the first time i saw the word juneteenth was in 6th or 7th grade. it was in the back of a book that lived in my social studies classroom, and was what i now know to be an advertisement for Ralph Ellison’s novel centering the holiday. i didn’t start engaging with the day, and what it meant for me as a first generation black american, until over a decade later. i started celebrating and acknowledging the day in my twenties, when I realized how profound it was. to be in celebration of freedom on blood soaked soil and to mourn the lives lost during the almost three year lie about the end of slavery told by white supremacy. this day is obviously especially poignant for texans, but also a day of remembrance for black southerners, black folks throughout america, and the larger black diaspora. this year I considered more deeply what this day should mean for africans in the united states and black people across the world. and i realized that for me, this day should center black texans and black americans , but also serve as a remembrance of my west african ancestors who were lost along the way—lost to the middle passage, lost to enslavement, lost to forced migration past and present. i remember those people because being west african, especially liberian, is to know that my history did not stagnate on the continent and that my ancestry is scattered across many lands and oceans. on juneteenth, i often post this picture because it brings to mind pure joy. there is always mourning to be done and loss to be acknowledged, but freedom day is also for feeling the breeze of freedom as it flows through the air, radiates through our bodies, fills our lungs, and tickles our noses. so this is a belated happy juneteenth to you, me, our ancestors, and black people all over searching for freedom now and forever.