My name means “princess,” at least that’s what my dad always tells me. I never believed him, since Google, along with every word processor out there, thinks that my name is some misspelled version of another word. I always thought of a princess having everything that she could possibly want or having the means to get those things, something that I never thought of having myself. A girl of color who wears the hijab being privileged? It’s unheard of. I couldn’t be a princess when my ‘castle’ was a one bedroom apartment that was missing half my family. There was no princess with divorced parents or an estranged sister. I couldn’t be a princess when I was nothing like one. I never knew what it was like to have anything handed to me, and neither did my immigrant parents. Growing up watching them get through everything, despite all the obstacles in their path, taught me that I could too. My mom had to switch between jobs constantly and paying for bills and housing was really difficult for us. I had to take on more responsibility at a younger age because of all that my parents did already. I was left to form my ambitions on my own because I had no one to help me through that. The closest thing I had were my older siblings, but my sister left when I was 10 and just starting to figure out my passions and my brother was more closed off. I was the one who had to stay home and deal with the ruins that were left behind by what used to be my family. Having to take on such a heavy load caused me to grow up and mature quicker than any child wants to. I never knew what it was like to feel completely treated as an equal. It was hard not being taken as seriously by teachers just because I was a girl. I’ve had multiple incidents where male teachers would encourage male students to take a harder class or take advantage of a certain opportunity, wheres I didn’t have that same type of support even though my performance was as high, if not higher. Those incidents unfortunately hindered me from pushing myself to take harder classes in the past because I simply didn’t think I could. I let things like that hold me back because I didn’t have the confidence in my abilities that I have now. While I needed it before, now I don’t need the approval of someone else and I can push myself on my own. I was also forced to grow accustomed to being treated as lesser than others. I learned to put up with the casual racism, bigotry, and Islamophobia that I encountered in everyday life. It wasn’t uncommon for me to face ridicule from strangers in the streets or to deal with criticism from my own friends. Even as a child, I just was never able to wrap my head around why I wasn’t treated like others. I could never understand why it should matter if my skin was darker than others or if I covered my hair. Those negative experiences shaped me into not only someone who is unapologetically herself, but also someone who knows to be tolerant and accepting of others. In a way, the person who I am today, along with all that I hope to accomplish in the future, stemmed from what I didn’t have growing up and all the challenges that I faced along the way. I became mature because I had to take on more responsibility at a younger age. I became resilient because I had to do things by myself which took more effort than having things handed to you. I want to pursue a STEM-field career, not only because it interests me, but because I have yet to see someone like myself in that field. I want to be a catalyst for change because I grew up feeling so insignificant because I couldn’t do anything to help others. I want to fight for equality because as a female Muslim person of color, I have never experienced it and no one should have to be treated as anything less than human. While I may not have grown up like a princess, I’ve turned what has burdened me the most into my drive to do better. By: Anonymous '18 (BHSEC Queens)
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Dear Mom and Dad: “School is good.” This was my response when met with grandma’s usual chain of questions one evening at her house. It was then followed by a head swung back in laughter following a comment about my growth in height, a few nods, and an invitation to eat the freshly made dishes on the table. My older cousins greeted me in the hall as they too, made their way to Grandma, and struck an immediate conversation like the rekindling of fire. From the side, I stared longingly, hoping to latch onto their playful banter. They seem immersed in their conversation, which was completely spoken in Chinese and too fast for me to follow with my beginner-level vocabulary. You both were mingling with Auntie and Uncle, while I was left alone, surrounded by the perpetual noise of loud dialogue in a dialect that was unfamiliar to me. At the dinner table, Grandma made remarks about how I should have been picking up Mandarin quicker seeing as I was a young child, and then she began lecturing you both about how it was a shame that you didn’t formally teach me the language. Her voice, rising with emotion, crescendoed through her tiny apartment. I released the bursts of compressed air that collected in my lungs out of the frustration that suddenly struck me. I helplessly averted my gaze to contemplate the food getting cold on my plate, while both of you quietly submitted to the faults of your parenting by paying lip service to her rant. A look of defeat plastered your faces, almost as though all of the pride you had in raising me, was utterly shattered and torn apart. Despite Grandma’s dissatisfaction, I do not think that your failure to familiarize me with the mother tongue is a failure at all. Like an old, old record, you’ve consistently retold stories about how tremendous the task it was moving to the other side of the world, only to work 12 hours a day doing menial labor, and finally, making a stable living for your family. Working job after job exposed you to ridicule from those who opposed the “foreignness” of our food and particularly, our language. When my brother and I were born, you were determined for us to become proficient in English out of the fear that if we weren’t, we would face the same battle of alienation you both had to fiercely fight through. Growing up, I picked up a few phrases and words from your frequent late-night conversations, but even then, you spoke to me in a string of broken English peppered with words in Mandarin. When we attended family dinner parties, I had always felt like the black sheep, unable to utter a single coherent sentence in the mother tongue. I’d walk between relatives, hoping they wouldn’t decide to begin a conversation with me only to realize I couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. Am I authentic? Did they think I’m rejecting my heritage? These were thoughts I’d began to wonder. I’d felt entirely unbelonging to my heritage; an imposter who’s efforts to claim their ethnicity felt essentially futile. Both of you, sensing this, bought flashcards with Chinese characters and beginner words on them in hopes that I could suddenly converse with my relatives and validate my position in my cultural background. This method, as you both knew extremely well, did not work. With the exception of a few words, the extent of my knowledge about Mandarin had not improved. But, by being surrounded by others who also come from immigrant families for most of my life, I’ve learned that others can also resonate. Despite what Grandma had said, it was simply the result of being in a primarily english-speaking country and not having the exposure necessary to be fluent in a second language. It is the same fear of alienation that perpetuates the bias you have on the careers that are more traditionally lucrative. You like to assume that in college, I’ll be flocking to a pre-med program or enrolling in an engineering class when, in reality, I don’t know if that’ll ever happen. Your fears are translated into the desire for me to acknowledge the idea that the path to the American Dream is paved by one of the five career choices. You refuse to subject your children to a life of hardships, so you advocate these things because you know what’s “best for me”. While I appreciate your plan for me to blossom into a successful adult with a profitable future, I want you to be able to support me in whatever venture I pursue in the future. I’m asking you to free your guilt and responsibility towards my inability to speak Chinese. I’m asking you to no longer be fearful of the mentality of this country, particularly that of those who dismiss our experience. I’m asking you to not buy into the notion that the only way to be happy and successful is by limiting yourself to a bubble of options. Most of all, I’m asking you to never let the hope you’ve always instilled in me disappear inside yourselves. By: forrestsarecool '19 (BHSEC Queens)
A movie theater owner and a hotel worker with an 18 month-old son escape the insurgency that would’ve guaranteed the death of the theater owner. One KLM flight, a rat-infested apartment in Astoria, and another son later, the husband traded the film lining for a backpack of tools and the fame of New York City, and the wife traded her uniform for a life of helping people without judgement. The son is the reason first-graders can read books just from picking out of monthly online and paper catalogs. As the immigrant is fractured by the persecution and indoctrination of their individual identity, they realize something much bigger as they step afoot in America; the fracture in their heart is now healing. As a matter of fact, the heart is becoming stronger; much stronger to the point that it expands and stretches to its surroundings to benefit it. The immigrant constructs buildings with the steel of chains it has unshackled. It’s especially important to note that this same building holds a strong foundation in the integrity and admiration of their culture. The building scaled by the owner and the hotel worker was built upon the recognition of human rights, a love for soccer and raï, and speech with a rich variety of Arabic, French, English, and Tamazight. This is the ground that I stand upon. I’m convinced that the American immigrant is not just a narrative of self-made success and tearing down barriers, but a microcosm for the rapid expansion of the universe. A small yet momentous decision that has led to a world that encapsulates many other stories; and this universe has a strong force that is adamant to give up its expansion. By: Ad.Go
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March 2022
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