There are moments in time, good or bad, that feel infinitely longer than others. Seconds feel like years when your brain tries to process unexpected information. The night before Marhaba began, I was stuck in one of these moments after receiving an unexpected notification: Chadwick Boseman had died of stage five colon cancer.

Feelings that started as denial quickly thawed into anger and sadness. I spent the night speedrunning through these stages of grief on loop, the final stage of acceptance dangling out of reach. In the fleeting moments that I wasn't crying to a mix of my favorite sad playlist and F2020 by Avenue Beat, I was savoring the Black Panther soundtrack, wishing I could watch the movie again for the first time.

Black Panther’s release in 2018 was surrounded by international anticipation due to the groundbreaking representation in the film's cast. This wasn't the first time a Black character appeared in a Marvel film, but for the first time, there was a Black lead character — and he was a superhero.

The lack of representation of people of color is a major issue in the film industry. Even when characters of color are included, they’re often written in ways that either perpetuate harmful stereotypes, blatantly use the character as a token to fill a quota or barely show the supposed main character on screen (looking at you, [Disney] (https://blogs.libraries.indiana.edu/mediabeat/2016/06/03/a-closer-look-at-the-princess-and-the-frog/)). While generations before me grew up with a complete lack of people of color in the media, I at least saw some people who looked like me. Sure, they were always the “Sassy Best Friend” or “Nerdy Overachiever”. But at least they were there, and for that, I was subconsciously grateful.

Their presence, however, didn’t rectify my lack of emotional connection to these characters. Yes, seeing Zendaya play Rocky on Shake it Up was impactful, and while I loved the show, I never dreamed of being a dancer. The connection I made with that character was automatically limited. There had always been this divide in the media that I consumed; either I made an emotional connection or I was represented. Black Panther was the first time I got both.

I've been a Marvel fan since I was 11 years old. I've seen every movie, stayed for every post-credit scene and taken every Buzzfeed quiz. While I’d grown up with the Falcon and War Machine — filling the roles of the “Black Best Friend” and ”Sidekick” — Black Panther was the first time the story focused on a Black lead. It was also a fantastic film. From the engaging plot to the beautiful setting, and the poignant symbolism to the amazing soundtrack (thank you, Kendrick Lamar), the movie deserves all of the praise it received. The root of my emotional connection to the movie stems from this previously unacknowledged gap in my life finally being filled.

Black Panther came out at the same time I was attempting to consciously reconcile my American and Ethiopian identities. Teenage years are often spent trying to understand one’s identity, even without the added complications of being a bicultural immigrant. For me, there was a constant fear of inadequacy. Was I American enough for my classmates and teachers? Was I Ethiopian enough for my family? Was I enough for myself? Would I ever be? Watching a movie that discussed the clashes between and reconciliation of African-Americans and Africans was like watching the two halves of myself trying to coexist. Boseman championed having the cast speak in African accents , which speaks to his commitment to the role and respect for the cultural inspiration of the movie.

Despite Black Panther’s impact on me and everything that it symbolizes for the Black and African communities, to pretend Black Panther is Chadwick Boseman’s entire legacy would be a crime. He was so much more than T’Challa. He had a massive range as an actor, playing characters like Thurgood Marshall in Marshall and Jackie Robinson in 42, where he demonstrated mastery of his craft time and time again.

Boseman’s legacy is also more than his battle against cancer. Yes, it was brave to hide his diagnosis for four years but it was done out of necessity. Talking about it would have cost him roles and his accomplishments would’ve been framed within the stigma that surrounds chronic illness. Posthumously commending him for working through his diagnosis paints his pain as heroism, but it has also opened up an important conversation about ableism.

Chadwick Boseman was an incredible actor whose work not only filled a gap in media representation, but an emotional gap for many African Americans and those of the African diaspora. I hope he knew how deeply he’d touched the lives of millions. I still remember the first time I heard his name back in 2014 when Black Panther was announced. I remember delving into the character, devouring every bit of lore I could find. I remember my breath catching in my throat as the Marvel logo faded, the anticipation that had grown for four years finally reaching its peak. I remember walking out of the theater in a daze, dreaming in purple and silver with my eyes wide open. Now, I remember Boseman’s legacy. May he rest in power and in peace.