throughout her incredible life, she has had the realization of where she has come from as a daughter of a widowed sharecropper from northeast Mississippi.

Did she ever expect that in the later years of life she would be expressing to her youngest granddaughter the importance of knowing where she comes from? I’m just sure she did.

Ever since I was young, I had a pencil, a folder and a sheet of notebook paper. Now what was little ten-year-old me doing?

Not drawing because I can’t draw for my life.

I would closely notice that she was watching me; she knew what I had was special, and she was the first to know I had creative talent. I was writing.

Writing has become my art.

I am not the amazing painter in my family, or illustrator, dancer, or photographer — the list goes on.

But I knew that I could pick up a pen and write.

Arriving at college, if there was some type of reputation to be proud of from back home, it had to be my writing skill.

All I wanted to do was tell a story, whether it be mine or someone else’s — big or small.

And all the Iowa State Daily wanted were hardworking reporters.

I thought a special relationship could form and never in a million years did I see where a simple passion of mine could lead me on the track that I’ve been on.

My first year at Iowa State I would religiously play a song off the Broadway play of ‘Hamilton.’

That March, I sat in a room in a daze sitting right next to man who played Aaron Burr, the man who sang the lyrics to songs I can still recite word for word, Leslie Odom, Jr.

Almost a year ago, I took myself on a path of uncertainty as I decided to find and interview DACA recipients to give them a platform that they were notoriously excluded from.

I ended up becoming immersed. Their dreams were my dreams. Their pain was silently mine, as well.

This journey I’ve had during my years at college has left me in tears, sweat and joy.

It was not designed to be easy; if it was, everyone would do it.

Pain is short term, however, joy is long-lasting.

I wouldn’t change anything about my accomplishments or the people I’ve met. It was designed for me and only me. I’ve been through it all.

I think next time I see my grandma, I’ll let her know where I came from: a foundation stabilized by her unconditional love.

Without that, my creativity wouldn’t flourish and without it, who will be next in line to tell someone’s story?