“Becoming: A Letter to the World”

“Becoming: A Letter to the World”

By Tshegofatso Nxumalo

My name is Tshegofatso, and for the past few years, I’ve poured my heart into studying Law at Wits University. I walked the halls of that institution with a heart full of fire — driven by a deep desire to serve, to speak up, and to stand in the gap for others. I co-founded student chapters, mentored first years, worked in communities, and wrote for platforms that sought to democratize justice. I spent late nights immersed in cases and policies, and early mornings speaking life into youth programmes and public dialogues.

But life doesn’t always go the way we plan. Sometimes dreams shift. Sometimes we find ourselves at an unexpected crossroads.

I won’t be continuing my studies at Wits. Writing that still stings a little. There’s a kind of heartbreak that comes from loving something so deeply — pouring yourself into it — and having to let it go. Law wasn’t just a degree to me. It was a calling. It was the way I made sense of injustice, of inequality, of suffering. It was my answer to the question, “What can I do about this?”

So yes, there is grief in that truth. There is the weight of unfinished chapters, of questions that have no easy answers. But there is also something else. There is a strange kind of freedom in having the floor collapse beneath you — because then, you realize you have wings. You begin to see the world beyond the classroom. You start to ask different questions — not what’s next on the syllabus, but what’s next for my soul?

I’ve always been passionate about more than just academics. From a young age, I felt deeply. About people. About stories. About the gaps in society that too many fall through. I come from a community where resilience is currency, where young people hold dreams bigger than the circumstances they were born into. I’ve seen injustice — but I’ve also seen extraordinary courage. And somewhere along the line, I decided I wanted to be part of changing things.

That’s why I got involved — not only in student leadership, but in civil society spaces, in policy circles, in youth dialogues. I’ve stood in rooms with diplomats, ministers, and CEOs, but I’ve also sat under trees with women sharing their truth in whispers. And to me, both spaces matter. Because justice must live both in the courtroom and in the community.

I’m especially passionate about youth empowerment — not just in theory, but in practice. I believe in the power of a young mind that is nurtured, heard, and trusted. I’ve seen how policy can uplift or exclude. I’ve seen how the law can liberate or silence. And I’ve seen how access — to education, to opportunity, to safe spaces — can make or break a future.

I also care deeply about climate justice and environmental sustainability. Not because it’s trendy, but because I’ve seen how climate issues affect those who are already marginalized. In poor communities, drought isn’t just a data point — it’s a daily crisis. Pollution isn’t abstract — it’s what people breathe, drink, and live through. I want to be part of shaping policies that care not only about profit, but about people and the planet.

In recent years, I’ve had the chance to represent South African youth on national and international platforms. I’m a delegate to the Y20 — the official youth engagement group of the G20 — where I serve in the Working Group on Climate Change and Environmental Sustainability. It’s an honour, but also a heavy responsibility. Because I know I don’t just speak for myself — I carry the hopes of many.

Despite the formal titles, the truth is: I’m just a young woman trying to find her place in the world. Trying to live with integrity. Trying to serve where it matters most.

So now, I’m entering a season of deep transition. It’s scary, yes. But also strangely beautiful. Because now I’m asking myself: What if the classroom was just the beginning? What if the calling is bigger than the degree?

I’m giving myself permission to dream again — not the dreams written in application forms, but the dreams that visit me late at night. I want to travel. I want to write more — from the heart, not just from the law. I want to listen deeply to people’s stories and tell them with care. I want to create spaces where young people feel seen, safe, and supported. I want to work in policy, but not lose the poetry of activism.

I want to become more than what I thought I’d be.

I’m also learning to rest. To grieve the losses I didn’t expect. To hold space for both sorrow and hope. To trust that even if the timeline has changed, the purpose has not. I’ve stopped measuring my worth by what degree I’m completing or what job title I hold. I’m beginning to understand that purpose is more patient than that. And sometimes, detours lead to deeper destinations.

So here I am, world. Not quite sure of the next step, but willing to take it. Open to learning differently. Open to starting again. Open to finding myself outside the safety of lecture halls and student emails. I still believe in justice. I still believe in people. I still believe in love as a radical force for change.

I’m not done — I’m becoming. And maybe that’s enough for now.