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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