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In my youthful folly, I foolishly chose to pine for my black prince. To say I was immediately smitten was quite the understatement. I watched as he paraded through the halls of church and other gatherings with one girl after the other, none whom looked like me. Tightly sewed in Brazilian and Malaysian locks would not miraculously transform me into Shakira or JLO or secure my place in Jay’s heart.After Jay came Harry, the quintessential IBM boy next door.I was no longer the brainwashed mammy foot soldier of yester-year.I chose to not waste another moment wallowing in fear, doubt and darkness.

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As I watched reports of Zimmerman’s antics on the local news, I was once again reminded of the unjust death of the hooded boy, who was killed 30 minutes from where I live.When Myspace lost its allure from the fickle millennial attention span, Harry made one final appearance on my Facebook timeline. While scrolling through endless wedding pictures of Harry and his Korean love, I was once again reminded of my non-existent love life. I was plagued with nights of self-doubt and crippling insecurity.

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