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When going into Freshman year, I was really doubtful about how the year is going to go. I hit the middle of November, that is when I was crushed. It was the week before Thanksgiving, I was ready for our annual Macsgiving! Macsgiving is a tradition where we would throw a big party with all of my dad side of the family’s friends at my grandpa’s house. It would be the 3rd year in a row and I was excited to see faces I haven’t seen a whole year! Thanksgiving was one of my favorite holidays as I get to talk to family friends and eat.  l helped my mom put cases of beer and soda into the basement to store until Thanksgiving day. I went upstairs and layed in bed, pulling up my school’s website to start my homework. The phone began to ring as I ignored the christmas ringtone until my mom picked up. “Kids! Get ready we’re going to the hospital to see your grandpa!” My grandfather was in the hospital for at least half a year and it was going to be the first time I’ll see him. I haven’t see him in forever which made me a bit happy and sad.

When we were in the car for awhile, I knew it wasn’t going to be typical Jefferson hospital that we usually always go to. A hospital appeared out of the side window that I wasn’t familiar with. My family and I walked into the ICU and turned through a few hallways to find my uncles and aunt in the room in front of us which of course was the room my grandpa was in. When I walked in it was unbelievable what I saw. My grandpa had so many tubes all around his body, his entire body was filled with fluid to the point where he looked swollen. Like he was stung by 100 wasps. I didn’t even recognize him anymore. From that short old wrinkly man that I loved being around, to the swollen man in the bed that I didn’t recognize.

To see my grandpa, I had to put on an entire suit, gloves, and hand sanitize my hands. I was very uncomfortable. It was so unreal just to see my grandpa that I haven’t seen in so long. What was the point of putting all this on? I’m just visiting, not doing an operation on him. I did those procedures and walked into the room. Just looking at him was going to make me fall to my knees and cry. Everyone was surrounded around him. I was standing in front where his feet was facing me. I touched and rubbed his leg. It was the first time I touched him in forever. It felt fat, like a sausage from a deli. I looked up to see him looking into my eyes. He had no expression. But I knew that he couldn’t make one either way. A flush of warmth flowed up fast through me and I began to have a burning sensation throughout my entire body. I rushed out of the room and I was gagging into a trashcan. I didn’t know if it was the clothes they made me wear that was making me hot and lightheaded, or the thought that I haven’t seen my grandpa in so long to where it hurts to just see him in the condition he was in. After I settled down for a few minutes, I walked back into the room and walked right beside him again. My family and really close friends came by to let him know we’re here for him. I knew what was happening but I kept it in the back of my head.

When I was still at home, my siblings and I were told that he was dying. From all the faces surrounding the room, I knew it was the moment where we we’re gonna let go. To lighten up the mood and the intense emotions in the room, my uncle said, “grandpa smile for grandkids” although it was in cantonese. He smiles showing all of his teeth as if the the dentist told him to open your mouth and bite down. I laughed and smile a bit and started tearing up a bit knowing that’ll be the last time I would ever see him smile. I watched as my aunt, uncles, and my dad stood by his side and held his hand. I walked out of the room with my mom, siblings, and family friends as we gave them their time to see their father for one last time. We walked down to right turns down the hallway right into the patient room. There was drinks and snacks on the table, yet I didn’t touch a single one even though my stomach was empty. I had a blank face for a good 10 minutes as if I was thinking about life in the shower. I couldn't believe it. Happy memories flashed through my head remembering all of the things I did for my grandfather when he needed me. I started over thinking and became angry at myself that I didn’t spend enough time with him when I always came over. I kept those thoughts inside and kept the blank face.

Ding! I looked up at the tv where Steve Harvey was hosting his tv show Family Feud. I watched it, yet I wasn’t paying attention as if it was playing on mute. I heard crying coming through the hallway and looked through the opened door to see my aunt on the ground sobbing. My aunts very close friend was right next to her, holding her hands trying to pull her back up. The only thing I could’ve think of is why. Why did it have to happen now. It was the week of thanksgiving and it was suppose to be the month of being with family and having thankfulness for each other. My heart was beating out of my chest as I kept watching my aunt sob a bucket of tears in the middle of the hallway. I didn’t know what to do as I turned away and look at my brother and sister. There was no expression on either of their faces. Not even my mom or our family friends. My eyes blurred as tears began to build up. It’s been a few minutes of sitting in silence after I hear one of my uncles talk to my aunt in the hallway. “He’s suffering! Just lying there having a machine breath for him. He can’t even talk anymore!” I hear my aunt try to respond, but the tears and sniffing was in full control. I didn’t turn my head out the door because I knew I would cry, unable to control myself. I slouched down into my chair and kept telling myself to stay strong. It’s okay…... be brave justin, grandpa is okay.

“Kids lets go. We’re going home now. “ My mom demanded that we’re going home. “Where’s dad?” My brother asked. “He’ll be home later.” We got up and walked down the hallway in silence. It was the first time I witnessed my entire dad’s side of the family so close and together. I watched as my aunt was still on the floor and my uncle trying to pick her up. My other uncle is facing the wall, leaning on it with his arm up and his head under his arm. My oldest uncle and my dad was still missing as they were still in the room of my grandpa. I turned back around as we exited the building, zipping up my jacket from the wind that tipped my to the right. The car ride was silent the entire time. When we got back home, it was 1 in the morning and I showered right away. The burning hot water hits my head and flows down my body as the entire bathroom begins to turn into a steam room. My mind was blank and I just stood there. When I got out, my dad came back home. My dad walks up the stairs to get ready to shower and we all come into his room and asks when is he going to heal. “He’s dead. We cut the tube, he was suffering. Its 1am, kids, go to sleep.” I walked into my room, slammed my face into my pillow, and cried myself to sleep.

It is December 30th, 2015. I’d never thought I’d end up where I am now. I began sophomore year optimistic, looking forward to beginning a new chapter after a successful summer. I was struggling at the time with finding out who I wanted to be and what I looked like. Slowly realizing how  “big” or “fat” I was,  insecurities came quickly. I’d taken interest in guys but they’d never taken much interest in me. My two bestfriends at the time, skinny and pretty with long hair, walking down the street with them was often painful for me. As boys would approach them throughout the day, asking for their numbers or trying to get their attention, I was left in the dust. Although boys my age hadn’t paid any attention to me, there was this one boy who caught my eye. Well dressed, goals for himself, heavily involved in extracurriculars, he’d seemed to meet my standards. We’d been friends for a little bit until I kind of developed a crush.

It was the last day of school before winter break, we all sat in class, huddled around, play fighting and laughing. I was giggling when suddenly he’d taken my phone. I had no problem when he’d asked for my password;

“ I am an open book, I have nothing to hide” I’d thought to myself.

“ What is it ?” he’d said for the second time

“ 8269, it’s my mom's birthday” I said proudly.

A few minutes had passed when I noticed he wasn’t engaged in the conversation.

“ What are you doing over there?” I asked making my way to his seat.

He dodged, I caught a glimpse of the screen, he’d been reading text messages from my best friend at the time and I. Throughout those messages were secrets that could have exposed her and I both. We wrestled for the phone until the period was over. As I packed up my things he walked passed placing my phone on the table;   

“I know something, you wanna know what I know?” he said.

I looked at him in suspicion, my stomach suddenly in knots and my heart beating fast I said

“Yeah, what do you know?”

“ What do you think I know?” he asked.

I became annoyed and nervous at the same time. I swore he knew that I liked him, walking down the hallway I was at a loss for words as he asked me every five seconds ;

“ tell me, what do you think I know?.... Huh” he said  

We’d gotten to our next class, I sat down, he sat next to me. His seat being all the way across the room I told him to leave and I’d text it to him. I pulled out my phone, opened kik messanger where I wrote;

“ I kind of have a crush on you.”  and pressed send.

Later that day I rushed out the classroom and out of the school avoiding any contact. Little did I know I wouldn’t get rejected and I would have entered a relationship that would have lasted almost a year, with on and offs.

I’d always been the girl to say “ I’d never let a boy effect my school work.” I’d prided myself on being a “good girl.” I’ve always had good grades, good friends, and a good life until I got my first “serious” boyfriend. I hadn’t completely thought about what I was getting myself into. I hadn’t even begun to pour love and all of my emotions into myself however, I decided to pour myself into someone else. I felt so mature, there were heart eyes and red heart emojis galore, we’d  talk about the future and our goals and aspiration however, things began to seem one sided. After the honeymoon stage we hit a rocky patch, the mature feeling was only a feeling and I learned for the first time that I didn’t know how to communicate. Being a public speaker, I’d thought of myself as an  eloquent  and confident speaker who spoke circles around those who would listen. This was until we had our first argument,  and suddenly I was mute.   I’d have nothing to say in front of him but in front of my friends I couldn’t stop talking and that was the problem.  He was  intimidating, he made me nervous and a little bit more insecure than I already was. I’d think that If I spoke my mind,  that instead of listening he’d run the other way,so I kept my mouth shut. He had a certain power over me that not even I had over myself.

On a day in mid-January we broke up for the first time. I went home and for the first time, I cried over a boy, About a week later, he texted me, telling me how much he missed me and how sorry he was that he wasn’t making time for me and that he’d try harder. I began comparing myself to girls I thought he wanted and overtime tearing myself apart. As I began to dig deeper into the puppy love that we had I began to stray farther from who I was and what I wanted, I was settling.  By settling I agreed to be treated without respect, to be the one in the relationship putting in enough emotion for both of us when the other was incapable of putting in emotion. Suddenly I found myself skipping class, lying to my dad, not doing homework or benchmarks because I was in my room crying or sleeping. My life as a student and as a young woman was taking a turn for the worst.

Tony -¡Hola! Bienvenidos a nuestro de feliz de moda y nosotros tenemos gangas muy buenas.

Alex -  ¡Tienes dos modelos muy muy guapas y  modelos Asombrosos

Tony - ¡Sí y tenemos ropa hermosa!

Alex - ¡Muchas gracias por ver!

Tony - ¡Mil gracias! ¡Disfruta!

Salsabeel models the shirt

Alex - ¡Esta camisa cuesta quince dólares!

Tony - ¡Solamente quince!

Tony - ¡Muy barata!

Tony - ¡En mi opinión me encanta la camiseta!

Alex - ¡Sí, a mi también me encanta el patrón! Me encantan las rayas!

Tony - ¡El Púrpura color saca el color de sus ojos!

Alex - ¡Si estoy de acuerdo!

Brendan models the adidas pants

Tony - ¡ Mira mira! Aquellos vaqueros son de Levi!

Alex - ¿Adivina cuánto cuestan?

Tony - ¿Cuánto?

Alex - ¡Sólo 41.99 dolares!

Tony - ¡No me digas waww!

Alex -¡ Increible !

Tony - ¡Sí Sí !

Alex - ¡Y esos pantalones son solo díez dólares! Muy baratos.

Salsabeel models the jansport Bookbag

Tony - ¡Mira esta mochila rosada!

Alex - ¿Cuanto cuesta el Mochila ?

Tony -  Cuesta solamente 33 dólares.

Alex - ¡Cuesta un ojo de la cara!

Tony - ¿Qué te parece el color de mochila?

Alex - Es Sencilla y es en la tendencia.

Brendan models the North face Jacket  

Tony - ¡Mira esta hermosa chaqueta de North Face!

Alex - y esta chaqueta es también comercio justo fair trade y Hecho en Estados Unidos.

Tony - El chaqueta cuesta 50 dólares.

Alex - ¡Qué ganga!

Tony -  ¡Sí, la Primavera está en el aire!

Closing for the show

Salsabeel and Brendon come out

Tony- ¡Gracias para ver La Primavera en el aire!

Alex - ¡Gracias Gracias! ¡Adiós hasta mañana!

I was in a different place now, a world where I have to start doing things on my own. The first day of high school was something I looked forward to. I was scared  yet I was happy. This is the beginning of a new chapter in my life that I get to enjoy. As I walked from the Broad Street Line subway to the trolley, my heart raced. I only have two stops till I get to my new school and as I got closer to 22nd and Market, my heart beats faster. I walked out of the trolley stop and turned the corner of 22nd and Market. There were students everywhere, the strangers that I will have to see throughout my high school life. As I entered the front doors of the school I signed in and looked around, confused on where to go. But, thankfully I received an email about a week or so before school started, telling me where I can find my advisory. This was the fall of 2014, my freshmen year of highschool, the start of the “best years of my life,” said everyone I knew.

But now, here I am in my junior year, the winter of 2016, coming to an end, moving to 2017.Junior year, the “most important year,” just like 7th grade, because this is the year that can lead me to  my future education. Thinking about college brings back all of the times when I moved into a new environment. The past two and a half years of high school has been a thrill but here I am, about to start into the stages of finding a new place to learn. My school have been discussing about colleges; having junior college night, letting us talk to some of the representatives from different colleges and taking us to college fairs. I wonder at times, will there ever be a time where I’ll stop changing environments? Moving to highschool and now thinking about moving to college isn’t the only time that I’ve experienced a change in my life.

Being a six year old, just graduated out of kindergarten, knowing that I have to move to the US and going to first grade there, terrified me. But, my parents took our family to go vacation before we left. When I got here, I cried for weeks when I first moved and told my parents that I wanted to go back home and that I didn’t want to be here. I cried every night, knowing that it was useless to ask to go home. The summer of 2006, was one of the worse summers of my life. My eyes got puffy every night, my face was red as a tomato, six year old me didn’t have any power but to cry and ask to be taken back home. Restless, sleeping on a wet pillow, I flipped the pillow over, not realizing that I’ve already flipped it before, so I turned the pillow to the other edge, where my damp face looked for the comfort in the softness of the pillow. I faced the wall when I slept  because that’s where I found myself at peace, that’s probably why I still do that today.

It’s getting closer to fall, so my parents enrolled my older brother and I to a Catholic school to be exact, St. Thomas Aquinas and my oldest brother to a Catholic High school. I could barely speak a sentence of English, even though I took an English class back in Indonesia. I walked to school with my brother and on the first day we met with some other Indonesian kids that went there. They were friendly, but sadly, they were all my brother’s age. I didn’t talk much in school, because I didn’t know how, but as I watched cartoons everyday I learned a lot. After three to four months later, the winter of 2006, I wasn’t afraid to speak to people. Things got harder for me, I was experiencing my first winter. I’m not used to this kind of weather, the coldest that I’ve ever experienced in Indonesia was probably about 60-70 degrees fahrenheit but it didn’t feel cold at all because of all the humidity there.

My family lived with my aunt, my dad’s oldest sister, until we can find our own place to live. Going to a catholic school meant that my parents had to spend a lot just for us to go to school. After a year, it was too much for them to send all three of us to a Catholic school so my oldest brother and I went to a public school and my second to oldest brother stayed at a Catholic school another year until he got into a public high school. With that said, moving to a new school meant I have to start all over again. I didn’t know anyone nor was I good in speaking English. Only a year has passed since I moved to the U.S and it was harder than I thought.

From second grade to eighth grade, I made a lot of friends and helped out a lot of teachers. Things were fine until I realized that I have to start highschool soon. As my eight grade year started, my mind was filled with talks about high school, “The best years of your life.” The fall of 2013 was one of the most important time for me. At times, I would feel really helpless because there were schools that my parents chose, there were schools I wanted to go to, and there were schools that I was eligible to apply to. After I finished applying to the schools that I wanted to go to, it was just a matter of time to get the results. Weeks passed, and then a couple months went by. I was really nervous when I finally received my high school acceptance letter. I decided to open it with one of my closest friends, hoping that we’d go to the same school. As I was holding the letter for the whole day, walking up and down the stairs, the walls were different colors in different parts of the school. Walking through the hallways, I noticed that the floors were dirtier than before, cobweb to my left, below the windows, dust on the edge of the doors. I was nervous; anxious to see what the results were, that I didn’t even focus on my class.

Long story short, I got accepted to my first choice school, Science Leadership Academy, SLA. Sadly, none of my friends got accepted so coming to SLA was like a fresh new book for me. It was a new start, a new story, that needs to be filled in. I’d say that high school is a fun experience. A new journey, without knowing anyone was an experience that can’t be forgotten. I made a lot of friends and got to know multiple teachers, but soon, I know that I’d have to start all over again as time passes by. Every new beginning will be a terrifying thing for me, sometimes it’ll probably stress me out, and sometimes I’ll probably be excited for it, but at the end, moving and having a new start can be a good thing. Like what Jim Rohn, an author of many books said, “Life is not just the passing of time. Life is the collection of experiences and their intensity.”  

Gosh I could not wait. Tomorrow was finally the day where all the fun would begin. Bzzz…..Bzzz…..Bzzz. I slapped my phone/alarm clock repeatedly as if I was killing a fly. High school, I thought to myself. So today is finally the day, huh. Yesterday still feels like 8th grade. As I slowly removed my sleepy self out of my bed, I reached for my clothes that were prepared on my desk from the day before. I scrubbed my teeth with my toothbrush and drowned my face with water, trying to desperately wake myself up. As I head downstairs, almost tumbling due to my half awake presence, I got ready to leave. I was nervous since it was my first day but I was relieved that I had my older sister with me.

The first day of high school finally hits me and then I’m just like shit… Wait, what was I thinking? I was scared, I didn’t know anyone besides my older sister. I wasn’t able to start a conversation at first. I wasn’t social like my sister. I thought, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I talk to people? There must be something wrong with me because I remembered 7th grade I wasn’t like this.

In 7th grade, I was a different person. It was a new year for me. My mom pressured me because she believed that it is the most important year in school. She would say, “high schools mainly looks at your grades in 7th grade so make sure to stay on top of that”. Also, I was placed in class with people I did not know from my previous years; it felt different. Excitement filled up inside me of the thought of making new friends. I managed to succeed in hanging out with all types of people in my class and was liked by them. As Jada my best friend in 7th grade would say, “I’m glad to have a good, smart, funny friend as you”. I mainly hung out with Jada throughout the school year. I was only placed with one Asian in the same class with me compared to the other class of 7th grade that were filled with bunch of Asians that I knew from previous years. I learned to adapt to the changes. I became more independent because I had to do work on my own. Then 8th grade came and left me speechless.

When 8th grade came, it felt like I was placed with all of the Asians of my grade. I didn’t know if it was just coincidence or if race was involved in how the classes were organized, I just knew I was placed with most of them. I was filled with joy that I had my normal friends back. My squad in 8th grade was called “The Asian Squad” by the other students. This was because every morning, mainly all the Asians would meet up at a specific spot at a black fence.

The people I hung out with in the morning included people that were not in my class but were Asian. I started to grow on them. Only 4 of them were in the same class as me but it still caused me to be dependent on them which brought the side of me I never knew I had, my shyness. Being dependent on my friends meant asking them for help when I did not want to speak as much as them. My fear of someone creeping up to me to talk with me, increased. To this day, I disliked talking to people I don’t know due to this deep fear inside me.

Back in history class in 8th grade, when we would all be done our work, my Asians friends and I would play a game. It was a game that involved kiss, marry or kill with kpop stars. The names of kpop celebrities would be put on folded papers and each of us would chose 3 folded papers. Then we would chose which celebrity we would rather kiss, marry or kill. My friends were madly in love with kpop and since as I was already a bit interested, I decided to learn the names groups and found it oddly enjoyable. One day, we were doing our normal thing in history class but this time, the atmosphere was different. The history teacher came up to us to start a conversation with us. The sound of the room went pitch quiet as you could hear the teacher glaring at us. He asked us, “Why did you girls get so quiet when I walked in?” As usual, we looked at each other and almost cracked up and then looked at the teacher.

That year, I realized that I started to shut people out from the 7th grade, even my best friend. People from 7th grade that I was super close with would come up to me and say hi. But I would just ignore them and hang out with people I was placed with, my Asians classmates. I didn’t know if my mindset was that if I hung out with them and just them I would be fine. I just hung with one specific type of people and didn’t really understand why I did that, what was I testing. I noticed that I started to become dependent on my Asians friends.

Now I'm in my junior year at Science Leadership Academy. I’m not as shy as I used to be. I feel like SLA really helped me with my shyness because SLA is a very different schools compared to other schools. This is because SLA focuses on projects instead of test and have a core values. SLA’s core values are: inquiry, research, collaboration, presentation and reflection. SLA has helped me become who I am today through the projects and core values. Since SLA focuses on projects, I have to work with others and present with them. The abundant amount of presenting in each class has guided me to be less shy. If I went to a different school, I would not be who I am today and I would not be able to revert back to when I was in 7th grade. I feel like during 8th grade, I was holding back on who I could become and thought that if I hung out with my Asians friends and just them I would be fine. This is like Bartle from “The Yellow Birds”, when he made a friend. The death of Murphy, who actually became Bartle’s best friend, hurt Bartle. He coped by getting drunk and hallucinating. Although I did not lose someone like Bartle, I lost the people who caused me to discover a new trait that I never knew that I had. As I attend SLA, I feel like I'm reverting back to my usual self due to the core values that still shape me today.

I remember sitting around with some kids in school. We were in English class I believe, and I was ignoring the assignment that was given to us. We were laughing away, telling joke after joke. I was having a great time with my friends. Well they weren’t really my friends, but I sat with them because I knew that if I sat  there I would at least feel like I’m noticed and that I amount to something. This was until a comment was made.

“Why do you smile so… hard?” she asked me with a disgusted look on her face.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“Well, you always smile really big and hard for no reason,” was the response I got.

“I mean… I guess I don’t know.” I reply.

We go back to laughing as I brush the comment off. Or at least I tried. The rest of the time we talked I had a fake smile on my face. A smaller one. All I could think about was why I smiled so hard and why she didn’t like my smile. When the comment was made, everyone was staring at my mouth. I started to become nervous because all eyes were on me and it wasn’t for a good reason. When I went home later that day I looked in the mirror and kept smiling. I tried to practice the perfect smile. I tried the closed mouth grin. I tried the straight faced smiled that makes me look like I don’t want to be doing whatever I am doing, until I got the perfect smile. Not too much teeth and not too little. It wasn’t my smile, but it was a smile.

I was always made fun off when I was in elementary school. Kids would always talk about my skin. Not because I had terrible skin quality, but because I was dark. Well I guess in their eyes that’s the same thing. They would tell me I look burnt. I’ve been bullied for my skin ever since I can remember. It got to the point where I began to hate my skin. I would do anything I could to make myself appear lighter than I was. I don’t do this anymore, but I still do not feel comfortable in my own skin. When I got to middle school the teasing turned into full blown bullying. They would destroy my things and throw stuff at me. I even got threatened a few times just for looking at people. I would try and look straight forwards in the halls if I wasn’t with my friends so that I could avoid eye contact. One time, some boys in my class filled up a book bag with as many history textbooks so they could and threw it at me. My back was sore for a week after that. Another time, a girl decided to play a “prank” on me. I would always bring flavored seltzer water to school to have with my lunch. One day I left the seltzer upstairs so the girl said that she would bring it to me so that I didn’t have to walk up four floors. When I got the bottle I knew that something was off. I didn’t hear the hiss of a brand new bottle being opened. There was no fizz. I smelled it and there was no sweet grape smell. It was toilet water. She put it in my bottle hoping that I would drink it. I cried in school. Then I cried again, when I got home. I hated school. I had a small amount of true friends, but again not many. All I ever wanted to do was stay home because I couldn’t figure out why people didn’t like me. I mean, I know I’m not pretty or the coolest girl in 6th to 8th grade, but why dislike me?

My self confidence is at an all time low since I’ve been in high school. It has always been something I struggled with, but has never been this bad. Coming to high school and seeing so many different people from different races and backgrounds has made me look twice at myself. Especially with what the norm is in society. I’m not saying that I wish I had fair skin and that I had a tiny nose that was slightly turned upwards, but that people didn’t want me to have fair skin and a tiny nose. Even my own race shames people of my skin complexion. So if I can’t be accepted by my own kind, how am I ever supposed to  find myself beautiful?  All I ever do when I look in the mirror is try and find ways to improve myself. Whether it’s getting my teeth whitened or deciding that from now on I am going to wear a full face of makeup that alters the shape of my face entirely. Sometimes I think I should dye my hair. Or cut it all off. What if I dress different? A little more girly. Maybe then even my mom will see my true beauty.  Occasionally, I can’t leave the house without getting a comment on why I have no makeup or earrings on. Sometimes I purposely don’t wear these things. Sometimes I forget. I constantly get bombarded with advice or life lessons as to why I have to “look pretty everyday” so that “boys will look at me” or I’ll “find a prom date.” Why does everything that I do with my look have to be so that I’m pleasing to others? When do I get a chance to just be myself for myself? It’s gotten to the point where I don’t like what I see. At all. I often times just lay in bed wishing that I was older so that I could just get body altering surgeries so that I can look like what everyone else wants me to look like. Maybe I’ll get a nose job. Or lipo a little bit in the stomach and leg area. I hate my body. Everything about it just disappoints me. Why don’t I wear a size 2 pants? Why isn’t my hair longer? Why can’t I just grow out my nails instead of chewing on them? All of these question I ask myself because my whole life I’ve had nothing but people in face telling me that I’m not good enough.

A lot of kids have these feelings and experiences. They shouldn’t have to, but they do. Me and a million other kids sit and cry at night hoping that someone hears our call for help because we can’t find our purpose.  When you’re failing classes, having daily anxiety attacks and people think you’re ugly, it just becomes too much. Especially if you don’t have a support system. This could be because your parents don’t believe that your issues are real problems or simply that you’re afraid to talk about it. All of these things I just described I am too familiar with, and it’s a really crappy way of living.

What I’m really trying to say is, kids suck. We are constantly putting each other down and not even realizing the long term effects that we have on people’s minds. We should be nicer to each other because sometimes all someone might need to get through their day is an  “are you okay?” or “you’re going to be fine.” Even if you don’t really like the shirt someone is wearing, compliment it. A little gesture can go a long way. All of this remembering about the taunting about my skin, face, smile, the things that made me the wonderful individual that I was. It makes me think about what a beautiful person inside and out I could have been If I wasn’t brainwashed as a child to think that I am lesser of a person than everyone who surrounds me.

Beep Beep Beep,  Beep  Beep  Beep,  Beep Beep Beep. The alarm clock informed me that it was 7:00 in the morning, the first day of school. When I first heard those few loops from my alarm clock I was really frustrated not because I had to go to school but more because of the fact that I was up all night because I was nervous yet excited for the first day of school. I finally got out of bed at about 7:10 and got dressed and of course I had to wear something nice or agreeable because I wanted to make a good impression. I was done changing, brushing my teeth, etc. Due to the fact that SEPTA was not something that I enjoyed for a way to commute, my mother thought that it would be a nice idea to drive me to school because it was the first day. I lived less than a mile away from school so the car ride was going to be short. As we were in the car I thought about how will it be different from my middle school, and if the teachers will be less strict. For example, I thought back when I shadowed SLA the teachers seemed to be more friendly than the teachers at my middle school. Although I did not know if some of them really were or if they acted like that because I was a shadow. When we got closer towards the school on 30th and Market, I began to get a weird array of mixed feelings. The feelings that I began to develop were both excited and nervous feelings and this combination made me not know how tell what I was expecting. Before I knew it, we were a block away from school and I had to grab my bag and get ready to hop out of the car. I was then right in front of the school and the car stopped, my mom wished me luck and I opened the car door and was by Science Leadership Academy. I walked toward the entrance of the school and then opened up to doors to my new school and a fresh start.

   I went to middle school at Girard Academic Music Program which is also known as GAMP. GAMP was a school that went from grades fifth to twelfth. During my years at Gamp I made some new friends and met pretty chill people. I enjoyed how everyone seemed to all be friends and not cause that much problems amongst each other.  For example, in seventh grade the whole grade had a fundraiser to help children in Uganda achieve a better education and I found that very interesting and a great life experience. Also every year GAMP would have a Talent show, musical, Winter Concert, and Spring Concert due to the fact that it was a music school.  When it was time to decide if I should stay I knew that GAMP was not a good choice for me. Starting off, GAMP was a very small school because it had only had about 60 students per grade and I did not enjoy that at all because you never meet new people and it made my social life in school less diverse. In addition, GAMP highs school was just like the middle school. It had two groups that would stay in the same classes as each other and it had no electives. Lastly, GAMP was a music focused school and I was not interested in music.

  The whole transition phase from middle school to high school started in a way that I remember it very detailed.  I remember the time that I found out that was accepted in SLA like it was yesterday. It all started when I was with my 8th grade class on a tour bus for a trip to New York. On the bus ride my mother was my chaperone and she then gave me the news and sad “Hey Jamal I was just talking to the principal of SLA and he said that you were accepted!” I was very pleased because it was my number one choice of schools to go. In addition the fact that I was waitlisted to ⅘ of the schools that I choose including SLA made me even more happy because I was very lucky to get that waitlisted spot. During the long bus ride to New York, not did I only feel happy that I was going to go to SLA but I did not really express the fact on how grateful I was. Reflecting back on this particular moment really questions who I really was back then because deep inside I felt very happy, but I on the outside i just treated this moment not as a big deal and made it seem like it was a minor moment of my day. Although I was very excited and happy about the fact that I finally had the chance to leave middle school and start my high school experience.

    The earliest memories I can recall about my transition in Science Leadership Academy was the Summer Institute where it is a few weeks before school and I am already being asked to participate in it’s activities. I do not know anybody here which starts to annoy me even more. As I walk into the building all I can think is why I am here. When I finally get signed in I am asked to take a seat anywhere on a side of the cafeteria because the other side was for SLA Beeber.  When I sat down there were two types of people in the room. In the cafeteria there were people that wanted to make to friends that were talking to others. On the other hand, there was people that were on their phone who distanced themselves from everybody else. I was on my phone because I figured that I really don’t need to make friends because I will make them when school actually starts because this is just the summer institute. Before I get a chance to get a good five minutes to sit down and look around, I am told to get up with the rest of the SLA students. We are told how to play a game and I vaguely remember how it went. Although, I remember that we were told to pretend that we were animals who evolved and it was very weird. We had to make weird noises and move around crazily like as if we were told if we did not stop moving we would die. When the game was finally over the student instructor told us to move on told our next activity in a normal tone as if what we just did was completely usual and not odd at all. At this point I then knew that events abnormal and strange as this one will be ordinary during my next few years at SLA and they were.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

    Getting back on topic, a lot of important moments took place on the first day of school. As I was walking through those two glass doors a person greeted me at the front desk. This person informed me what room to go too which was my advisor’s class in the library. When advisory started in the morning we did not need to introduce ourselves because we all met each other at the summer institute. We were then given our rosters and  informed what classes to go. I was then introduced to my stream where we had our first class together. Our first class was Bio- Chem and I already could tell how different it was compared to GAMP. Every student was not wearing the same uniform which made the environment not seem negative and grey but rather diverse. The curriculum that was taught during class was more hands on and we had more freedom due to the fact that we're not in single desk divided in rows. During lunch I met up with a couple people in my stream that I recognized from my baseball league and we talked for a while. From here things got a little interesting. Me and a few people from my stream that I met were walking downstairs and in the stairwell we met up with people from another stream. I do not recall why we were staying there be was began to do so. We were joking around then somebody threw milk at somebody else. “Yo bro, I did not think it was going to bust open! I'm really sorry” I did not possibly know what was going to happen next. Would there be a fist-fight or even food-fight? At first the person who had milk on their shoes was pretty mad but then we began to laugh and today we are all very good friends and look back at this moment on how we all met each other.

   As the first few days of SLA went by not only did I experience a new education, but a new social life. Everyday after school me and the new friends that I made would have something to do. The was a big change for me because in middle school after school I would just get on the yellow school bus and go home. My life after school went from the same boring routine to a more collective and thrilling afternoon. For example, after school me and my friends decided to hang out. We all did not know what to do as usual but the one of my friends shouts “Comcast”! I was very confused and did not know what was exactly in the building it was at the time but I agreed that we should go there because it would give us something to do. The reason why I stated this point was because I am the type of person who always has to be stimulated in some sort of way and by giving me something to do rather than nothing was a pleasure. When we arrived at the Comcast building I said to my friends “So where what exactly are we going to do here because it seems to be a play that is not for the public.” We then walked downstairs where there was a food court and it all made sense. We got some food and joked around then from here we got bored and did not know what to do. I do not recall why by we then  though it would be a great idea to go to Chinatown afterwards. Due to the fact that I was new at public transportation, I let my friends lead the way to the  regional rail train to Chinatown. The fact that we took the regional rail train shows how inexperienced my friends and I were because it would have been much easier to take the Market-Frankford Line. We all began to notice that the train ride was taking oddly long just to got to Chinatown so we  I began to have feeling that we took the wrong train and we did. The train exited the tunnel and I heard “You have arrived at Temple station”. All I could think is that we messed up big time and how to get back to Center City. Once we found out by one of the conductors that we just have to take the train in the opposite direction to 15th St we began to laugh. This moment really was a wake-up call that the school life that I will be living after school will not be as simple as it used to be and that I will be experiencing my social life in a new environment. In addition, I will be experiencing it more independently than with a bus driver and a bus full of middle schoolers.

   When coming to SLA the largest alter that I had to get used to where the academic class. In middle school homework was pretty light and rarely was up past 10:00 doing homework. Although at SLA homework was pretty complicated. We had to submit it on a website called canvas and we did almost all of our work on the computers that we were provided. The class that really made me realize that things will no longer be like they used to was Geometry. I was always not great at math but Geometry really frustrated me because I was put in that class even though I was not academically prepared and I was supposed to be in Algebra 1. I remember saying to my advisor “Mr. Ames, I really think that I need to be with rest of the average ninth graders because I am not advanced in math and happen to struggle in it.” He mentioned that it was just a phase for starting high school and I will eventually overcome it, but I did not. The challenge of math in SLA refined my whole my entire mindset and it is something that I still struggle with today. For example, due to the fact that I fell behind in geometry, I was not prepared for Algebra 2 which leads to why I am so weak in Pre-Calculus. This is an example of how even my transition from middle school from high school is over its impacts to this very day.

I used to despise Sundays - not because I was forced to go to church or camp, but because it was hair day. For as long as I can remember (up until recently), my mom has been responsible for my hair. She would bathe me, wash my hair with a small blue bucket and then I would sit in an uncomfortable chair for two to three hours while we typically watched movies and shows of her choosing. As a child, Sundays were a nightmare. I would often get reprimanded for having an attitude and being overly grumpy on these days, but I couldn’t help it. It was practically torture. When I hear my little cousin cry when she has to get her hair done, I’m like, “I totally feel you.” Despite hating the experience, my mom was the only one I trusted with my hair. Women would often compliment my hair because it looked so healthy and “I wish I could do that for myself/my daughter!” If my mom was with me, I would immediately look to her after giving my thanks. She was always very pleased to hear the praise and had no qualms about sharing her natural hair wisdom with anyone who asked for it. I started growing an interest in doing my own hair in early high school. I begged my mom time and time again to go from twists to twist out. She wasn’t convinced that I was ready to take on the responsibility of managing my hair. She was right, but I tried to get her to think otherwise. It was during the cold months of my freshman year that I was finally granted my wish.

I am standing in front of the mirror atop my brown, antique dresser. It is an evening in December, and the light on my ceiling blends with the dark pinks of my walls to create a warm hue. It’s nearly too warm and it makes it hard to see clearly in my reflection, but I wanted to be in solitude until I was sure I looked presentable. I have my white hair care kit near me compact with oil, my dark pink comb, pastel pink brush with near transparent bristles, curl & lock gel that’s always cold to the touch, and other miscellaneous, strewn about things like bobby pins and hair ties. I barely know what to do with any of it. My hands hesitantly reach for the first twist - what if I rip my hair? What if I cause damage? All the things my mom warned me against plague my mind as I start to unravel the end. I pull the two strands apart delicately until I reach my roots.The first twist is separated and is much curlier than I thought it would be. I reach for the next one and get the same result. I’m not sure how much time goes by, but by the end my fingers are cramping and I have to stretch them along with my tired arms. I hadn’t yet known what it meant to separate and fluff, so I left my hair as it was and was satisfied(looking back it looked like someone had spilled a cup of ramen noodles on my head). What I thought to be my near perfect curls were shrunken and bouncing against my chin as I put on my outfit for the family outing. My family compliments my hair. In the back of my mind I think about how I will have to retwist my hair when I return home later in the night, but I try not to let that bother me in the moment.

I was in kindergarten during my first sleepover. I could barely sit still throughout the school day and I knew I wasn’t alone. I remember having fun with my friends and wishing I never had to go home. Then, it was nearing bedtime and we had to find something quiet to do so my friend’s family could sleep. Obviously not wanting to go to bed, we began to braid and play with each other’s hair. I say we, but I really mean them. I knew my mom would be furious if I let anyone take my twists apart or try to comb through my hair improperly. It was non negotiable - no one was touching a single strand. All the girls paired up and I watched them comb their hair that traveled down their backs and rested there, falling in between their fingers. This is when I truly became aware that I was different. I can still channel the isolation I felt in that moment. In elementary and middle school, I would try and braid my twists like Katniss’, and I would put little flower barrettes and bows in it to try and fit a standard that wasn’t in my size. Of course, though, no one wanted to tell me and I walked around like that thinking I was cute or something. I had convinced myself that by molding and shaping myself to be like my peers, I would achieve happiness with myself. My wake up call happened when I had my hair straightened in sixth grade, just a few weeks before the middle school dance.

It was my first time going to a hair salon, and I honestly didn’t know how to feel. Initially I was ecstatic to get my hair straightened, but as my mom drove closer I began having second thoughts. My mom had been doing my hair all my life and now we were about to put the responsibility in the hands of someone I had  never even met. I wondered if the hair stylists would gossip like they do in the movies, with their dramatic story retellings and loud laughter. I remember the salon having a pink and green theme. It was fairly spacious and also fairly empty. We confirmed our appointment and my mom and I had to sit for what felt like forever before I was guided to an appointment chair. I only remember a few details of the hours I spent there: I remember how the conditioner smelled like feet that hadn’t been washed in days. I remember crying because the woman was tugging on my hair too hard and I remember trying to hide my tears in the sheet across my chest. I remember being shocked and deeply unsettled by the aggressiveness, even if it wasn’t intentional on her part. My mom had always tried her best to be mindful of the softer spots of my head and would listen to me if I told her I felt pain. I didn’t say anything because I was shy to be around so many new people, so I continued to cry and hope no one would notice (they did). Despite all that, when my hair was finally done I was elated. After all the years that had gone by I felt like I finally fitted the image I had been trying so hard to impersonate.

The problems began when I realized how much work and time it took to maintain straight hair when you’re born with the thickest hair type on the planet. Wrapping my hair at night took up to half n hour alone. My mom had to help me straighten it every morning and would endlessly lecture me about heat damage and voicing her concerns (note: my mom was never enthusiastic about me getting my hair strengthened in the first place. She’s a natural hair enthusiast for life.) At that time, my hair always smelled like heat and a sweet scented humidity prevention gel. I would leave the house loving my look but by the end of the day it would be a big, frizzy puffy mess. I was incredibly frustrated - why didn’t my straight hair lay calmly on my back like my friends? Why couldn’t I effortlessly flip it over my shoulder like they could? My dreams had been crushed and I missed my twists desperately. My mom felt some type of way because even though she loved my twists, she paid a lot of money for that hair appointment. So I had to rock that look a little longer than I wanted to before I was back at square one.

I remember walking into Saxbys Rittenhouse Square in August of 2015 looking for a job. I was 15 years old at the time. I walked in and said “Hey I see you have a job opening are you hiring can I get an application?”

I was nervous as hell. The guy look at me with a huge smile and told me

“Really man apply online, they are really looking for people.”

He showed me the website and told me good luck. I asked for his name he said “Quran”. I didn’t fill out the application at that moment but decided to hit up every store on South 20th street till South and once I got to South I hit up every store on South till Front street. After getting to front and South I made my way back to the Rittenhouse Square area and sat in the park. There I filled out my application for Saxbys. I got a call back from aurelina a few days later and did a phone interview. It was the only place that called me back out of the dozens of businesses I had been to.  I than was asked to come into Headquarter for a face to face interview.

Getting Ready. My first job interview. I wake up a nervous anxious wreck. My interview wasn’t until the afternoon at 1pm. The whole day I’m pacing back and forth in my room wondering what are they going to ask. What if I get the job and hate it? What If I don’t get the job? What if they look at me like I’m a joke? I’m just 15 years old. I don’t really need a job I want a job. All of these things made me even more anxious. It was getting closer to game time so I took a nice warm shower. I decided to wear my royal blue dress pants. Hey that reminds me I need to look for them. I also wore my sky blue buttoned up shirt with a royal blue tie. I was looking what my grandmother would say “casket sharp”. I began making my way to Saxbys Headquarters.

Interview Time

Upon arrival I was greeted by the security guard who cracked some awful jokes. I made my way to the elevators then up I went to suite 310. I walked out of the elevator and was greeted again but this time by the most beautiful glass wall with a really nice medallion. After admiring the glass wall I walked through a  glass door and past a few offices with glass walls and doors. I was finally in the main space which was so bright and had huge ceiling and huge windows. Holy Shit this place is beautiful. I stood for few seconds a little confused at what to do until some guy came up to me and asked “Hey how can I help you?” “Umm Umm I’m here for an interview”. Shoot I just said umm twice I’m ruining my chances. “Okay great you can sit right over here can I get you drink?” I decided on a water to calm myself down a little. Me wanting to leave an impression I came about 15 minutes early. Within those 15 minutes I was able to really observe the space and and the people. One person stood out to me in particular. It was this really tall guy who was really put together. I knew I saw him before but didn’t know where I knew him from. After about five minutes of thinking It clicked I saw him at my school. It was finally interview time. The interview started off great. We got to the part where they asked

“So what do you like to do outside of school” I responded

“I like photography and hanging out with friends.”

All I could think was wow that's the most ridiculous answer. To vague. To basic but it’s very true. Also the fact that I was 15 gave me less points and then that answer would leave me looking like any other person who applied for this job. Other than that one incident in my head, the interview went great. The nerve wracking part was finally over

“Thank you so much for coming Kaamil we’ll contact you if we offer you a position”

“Okay thank you for your time”

I felt with all my heart I didn’t get the job. I left wondering “How do I tell people I didn’t get the job.”

It's September 4th around 4:30pm and I just satisfied my stomach with a greasy slice of Fairmount Pizza. The only thing on my mind is I didn’t get the job. As I walked out of the shop my phone began ringing.

“Hello”

“Hi this is Aurelina from Saxbys Coffee, I’m calling to offer you a position with Saxbys”

“Yes of course”

“Okay, can you come in to fill out paperwork tomorrow”

“Yes”

Training and Shadow Shifts

I began training a few days after filling out paperwork. I trained with Lauren.  A really nice tall women who made training super fun! I trained with a group of adults who I thought I wouldn’t fit in at all. I don’t remember much of my training other than that I was really quiet because I was the youngest and it was really cool to learn something new. What I do remember is my shadow shift. My shadow shifts were really fun but super nerve wracking. It’s going to be  my first time in a real cafe with real humans paying real money for a really good drink. What if I mess up. Turns out the shadow shift wasn’t bad at all. I shadowed this really really tall guy at Rittenhouse cafe. At first I was really intimidated but he made the shift super fun and easy. But now it’s time to go to the real cafe and work for real. My gaming practice is over.

WORK

I began working at the Upenn cafe in November of 2015.. I sat at this long table with all of my co-workers for a team meeting and a chance to meet everyone. Even though we were all new I still felt odd. I was still the youngest. But at the end of the table was the really tall guy from my shadow shift Reed. He was my manager. From the November till June Reed was my manager he currently works at HQ. Reed encouraged me to always do my best and has made me much more of a professional and so has Heather a former co worker who works at HQ now. After months of being just a barista I was promoted to be a team lead. As in someone who manages a  shift and make sure the cafe stays active and can remain active when I leave. So at the young age of 16 I’m basically in charge of running a cafe for a couple of hours which doesn’t seem that hard but is really stressful. For example If something at the cafe happens like a crazy person comes in and threatens to kill someone I have to deal with the issue. If we run out of something I have to deal with the issue. If someone doesn’t show up I have to pull more weight or ask someone to come in. This all when I’m still the youngest person working in the cafe. I still have to get people to warm up to me and to respect me as a team lead even though I’m super young it just takes time.

INTERNING

When I worked under Reed we would take long walks after work and talk about our future. When I told him I needed to do an internship he encouraged me to do an internship at our headquarters. I didn't think it was possible due to no other high schoolers ever interning there. I emailed Nick Bayer the CEO of Saxbys about an internship and he hooked me up with Allie. Allie has been my go to person for everything interesting and has created a really cool job where I get to have a peek into everyone's job. From Marketing and Social Media to HR. I’ve been able to create skills and gain knowledge from adults who work. Being able to use my own skills and applying them to my internship has been the most difficult. I never know if my skills are good enough. I’‘m only in high school these people are legit adults I’m working with. Every single event and job that I’ve done I’ve been the youngest. From parties like the Inc.5000 party where adults get super dressed up and have a great night to our Holiday christmas party I’m still this young little guy that’s surrounded by adults and has really only worked with adults.

THE SWITCH

There's a huge change from coming to school and going to work. On one end I have people arguing over crap and on the other end I have people talking about rent. I sometimes feel like an adult trapped in the life a teenager. I don’t have much in common with teenagers other than the fact that I go to school and live with my parents. I always think about all the things I’ve been able to do and the trust Saxbys has given me to not only be a team lead but to intern at HQ and give me responsibilities the normal teenager doesn’t have. When I come to school I think of how much my life is going to change. I see my future in all of my coworkers. I think of all the things they have taught me and all the things I am gonna have to do and I thank them for giving me the biggest head start. As I continue to grow and the world continues to change through my eyes I think of everyone who has given me a professional balance and the best head start in life. Thank you so much and let’s continue to make life better.

Struggles to Happiness

Being the place I grew up in, southwest Philly is pretty harsh.. I experienced three shootings growing up there, and saw many news of shootings near my house. I barely had any friends growing up, and I didn’t really know what it was like to make friends, so I usually kept my distance. Since I was asian, I was usually picked on and bullied in elementary school. There was something like a school band where we had a music teacher teaching brass instruments, but I never really paid attention in it. There were many times where people wanted to befriend me, but I never really trusted anyone, and avoided contact.

My middle school experience felt worst than my elementary school’s. I went to Pepper, a neighborhood school, and I had a love-hate relationship. I loved it because the teachers tried to give students the best time of their lives in middle school, but I also hated it due to being continuously bullied. In the fifth grade at the time, and I decided to try and make some friends, but during the year, my eyesight got worse, and I had to wear glasses. I was very scared to talk to people because I thought people would mock me for my glasses, but people actually started to like me. I was happy, but I was not able to communicate with people, because there were people who stayed in their group. I was bullied like always, but I endured it.

In the sixth grade, and I still haven’t been able to make any friends. Living in a harsh neighborhood, and going to a neighborhood school. I have to take the school bus to and from school. One day on my way home from school, I overheard people talking about me, and how they might jump me. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I then tried to avoid being in their sight as much as possible, but I couldn’t hide forever. As soon as I got off the bus, I heard them say my name, and they pushed me against the fence of my elementary school. I ignored them, hoping that they’d just forget about me and leave me be. I thus, walked away but I heard running, but I knew what was going to happen next. I could’ve dodged, or ran away, but I froze. I felt my right cheek get crushed by a fist and then get pummeled towards the fence. I tried to protect myself when I realized that I can’t always be a coward, so I then tried fighting back myself. I was swinging my fist as hard as I can, and I felt my fist hit something at least 4-5 times. I knew I lost, and wouldn’t be able to fight back, but I wanted to go down, and at least bring 1 person down with me. A day later, I was going to depression, because of how easy of a target I was, and how I didn’t have any friends. Then, I started to listen to music, and I found out that music, can be an escape route for me. I was able to be immersed into another world, or dimension. I was immersed into the music, and lyrics.

Throughout the whole year, I’ve been listening to music trying to get through the tough times. During that year, I also took up piano, and learned piano during that year and the next. Piano was one of the best of fun instruments I played. It calmed me down so much, when I played. I wanted to learn as much as possible, and learn music theory for it too. 7th grade, I met this one person who grew up ghetto, and my best friend today. Even though we didn’t have almost nothing in common, we clicked, and just started talking to each other more. We became closer than I imagined, and I was happy that I made a friend. He became dependable to me. He helped me get out of fights, due to how his reputation was. He was someone that not a lot of people would want to mess with. We chatted, he does what he has do, and I do what I have to do. I still played piano, and listen to music, while having a good friend close towards me. Because of him, I was able to socialize more, and be able to have the ability to make more friends. I was also able to pick myself up, get out of depression, and look forward to the future. I wasn’t scared of the past anymore, and how I would get bullied. I wasn’t scared if I’d lose a fight, of if I’m going to go in a fight. I became more open, less scared, and more straightforward. And to be honest, I don’t even know whether or not I would be scared, if a gun were to be put up my head. I lost the fear of something that people would think I’m crazy, but that’s how I feel.

In eighth grade, and I went to another middle school, because the school I went to, shut down. During that time, Instead of playing piano, I wanted to trumpet. And coincidentally, it was the same music teacher from my elementary school, and middle school, so I wasn’t that hesitant to be close with him. When I tried to play the trumpet, it was difficult, so he found a better solution of an instrument to play which was the baritone. It was very similar to the trumpet. You can say it was the bass for the trumpet, more deeper, but plays the same notes, on a different scale.

I played baritone for at least 4 months now, and I felt like I mastered it, and asked my teacher if I can try the trumpet out. I played a few notes, and it wasn’t as difficult as I thought, and I started being cocky, and saying how I'm soo good. Surprisingly, I was actually good with trumpet, I didn't have trouble playing it, so I wanted to play clarinet, flute, saxophone, and alto saxophone, and It was very easy to play. The hardest instrument was flute, due to having a certain position with playing it. After playing multiple instruments, I gained quite a bit of fame. I realized after I stop practicing for a bit was that I was barely picked on. Rather than being picked on, I became friends with many people at the school that I didn’t think I’d become friends with.

Of course I was in multiple fights, but it was different than being picked on, or being bullied. I was one of the people that everyone at the school knew, I didn’t feel popular, but I felt like I was noticed, and I have friends. I started talking to my best friend, and we just started to hang out like always. Even then, whenever I was having troubles, in a bad mood, etc. I would just listen to music, or talk to my best friend, or my other friends. If I talk to my friends, they would always try to understand, and help me through it, and give me good advices. I started becoming more and more open.

I don’t know if it was obvious or not, but music and friends are some things that became a big part of my life. It was as if it was like a gift from god. It was something I hold dearly towards me. I see questions on facebook where they ask “What is your biggest fear?”, and I constantly argue with myself whether or not if my biggest fear were that I’d lose all my friends I hold dear, or never be able to listen to music, which I simplify to being deaf. It’s the two I never want to lose, same goes for family too. I grew up never laughing, now I’m someone who people consider a friend, and I laugh with people, people I consider friends, and able to listen to music that I can be in a different dimension, if I ever want to be in a hole alone.

Interrogatorio / Inquiry

• Why do companies choose to have their products manufactured in other countries? Why does it matter? Companies manufacture in other countries because it is cheaper which means they don’t have to pay the workers that much. When workers are paid so little the working conditions are terrible and many workers die. In addition, countries that a company's products are sold in can’t do anything about said company breaking the law

• What are maquilas? Why is it important we know about them?  Maquilas are sweatshops, we need to know about them so we can help end them or at least give voices for the workers who can’t speak up.

• What can we do to be more mindful consumers? To be more mindful consumers we can check the brands we buy and wear and research where they are made. We can make goals to buy less sweatshop brands. It will be hard to stop buying from these places entirely but by being aware of how the workers are treated we can make better decisions when shopping.

The Sound of Growth

Freshman Year

The wind whips my hair, stinging my eyes that are rolling at my lack of sleep. My viola hangs haphazardly on my shoulder weighing my body down and bringing an ominous soreness to my back. I glide through the glass door after a cellist whose instrument is decorated with cool bumper stickers. One of the stickers is Olaf from Let It Go and I could swear that he winks at me.

The woman at the front desk smiles at me and I try to smile back but I imagine it looks more like a wince. The turnstile bangs against my legs and shuts as I try, and fail, to follow the cellist’s movements into the building. Right ahead of me, a wooden panelled room is packed with lingering teenagers and instruments. I assume this room is my destination. In a few minutes, my viola is in my hands and I am nervously plucking a mindless tune, eyes searching for a friendly face. I sigh, longing for my bed and a few more hours of warm sleep.

We are herded upstairs and before me, a room opens up, stuffed with young musicians banging away on their instruments. Everyone is in their own little world, their eyebrows bunched together in focus, bodies creating spheres of musical colors. I am amazed and intimidated. I can feel the intense passion these people have for their craft and know that, while I do find music enjoyable, I rarely feel so enthusiastic.

When I reach my section, I am self-preservative about choosing my seat, making sure that I’m not right next to the booming horns. My seat is in the middle of the section, close enough to the front so that someone could hear my mishaps, but far enough away so that I have trouble hearing the conductor who looms before us on a platform. He is unrecognizable to me, as are most of the musicians in the room. I will eventually spend tedious and thrilling hours of rehearsal with these strangers.

My standmate is abrupt. He wants to focus on the music entirely and I am a distraction. He looks older than me, everyone does, but I can’t tell if he is in college or high school. I can see that he is sizing me up, hoping that I won’t elbow him in the face or knock over the stand. I soften him up with some pretty impressive small talk for someone who didn’t have any caffeine. My skilled page turning is appreciated, but I don’t dare ask questions, knowing that I am expected to know what col legno means. This rehearsal is a mess of contradictory expectations: I am supposed to play fluidly right away but I have never played a piece this complicated. What does the instruction col legno mean, anyways? (Col legno battuto is Italian for “hit with the wood” of your bow.)

The music notes are a scribble of marks on the paper, a language whose words I can understand separately but can’t string together into paragraphs. Only halfway through the first piece and I am a mess - hands shaking, tears pricking my eyes, heart beating as fast as a stallion’s gallop. This music is like nothing I've seen before; it's Philadelphia Orchestra worthy, can I learn to play this?

Sophomore Year

We are crammed in the room, giving us just enough bow room and just enough heat for us to want to yank off our jackets. It’s impressive that the cavernous room could be filled with people and sound. The banging of the percussion and tooting of the winds pounds on my ears, blocking me from hearing my own instrument. I'm used to trusting my fingers so it doesn't startle me as much as it did last year.

The music notes are a scribbling mess, a language whose words I can understand but can’t pronounce. I take deep breaths to calm my sweaty palms and remind myself how far I had come in a year. And I perfected that Stamitz concerto, didn't I?

The music coaches stand around the perimeter of the room, providing feedback when needed but mainly observing. I can feel their undying support and know we are expected to love music half as much as they do. The symphony finishes and all the string-players flourish their ending notes, with the bows raised in the hand. I laugh to myself - such drama queens. Did you know that when we’re rehearsing and someone plays their solo beautifully, all of the string players stop to wag their bows in the air? Can you imagine how ridiculous we all look? 100 students, shaking their bows in unison to “applaud” someone’s success? I admire the relatively new conductor, whose easy smiles and laughter ease my nerves, and I manage to not get lost in the symphony music or my nervousness.

Junior Year

Even though my feet are enveloped by socks, they are numb from the cold seeping from the wooden floor. I wiggle my toes as my teacher flies her fingers across her instrument, playing our next passage in Symphonie Fantastique. I nod and set my jaw, allowing my eyes to transcribe the music notes in movements for my hands.

My teacher lifts up her viola to cue me and we play the measure in a loop, over and over. After the fifth round, I could feel myself tiring and overthinking my fingers. After pausing, I put a star next to the measure, signifying it as a spot I would have to practice at home. My teacher nods and wishes me good luck for my first rehearsal. I thank her, thinking to myself: I’ll need it.

Truthfully, I was more prepared for this rehearsal than my two other experiences. I had looked over the music for starters, had listened to the complicated rhythms and eyed the syncopated sections, highlighting them with yellow sticky notes. I knew the entire viola section vaguely and had friends that I could laugh and relax with. The coaches were friendly with me the only difficulty was coping with their oppressive expectations.

In “The Yellow Birds”, the main character, Bartle, returns home after serving in the Iraq War. He returns to his family and friends who expect him to be unchanged and mentally sound. Bartle cannot meet either of these expectations and feels a disconnect between himself and the people he loved before the war. In my music community, I am expected to become a musician. In classical music, it is normal for successful musicians to dedicate their entire lives to music, especially since most musicians begin their careers young.

The idea that I had been playing an instrument since second grade, was involved in different orchestras and took private lessons, was the minimum for most of my friends. The Philadelphia All City Orchestra is considered prestigious - the finest student musicians in Philadelphia. The majority of the students arrived early, took pride in their seating and were involved in musical competitions that earned them scholarships, but also popularity.

My music teachers held me to the popular expectation of a professional music career path. Some teachers don’t fully understand that I am included in multiple extra curriculars and have not committed to one activity that prepares me for a career. Rather than one passionate hobby, I am spread across multiple pastimes not intensively.

Like Bartle in “The Yellow Birds”, I have to face my mentors’ expectations and be clear on what I want for my life. Interestingly, I have found that most of my teachers understand or at least accept my decision, as long as I stay diligent in my practicing. Not fulfilling other’s expectations and not conforming to my friends’ paths can be difficult, but I remind myself of the joy my varied interests bring me. Bartle and I fight internal and external battles that may make us feel lonely or different, but staying true to our complex selves provides a satisfactory reward.

Video: https://www.wevideo.com/hub/#view/825524522

Siani Davis

Personal Essay

Ms. Pahomov

December 22, 2016

I went through the beginning of my life not knowing who I wanted to be. I went through the beginning of my life accepting what was given to me. And because of this, I found myself not finding happiness. It took years for me to realize myself. And to become a better person overall. The choices I have made, to get me where I am today, I am very grateful for. I have learned so much, and have changed so much in a positive way.

I went to a school full of sameness. The dull green walls and brown floors were filled with people who were not like me. Infuriating loudness filled your ears before you could even reach the doors of the building. It was everywhere. They never seemed to stop talking. Every morning I’d walk into people just being loud, mouths extended to their fullest, blurting rowdiness. People will be sitting right in front of each other, inches apart, but for some reason be yelling. As if trying to compete with the rest of the noise the world itself produces. I hate it here. I do not belong here. I despised that when people get frustrated they deal with it with their fists; not thinking about consequences that could arise when they did these foolish things. I hated that school, a place where I was required to go to, felt unsafe. No place should never be that way. In my old school everyone was so overly judgemental. I felt that I was being squeezed into the person they wanted me to be. Peer pressure was common because of this. “C’mon Siani, just say one curse word!” the kids surrounding me pressured themselves to a closer proximity, “No. I really don’t want to. It’s wrong.”, “Just say bitch, just once!”, and then after years I said it. They wanted me to be rowdy, rude, and foul like them. They wanted me to make choices based on automatic impulse and instead of taking the time to sit back and think. I did not want to be that person. And I never will be.

The first day of ninth grade I arrived at a place of diversity in every aspect. I arrived at a place where I could be free; to have the freedom to embrace myself. And in my early life I did not think it was possible to discover and be apart of a place like this. In the past I was never able to voice my thoughts completely, in fear of judgement. But when I arrived here, it was a total different environment whereas it was okay to be whoever you wanted to be. Everyone was enforced to discover and embrace themselves. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to come to this school and be apart of this community for this reason. Me being here is such a pleasure. I have met someone I love dearly and great friends too. If I did not come here to meet people I have met, and learn the things I have learned, I do not know what type of person I would of become. I might not have liked that person at all. I have learned how to be a better person. Being kinder benefits everyone, including yourself. I have learned that working hard really pays off and that it is extremely important in succeeding in life. Coming to this school has really given me many opportunities to grow. For one, being that we are required to have an internship which is so unbelievably amazing. This allows you to investigate your passions further by getting real world experiences that can truly change your life. Having this opportunity sets you up in a good place when applying for colleges. Because of this, you can have the potential of being favored over another applicant when being viewed by colleges. Aside from the good educational aspects, the people that go to SLA are so strong willed and driven that it really makes you a better person. It is always important to surround yourself in a healthy and smart environment to go as a person positively.

Going to the middle school I went to, made me a stronger and smarter person entirely. It made me realize the type of people I did not want to be around and the type of person I did not want myself to be. It made me grow an urgency to get out of there. It made me work harder to be able to prove to everyone else that I could be in a better place and be a better person. I know that if I believe in myself, no matter how cheesy that is, I can get to the place I want to be. I can fight hard against the people that are trying to confine me in a tight area and get beyond that wall. I know that people can not control me, and that only I can control myself. SLA made me realize that there are truly valuable people out there. People that genuinely want to see you succeed and will even help you get there. At my middle school, I did not know anyone like this. But I knew that there was a place for me out there, so I reached to get there.  

I sit on the concrete floor playing with the dogs. There are small prickly dark green cacti right next to me. My curious mind touches the spike on the cactus, I know that it will hurt but I still do it. The feeling of a sharp needle grazing your fingertips slowly starts to wash over me.  I slowly push more and more till I can feel the cactus prick inside me. I release my finger and the dark red blood that I held is slowly oozing out. All the dogs, but one, start to bark at the sight of blood. Peace, the dog not barking, looks at the large brass gate that shields our property from the outside world. The gates’ hinges that have rusted from years of being beaten by rain water slowly start to turn right. As the gate is being opened I see an elderly figure holding a letter. My grandmother slowly starts to walk towards me with glee. With every step it seemed as though the 60 year old woman wanted to hop or skip. As she gets closer I notice a smile on her face. Every single white tooth is shown and the sunlight reflecting of them almost blinds me. When she is within arms distance of me she lifts my three year old self into the air and spins me around. Soundless words are uttered as I am spun till she places me done and says with a big grin; “You’re going to America.”

America. The average African yearns for a chance to enter this beautiful country, but I was different. From a young age I had been told that my parents are in America getting ready for my arrival. This repeated story that I was told made me start to hate this country. At the mere mention of the name America, my blood would boil as if a flame was burning deep within me. Matter of fact there was a flame. A flame of hatred for the parents I did not know, a flame of hatred for the parents that left me, their first and only son for this country. A flame of hatred for America, the country that took my parents. As my grandmother placed me on the ground her joyfulness slowly morphed into confusion. Her face showed confusion as to why my 3 year old self seemed upset but her eyes showed understanding. Her deep brown eyes showed a perfect reflection of me and in that reflection I felt as though she understood everything. As I stood there she took her rough, strong hand, wrinkled from years of working in the farm and patted my bald head. “Nipa trew baku”, she said. One week,I had one week to decide what to do. Would I stay in Ghana, the country who has grown me and I have come to love, or would I go to America the country that I had grown to resent, yet was called the “best” country in the world.

The next morning I woke up greeted by the rays of sun that had sneaked their way through the window and landed on my face. As I lay there staring at the bright pink ceiling analyzing the cracks that ran through the paint as if they were a massive spider web, I remembered. I needed to make a choice. The weight of this decision caused me to feel as though I was in the middle of two planets. The gravitational pull of both planets splitting me in half. On one planet was the warm rays of the African sun, the loud, annoying, and yet loveable barking of dogs, and my grandmother edging me to embrace that world. But the other planet was foreign. It held nothing I knew, it held nothing of grave importance to me. Yet there was one thing, Family. At the center of the planet there was a man and woman edging me to accept this world, a man and a woman holding open their loving arms waiting for me to embrace them. Inside me I was being told by a voice to go to the man and woman, it felt right, it felt like that was where I am destined to be. As I slowly stopped resisting and allowed foreign world to pull me in a scent slowly creeped its way into my nostrils. The scent of jollof, a simple dish that is made up of rice and stew. This scent brought more than a yearning in my stomach for the dish, but memories. Memories of the times spent with my grandmother. Memories of the constant times I had grown bored and played with the cacti. Memories of Peace, the dog that I have always loved. “Be didi.” These words knocked me from my trance like state and as I look towards my open door, I see my grandmother holding a wooden spoon in her hand. It is now that I realize the scent of jollof was not an imagination but a reality. The scent bombards it’s way into my room blocking all my senses and causing my mouth to water. “Be didi”, my grandmother says these words once more, urging me to come eat. I slowly get up from my bed to go brush my teeth. There may be a choice at hand but for now the only thing I care about is jollof.

The day continues as normally as most African days were. I ate, I played, then I ate again. A repetitive pattern I had grown accustomed to. However, for the first time the pattern seemed unique. It seemed as if I did everything for the last time. It was the voice. The voice was telling me to leave my home, leave the dirt roads, the deep brown eyes of my grandmother, and to leave the jollof. Once again the man and woman made their way into my minds. Arms outstretched waiting for me. However this time there was a difference. The woman had the deep hazel eyes of my grandmother. As I stared into the woman’s eyes I saw myself. I saw myself embraced by the man and woman being held as if I was the most precious object in the whole world. Around us, we were surrounded by numerous foreign monsters slowly making their way closer and closer to us. The figures stopped embracing me and grabbed my hands. The man held my left hand. His rough strong muscular hands showed experience and years of hard work. The man stared at the foreign monsters with a look of protection. The man brought a sense of security. His rough strong hands and the daggering look he administered to the monsters brought upon an unspoken promise. A promise that I would never experience pain, a promise that I would be guarded. The woman holding my right hand was not looking at the monsters, in lieu she was staring at me. Her deep brown eyes pierced my being in the gentle way the cacti would pierce my fingers. The only difference was that unlike the cacti, who brought a sharp pain, the eyes delivered a deep love. This love added with the protection brought by the hands caused the man and woman to slowly start changing. Not a physical change like that of a butterfly in metamorphosis, but an internal change in opinions that I felt. The man and woman were no longer foreign strangers pulling me into a foreign world. In contrary the man and woman where now my sources of love and protection against the monsters that I will face. The man and woman where my family.

My past is something that I don’t like talking about. It brings back emotions that I buried inside me long ago. Thinking about what to write and my past I realized that I haven’t dealt with it. I didn’t want to and I was never forced to, so I didn’t. I hid behind a blank face and blackened heart. I cut off all the emotions that I didn’t want to feel. Life became easier when you didn’t feel pain and disappointment. I think the biggest disappointment of my life was my childhood, well what little of it I remember. For 12 years my mom, sister and I lived with my aunt, my younger cousin and my uncle. Living with them was an uphill battle. There were good times and then there were bad ones. The biggest challenge/annoyance was my aunt’s attitude. She was always so rude and nasty about everything. She made it clear that everything was hers. The tv, the couch, the refrigerator and even the dust bunnies that often resided on the floor. It was tolerable, sometimes. I never got along with my younger cousin. Her being the only child made her selfish. She didn’t have to share her things and she could say and do basically anything she wanted. Most of the times I don’t even think it’s the fact that she’s an only child, but the fact that her parents allowed her to get away with her actions.  I remember one time Anaiya, my cousin, and I were arguing; which we often did. My mother was in the same room while my aunt was in the kitchen. I know as the oldest I should lead by example but at the same time I’m not just going to let her say what she wants to me. As we argued I apparently said something that was so tragic that my aunt had to yell from all the way in the kitchen to tell me and me only to stop and shut up. Of course I was threaten and I tried to explain that Anaiya started it and was saying things that were way worse than me but she didn’t want to hear it. I looked at my mom and she just shook her head and said leave it alone. So I did. It was always my cousin and I going back and forth and me being the only one in trouble. At the time I never understood why my mom just told me to leave it alone. I knew that I was right in the sense to stand up for myself but why wasn’t I able to do that when it came to my aunt?

During the time I was living with my aunt I use to visit my dad.  My dad was married and had a son, my younger brother. He also had two other kids by another woman, my older sisters. When I was younger I would visit my dad’s house over the weekends. I would see my family and occasionally spend time with them. I felt like an outsider. Everyone was always together and developed a bond while I only visited twice a month. I felt like I didn’t belong. I was never comfortable and just wanted to go back home with my family. When I was around them I didn’t feel like they accepted me. I never really had an opinion about my dad’s wife at the time, but she was someone that I grew to dislike. To me she was just simply his wife. I already had a mother and didn’t need another one. I didn’t look at her as a stepmother but I respected her as an adult because that’s how I was raised. I didn’t like spending time with them. I would have preferred if it was just my dad and I. I always wanted to go back home but I was too scared to say it. One day while I was over their house I was sitting on the end chair, where my dad usually sits. It was cold and that seat was the furthest from the air conditioner. Ms. Sandy, the wife, was in the kitchen and when she came back she looked at me like I stole something. She said “That’s your father’s seat. I don’t know why you think you could sit there.” I didn’t say anything because what would I even say to that? Coincidentally, my dad and brother were coming down the stairs at the same time she said that. I was thinking that he would have said I could sit there but he sided with her. He told me that was the “man’s” seat and kicked me out of the chair and sat down with my younger brother in his lap. In the corner of my eye I could remember seeing Ms. Sandy smirk. I sat on the couch and said nothing. I didn’t care it was just a seat to me, but the fact that I felt outcasted made me want to go home even more. There was always something little that Ms. Sandy would do and say that I never realized was wrong. When it came to me I always felt like I was treated differently. I  knew I wasn’t wanted at that home and I didn’t understand what was the purpose of having me there. I remember one day I didn’t want to stay and I said out loud that I wanted to go home. Ms. Sandy said “Well you can’t. You have to be here for the weekend.” As a kid I didn’t know what that meant. I thought it was the simple fact that my dad wanted to spend time with me not because he had to. Years later I learned that the court ordered me to spend every other weekend with my dad. At that point in my life I already became numb so I had no feelings about the situation. I didn’t and still don’t consider that man to be my father. It’s just something that I made myself believe.  

A challenge of me being a kid was my hair. It was so thick and very hard to do. It didn’t help that I was tender headed, meaning I felt a lot of pain when getting my hair done. My mom or aunts did my hair and they became use to doing it and so did I. They understood what to do to prevent the amounts of pain that I would feel. My dad wanted to go to the my grandmother’s house. Before we went Ms. Sandy decided to do my hair. It was strange because she’s never even attempted to do my hair before. She said that it “looked a mess” and that it needed to be fixed. I sat on the chair that was moved from the kitchen to the living room. My brother along with my step cousin were sitting on the couch waiting for me to get my hair finished. My dad was in the kitchen. As she was doing my hair it hurt really bad, more than usual; so I began to cry. She kept telling me to be quiet and began combing my hair even harder which made me cry harder. I subconsciously reached my hand up to touch my hair because it hurt. Then as I did I felt a throbbing pain on my hand. One. Two. Three. She hit me on my hand with the comb three times. I saw my dad watching and did nothing but go upstairs. I immediately stopped crying because shock took over. I stayed quiet. That was the day when I felt hatred for my dad. I hated him because he didn’t care, he let her do and say whatever she wanted to me. My own dad never hit me so why would it be alright for her to? I didn’t want to go to my grandmother’s house. I didn’t want to be around them or see any of them. From that day forward they were all dead to me. I didn’t tell my mom for years about what had been happening. I don’t know why. I think it was a mixture of being scared and the development of me not caring. I just felt like it wasn’t important. There were a lot of events that happened in my life and it would be impossible to explain in one simple essay. It’s harder to understand my life with so many missing pieces. That’s similar to how I am. I’m a puzzle with missing pieces. They’re lost but eventually they will come back and fit into their predetermined places. To this day I do not have a relationship with my dad and his family. I don’t acknowledge them and they don’t acknowledge me, I like it that way. I’m not mad or sad because that’s just a part of life. You have to move on and do what’s in the best interest of yourself. I can’t predict the future but I would like things to stay as they are now. I already have my family and incorporating people who have not fought or cared enough to fight for me are people who I do not want in my life. It’s easy for me to not care about and forget you. Just like a light switch, on and off.