Before she had fingernails.

That's where Mikeisha Tresevant wants to begin her story.

Conception, to be exact.

Her mother hadn't believed pregnancy was possible after a sexual encounter that stopped short of intercourse. Neither had the man who would become Mikeisha's biological father. As far as they understood it, there was no reason to expect a baby.

And yet.

"Like God just needed contact for the earthly world to drop me into existence," Mikeisha says.

She finds the circumstances hilarious, although they've also given her something to think about.

"My purpose in life is truly bigger than me."

She's since become considerably more cautious about the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy. She jokes that she'd like to reserve the right to choose the father of her future children.

Mikeisha grew up in Los Angeles, where some of her earliest memories of photography have nothing to do with holding a camera.

They begin with her grandmother's photo albums.

There were dozens of them. During holidays, the family would gather around the photographs, laughing while her grandmother supplied the stories behind each picture.

"She, being the historian of the family, loved taking pictures, and we loved hearing about the moment that made the memory."

Later, Mikeisha watched Love Jones and saw a Black woman making a life as a photographer. At Crenshaw High School, she enrolled in an analog photography class, learning to develop film in a darkroom.

She mostly photographed clouds.

"In a funny way, that makes sense to me, to be looking up in wonder."

At Crenshaw, Mikeisha was also a cheerleader, participated in the New Media Academy, had teachers she adored, friendships she was building, and what she remembers as the sweetest new relationship.

She was, as she puts it, "in my high school bag."

Then came the announcement.

"We're moving!"

Following a family tragedy, her mother decided they would leave Los Angeles for Lancaster.

"I felt like I was losing EVERYTHING."

The new school was predominantly white. After making every cheer and dance team she'd previously auditioned for, Mikeisha didn't make the team there.

For approximately six months, she struggled with depression.

"I checked out… was completely numb."

The following year, Crenshaw lost its accreditation. Friends transferred, while others worried about their chances of getting into college.

Mikeisha began to see her mother's decision differently.

Lancaster eventually introduced her to new friendships and a deeper involvement in church.

"I lost the old version of me, and then felt like I was gaining a newer version."

But another conversation was waiting before college.

Her mother sat her down and explained that the man Mikeisha had grown up believing was her father might not be her biological father. Questions had arisen because Mikeisha's physical features differed from those of her sisters.

She had grown up as what she calls "the neighborhood's love child."

Now she was leaving home with questions about another possible father, another sister, and what the discovery might mean for her identity.

She describes the search as an additional assignment in growing up.

College brought new friendships, new ambitions, and plenty of photographs.

Mikeisha and her best friend Brittney, affectionately known as Little Britt, became the resident photographers.

"I took pictures of EVERYTHING," she says. "Alllllllll the bad photos… I have them, lol."

She also established a dance team larger than any in the school's history.

And she fell in love.

When that relationship ended, she was devastated. Her grades suffered, and the heartbreak affected an entire academic year.

"The only place I could comfortably cry was class."

She'd worked hard enough academically that her grades could withstand the setback, but there was no shortcut through the grief.

Mikeisha would fall in love again over the years. And again.

Eventually, she says, "the only person I needed to fall in love with was me."