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Dear SLA community,

… I need you to hear a few things

My first day of highschool was suppose to be one of my greatest memories, but it was the day that I realized my word would change. On my way to school I caught the el, a train that I was terrified to get on. It was the way to my new life. The el was this huge clunk  of metal with blue seats inside. We sat down and I sat next to the window. As I look out the window I can feel the anxiety bubbling inside of me. She hugs me and says it will be okay. She was someone I was comfortable with. I’ve known her for years, it was already like she was a part of the family. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, it’s honestly a great school.” She was a junior at SLA, the best coincidence. On our way to school she was explaining to me the “unique” dynamics of my new school. I remember her telling me all about SLA and how I am going to love it. “It’s pretty diverse in a way but you will be that token spanish friend.” Those words stuck with me, I never thought that they would be so accurate. I was wrong.

As I walked into the building I watched her as she scanned in. The cafeteria was made of windows which I loved, I thought it was so cool. There was a hole in the ceiling which was strange but it didn’t seem to matter to me. The cafeteria was filled with people I did not know what to do.  I was so nervous, it was if I was a mouse in a world filled with giants. Everyone looked the same. Someone yelled out her name “Melissa, come here!”, she ran to her and hugged her. I scanned the building as I waited by Melissa as she hugged all of her friends. I am glad to see the same walls I saw from Summer Institute. I couldn’t help but look up at what, at the time, was missing part of the ceiling. I saw people poking their heads down and waving to people, that seemed so strange to me. Melissa finished saying hi to all of her friends and walked me to my advisor’s room. She gave me a hug and said “Have a good day, text me if anything.” As I walked in I sat next to Emily, a girl I remembered from Summer Institute from the previous week. I looked around the room and all I saw was white. There was some color in the room, but barely. I put on a brave face hoping no one sees my discomfort. We transitioned to our first class, and once again I saw a lot of white. I have never been so uncomfortable in a place that I am supposed to love. I see a girl I went to I knew. As I sat down and looked around I saw of white people sitting together and I knew we didn’t know each other yet, but I wondered as to why they all sat together. Fast forward three years and I am sitting in my history class and it has even come to a point where our history teacher said something. “It seems like all the white people sat together and all the black people sat together.” That’s crazy I thought, even our teacher notices it. Everyone laughs...

My life at SLA has been pretty great, better than most but I sometimes feel ostracized by just looking the way I look. I cannot deny the fact, even if I tried, that I am Latina. I look just like a typical Latina girl. I have caramel skin, brown eyes, brown hair, and I am short. I am filled in a school with giants. These giants vary in color, but all the same they are giants. I never see any caramel skin giants. I really miss seeing similar faces. I miss people being able to properly pronounce my name. My name is meant to flow off the tongue Elani Belen Gonzalez-Ortiz. It took me a long time to come to love my name and SLA has made me hate it. Whenever I tell someone my entire name they tell me that it is too long and they are going to call me something different. Then when I tell them, “No, you will call me by my name,” they look at me as if they are offended. I have come to accept the fact that people are just going to butcher my name. Also by coming to SLA, I have realized that I am that one token spanish friend. Melissa was right. Everyone came to me with questions asking if I could read over their spanish essays or if I can do their homework. Then once again, they get offended when I tell them no. Like I do not have my own things to worry about. SLA has honestly made me just want to forget the fact that I am a Latina. I have heard people butcher my language and not even wanting to fix it. They also like to point out the fact that they are giants like I already cannot tell, that I do not realize that I am not one of them.

I tried to be friends with the giants, and I was for a while until I met people with color. They weren’t caramel, but all still the same it was color. Don’t get me wrong, I am still friends with the giants, but the creatures with color understand me more. They sympathize with what I am going through, they try and try to say my name but it still isn’t the same. Everyday I wanted to come home just so I can be reminded how beautiful being Latino really is. That our caramel skin is beautiful and that my brown hair is not dirty but vibrant. That the curls and frizz in my hair is not nasty but lively. No one understands it though, the giants, the creatures, and not even home.

Home doesn’t understand what it is like to constantly be asked questions about your culture every single day, just so they can get a good grade not even for them to understand. My mom understands though, she is in the same world I am. These giants and creatures don’t seem to understand why questions suck. It sucks because it is as if I am an animal in the zoo, like if everyone wants to constantly take pictures with me. I wanted to be normal but I couldn’t with everyone always wondering about me.  Why being constantly pointed out because I am Latina is annoying. “Yes, I understand I look different but you can stop pointing it out thanks”, I thought all the time.

I miss my old life. Once you meet another Latino it is as if you are instant friends, you automatically have something to bond over. Latinos are a very tight nit community and I was pulled from that. I remember everyone always being able to say my name correctly and I never felt strange about my name either because all of our names were sort of similar in a sense. No one ever questioned me in my old life. I was just the average latino kid just like everyone else was. I never felt like an outsider in my old school. We all spoke spanish and all came from the same place, it was diverse in the sense that we had all kinds of latinos but nothing else.

Science Leadership Academy the best innovative school for the kids who don’t think like your average teenager. We are diverse! Everyone will love it. SLA is a non-Latino school. We are diverse, but not diverse enough.

Sincerely,

I think I changed during the move to a new house. in my old house we looked and felt like rich people we had to kitchens a work out room tons of rugs and very big rooms but then we move not to far from my new house . when i saw what it looked like in compacted naverhood it looked like a very cheap house with the dying plaints  i started shacking below my legs when  that was also the same time I was moving to a hole new school which looked worse then the old one I was nervous because it was the first time in my life that I ever transferred to a new school in a city. I moved to a different city and went to a high school where I knew that I would struggle adjusting to the people around me and remembering their names.

I guess you can say I went through a phase during the early maturing stages of my life. Ideally I normally write about living in another country and not being able to identify where I grew up in because it was always somewhere different, yet at the same time I enjoyed the idea of being “different” because that’s what makes you standout from the norm right? However the thing that makes me different is the fact that different from everyone else with interesting lives I didn’t go through any hardships, or major drastic changes. And to add my parents always reminded me how perfect my life was and everything was basically laid out for me, which confused me because the words “perfect” and “fortunate” were the words used by parents so often that it really affects me the most. Anyways this perfect life style was actually the thing that caused the most mental damage to me because I was always messing up. Its funny cause this thought process is what my middle school teachers described as “suffering from metacognition”. However metacognition didn't just affect me in my classes, it was an ongoing thing in just bust everything I did.

The first time it came to light was in elementary school. I began my normally scheduled scan around the classroom. It was independent reading and everyone seemed so invested into their books for just fourth graders. I mean maybe I’m just slightly illiterate but even so there’s no way these kids are reading Harry Potter or Percy Jackson, those books probably weigh more than the kids themselves. Not to mention that I’m still struggling with the Magic treehouse….  The door opens… Everyone looks up from their books almost the same way a deer looks up when it knows it’s being hunted. It’s the school nurse,  I knew it was her just from the sound of the jingle from the lanard and the room keys because I practically live in her office due to a combination of being so clumsy and fragile. You would think that all my chubbiness would work as a protective shield from knee scrapes and bruises from gym class. Nope, Nurse Westbrook and I were with each other about four hours out of the school week. At one point it was so bad that as soon as I would enter her office she would already open the fridge with an ice pack ready without me even telling her what’s wrong. Even the office made jokes about it. Anyways, the nurse enter the room and my classmates stare as if it’s their first time meeting someone from the outside world. She smiles and strolls over towards my teacher who at the time was organizing the bookshelves. The nurse hands her a large pony folder, they chat for a moment, and uninterested as usual I continued in my struggle of reading the magic treehouse.  The two share a laugh like two moms watching their kids from a park bench. And just like that the nurse exits the room along with the interest the kids had in their books. Our teacher walks to the center of the room, folder in hand and brings the attention of the class towards her direction. She announces that we would all be called down to the office two by two in order for her to do check our height, eyesight and worse of all weight. I began to freak out finding looking for ways to get out of this activity. I knew it was not be any means supposed to show comparison of students but it truly felt that way.

I remember in 3rd grade going over my best friends Nick’s house everyday and playing split screen Online on Halo 3. It wasn't till Christmas of 2008 until I got my own Xbox 360, and became victim of the video game addiction. Unfortunately all of my memories on Xbox weren't positive. but although I stayed inside all day it was probably the fasted way I learned about the world. All I can say is that earth is full of extremely twisted people, and very reasonable people. And there's a very clear line between the two. It wasn't till I was 11 years old until I met my first "pro" gamer. He was 18 years old and his name was Michael, and at the time he seemed like the most intelligent and inspirational person in the world just because of his halo skill. He introduced me to the competitive world of eSports and basically taught me all my social skills in real life. From what I learned eSports is the exact same system as the MLS, NBA, NFL.... Just less physical work! Which invites way more people to compete. From that day I played with Michael just about every day of that summer of which I got my Xbox.

My friends were surprised that I still had social skills considering I haven't hHung out with them since I had my Xbox. It was really that bad. Especially once I found out that people considered me a good halo player... Life online was just so much better thant reality. It was like I was being worshipped by people older and younger than me. And I didn't even have to do anything except play the thing I was good at. A lot of people don't take things like that into consideration, when the first thing they think of when they picture a gamer, is some nerd or wimp that stays inside. Well, 50% of that may be true, but it’s not always in a negative directions. A lot of these gamers are very intelligent but just do not fully understand on how to apply their strengths to the real world. But becauses of this the “smart gamers” have more than enough time to structure their gaming hobby into a career making more money than any other regular job. To this day I don’t know how these gamers made it so far with what just appears like screaming at screen for hours. Until I realize how much work and sacrifice and dedication it takes to get that far with such an underestimated career, which for me could be considered “The dream job”.  

It is the second day of 5th grade, I am sitting at a table in a large classroom where everybody is talking about their summer and trying to make some new friends. At our table in the back of the classroom, I am talking with a girl named Adrienne, a girl named Avery, and a boy named Tyson. Tyson and Adrienne are talking about how to say forty. “Its pronounced forty” says Tyson. “No its pronounced fordy” says Adrienne. “Its fordy” I say. “What do you know” says Tyson. “I know it's pronounced fordy” I said. “Ooooooooo” says Adrienne and Avery.

From that day forward, Tyson and I had become best friends. We even live close to each other in West Philadelphia. Tyson always has my back and I always have his as friends should be. Another scene is when it was my birthday and Tyson had came to my house. It was on March 4th on a friday night and Tyson had called me to confirm my address and ten minutes later he showed up at my house. “Happy Birthday” says Tyson and his mom, “Thank you”, as I said trying not to smile too hard. At my house in West Philly it was my aunts, uncles, Nana, Mother, Father, brother, cousins, baby cousins, step-father and of course me. Me, Tyson, my brother Mike, and all of my cousins were playing video games. In 6th grade me and Tyson were never in the same classes. Tyson had became my best friend by always looking out for me and I would always do the same for him. Me and Tyson had became friends by just talking to each other and hanging out outside of school. It was one time when Tyson came over my house and  my mom said “Hey my other child”.  At that moment it just felt like Tyson had belonged there.  Tyson and I are inseparable, this one time he had moved to Maryland but we still communicated. When he had came back to Philly he had told me tha this time he will stay.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Kawthar Hasan (Kay)

Ms. Larissa Pahomov

English 3

4 January 2017

A lot of Americans do not realize the amount of freedom we have in this country compared to other foreign places in the world. For instance, dressing the way we desire, hanging out with men and women in the public eye without being judged, or even having the choice of practicing another religion. In an islamic country, if a person were to disobey any of those rules, they will face either getting lashed in the public, face a lot of time in prison, and/or death. As Americans we need to understand and value the open opportunities we have in this country that others wished that they would acquire.

I remember the last time my family and I were arriving at our destination of my mother’s native country: Casablanca, Morocco. At that time I was at the age of six. There approximately about 32 million people living in Morocco. Although the capital city is Rabat, Casablanca is the largest and most popular city in Morocco with nearly 4 million residents. I can trace back to us getting off the plane and remembering some of the things in my surroundings. The men and women being dressed modestly, the Moroccan language my mom speaks which also others spoke around me, and inhaling the wind that is completely different from the United States air.  Once we walked to a huge baggage place at the airport too grab all of our belongings, my mom gave a suggestion to my dad, “Instead of trying to catch a taxi why don’t we try to call to my cousin, Ridwan” she told him. He  responded,  “Sure okay, why don’t you offer him a call by using that phone booth right over there?” my dad pointed. My mom grabbed some dirhams she had in her bag and walked over to the phone booth to call her cousin. My cousin Ridwan came to pick us up from the airport. I was looking out the window as we rode down Boulevard de Rachidi. I noticed the palm trees on both sides of the rode, like how you would see it in many Hollywood movies. From then on, I knew that I would have the best experience that I will never forget in Morocco.

There is about 99 percent of the muslim population in Morocco. Muslims all around the world pray five times a day to worship only one God, Allah. Each and everyday, no matter what city I traveled to while I was in Morocco; Marrakech, Tangier, Tetouan, or Salé a call to prayer, which we call the Adhan is always played five different times a day throughout the city. This is normal in the Arab/Muslim countries. Although, the United States the government offers people freedom of religion, they do not offer a prayer system to be called throughout the cities like in the Arab countries. Although we do not have adhans going off in the city, here in the United States we have many masjids to go to worship Allah.

Living in a religious country is different from living here in the United States. There are strict rules and regulations that citizens and even the people who tour in these religious countries must abide by. For instance, no woman is considered as an independent woman, both males and females are required to be dressed in a modest way, there is a ban on social mixing between men and women in the public eyes and sometimes in the private eyes unless they are family, and the list goes on. On the other hand, in the United States, we have freedom of speech, our rights to wear whatever we want, the ability to not be judged by others if they are interfering with men and vice versa. When I was six years old in my family home I realized some of these differences between the culture in Morocco and the U.S.  when a young lady and a man had begun to have sexual intercourse without being married. People within the community witnessed and had begun to spread the word, and it eventually spread to the ears of her father. A few days later, she was found being beaten in the middle of the street by her father.  At a young age during that time, I witnessed something so tragic that eventually swayed my opinion about the standards of human beings. I was trying to convince my family to stop the chaos, that I could not bring myself to watch anymore, yet they refused. As the minutes passed, we witnessed something so dreadful until my dad could not tolerate watching that uncontrolled violence in the street anymore. Therefore, he decided to run out of the house to save the young girl from her father beating her nearly to death. My dad somehow, someway found a way to talk the man out of abusing his daughter especially, in the street for people to watch and entertain. After that things settled down and for the rest of that day the entire neighborhood was quiet. Even at a young age I comprehended the reason why my dad saved that young woman. Although my dad understood the way the government and Islamic laws were set up as we were in Morocco, he refuse to watch a young adult being abused in the streets by her own blood. For the fact that he has me and my sister to raise, regardless of what minor or major mistake we would have to face in life. He has to show us how much he cares and love us no matter what.

If Americans stopped to think about it, they would realize that living in an Arab country is not just about speaking a different language, but it is truly about maintaining yourself abiding with the islamic and governmental laws as well. If a person were to live in the United States their entire life, then go to an Arab country, even if it is just for a vacation, they would honestly not accept a lot governmental requirements since they are not used to residing in a strict country. In America, we have many rights that are forbidden in many Arab countries such as; women going to work/school, dressing the way we desire, Marriage equality (especially Gay Marriage), etc. As Americans we should be thankful for the government to allow us to have open opportunities that others wished they had in their country.

Sources:

http://www.relevantdad.com/2016/07/the-american-flag/

"The American Flag." Relevant Dad. N.p., 04 July 2016. Web. 09 Jan. 2017.

http://www.spirit21.co.uk/2011/01/anatomy-of-an-islamic-country/

Spirit21. Shelina Zahra Janmohamed - Spirit21, n.d. Web. 09 Jan. 2017.

http://blog.travel-exploration.com/2015/03/

"March 2015 Archives - Travel-Exploration Blog Travel-Exploration Blog."TravelExploration Blog. N.p., n.d. Web. 09 Jan. 2017.

http://intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com/2014/09/17/i-heart-my-city-yasmines-rabat/

City, I. Heart My. "I Heart My City: Yasmine’s Rabat." Intelligent Travel. N.p., 28 Sept. 2016. Web.09 Jan. 2017.

http://imamsonline.com/blog/sounds/

"Sounds." Imams Online. N.p., 10 Feb. 2015. Web. 09 Jan. 2017.

No movement of the lips or eyebrows. I can always tell by the look on her face that my reaction isn’t enough. If I had said a nonchalant “Okay,” with wide eyes and a slight smile, she would’ve gotten the impression that I cared. Unbothered is the look I went for for. I couldn’t argue with her. There’s nothing to argue about. What are we arguing about? A basket of folded laundry that has been sitting in my room for about three days. The clothes will be put away eventually. I always do everything eventually. I feel that if she knows that I’m annoyed by her unannounced entrance into my room to talk about the laundry for the third time, she’ll feel that maybe my annoyance will get me to put it away to stop her from nagging. I didn’t put my clothes away and won’t until I feel like it.

I could tell this was the start of a week-long silent treatment. Day one: the argument. Usually something stupid occurs which causes her to yell at me. I give her the usual blank stare, which she doesn’t like. Day two is the start of the silence. We both make a mutual unspoken agreement that less interaction will occur between us. Day three is where my dad has to play monkey in the middle. He usually goes back and forth hearing one complain about the other. Day four: usually sitting at the table and being able to slice through the awkwardness with my butterknife. Day five would consist of the start of the comedown. Dad’s words would sink into minds and eventually settle the argument between us.

My mother and father are exact opposites of each other. My dad and I have always had a good relationship. My dad usually tries to see both sides of a situation, while my mom is strictly one-sided. We clashed when I didn’t agree with her and I tried to explain my point. My opinion was usually shut down by questions that favored her side. I would try to argue a point that was already deemed wrong, so I started to end every almost-arguement with “Okay.” My dad would always be stuck between us. He couldn’t side with me, and he didn’t want to side with my mom because he didn’t agree. At night, he would come in my room and talk it out with me. He would reveal what she was saying about me, and I would give my defense. At the end of our secret meetings, he would look me sternly in the eye and say, “But don’t tell your mom,” I knew I couldn’t say anything. We weren’t speaking to each other anyway.

All of this occurred when I was transforming into a outspoken overly-opinionated teenager. When I started to become my own person, I started to grow apart from my mom. If I differed with her on subjects, I let her know and she didn’t like that. Along with my opinions, I did the usual teenage defiant acts such as not cleaning my room, taking naps, and generally being lazy. I didn’t let it show that whatever she scolded me about affected me because of my ever growing teenage angst. Even though she’s my mother, I like to be able to stand my ground. I couldn’t let her walk all over me for something so small. I don’t overdo myself to where I am completely disrespectful, just enough to where I am annoyingly blunt. We are both extremely stubborn, which was the root of our problem. We are more alike than we’d like to admit.

It was warm and sunny outside on our drive to the bank. I was riding shotgun while she took the wheel of our hand me down Honda Accord. I was about twelve or thirteen years old. My preteen body was in full effect. Braces were plastered over my teeth and I was even skinnier than I am now. We were discussing our neighbors’ demon child. He was every parent's worst nightmare, so my mom was extra dramatic when she talked about him. I didn’t care enough to discuss him, but I didn’t make that fully known. Endlessly talking about someone isn’t going to change them. The topic has been discussed plenty of times before and I didn’t think we’d ever come to a happy ending. I don’t remember what words we exchanged, but all I remember is that after a few times of keeping my thoughts to myself, I decided to share my opinion. I didn’t speak in a hostile or sarcastic tone. It was only about a sentence. A moment of silence flooded into the car after I spoke. My chest tensed each second nearing her response.

Finally, she said, “Why are you such a little bitch to me, Maddy?”

There was no escape. I couldn’t jump out of the car. Home was too far by now. The neighborhood we were in wasn’t one that I would want to walk alone in. I just kept quiet. How is someone supposed to respond to that? I consider myself a great kid for not getting mad. I don’t really know why I stayed so calm. About a year or two ago, I confronted her about it. She denied it.

“I did not say that to you,” she laughed. I don’t know how she was so casual about something that was so significant to me.

“Yes, you did.” We both laughed about it, and I still laugh about it. I’ll never forget that though.

The October of my freshmen year in high school was the start of the end. My dad and I both knew it needed to stop. She treated me significantly different than my brother. I got a call from my dad when I was on my way home.

“I talked to your mom earlier. She said she’s going to start to be nicer. So, hopefully things will get better.”

At the time, I doubted it. Or at least I knew it would be hard for her. My dad and I both understood that after this long it would be extremely hard for her to retain her feelings. Life between us gradually changed. My mom loosened up and I noticed.

Now, my mom and I are like best friends. We’re constantly together. Like all mother and daughter relationships, yes, we do still have our differences. We’ve learned to let the small things go. I think our rough patch made us closer. It was a learning experience for both of us. We don’t discuss it now, but it still lies underneath the surface. I hope in the future we never find ourselves in that situation again.

I am twelve years old and had just began seventh grade at the prestigious all girls private school, Baldwin, located on Philadelphia’s main line. It is currently ‘bat mitzvah season’ for the many Jewish girls whom I go to school with. This night is not only hugely exciting for the birthday girl, but also for her guests. It is one of the few, but extremely exciting, days where we are able to mingle with the boys from the all-boy’s school down the road from ours, Haverford. I would strategically head to a friend’s house hours before the party starts, where we spend every second available to us to get ready. At approximately six o’clock we eventually pull up to an elaborate hall or hotel decorated just for the birthday girl. Upon walking inside, I was either greeted by an ice sculpture of the birthday girl’s head or a photographer ushering me in and then quickly snapping a photo of me and my friends. I enjoy myself so much at these parties that I eventually go home and ask my mother if I can have one just like theirs for my upcoming thirteenth birthday. She is then forced to break the news to me that not only are we not jewish, but that I am not like the girls I go to school with; that we don’t have all that they have and that that’s okay.

Although my seventh grade self was upset that she couldn’t have an elaborate thirteenth birthday, over the next three years of attending that school I had come to the realization that these bat mitzvahs were just one small factor that set me apart from my peers. I had begun to feel like I was living in a white privileged bubble while going to Baldwin, and I did not belong there. I come from a very liberal family and I soon found out that my parents were struggling with the feeling that the school I was attending was slowly taking away many of the morals and principles that they had worked hard to raised me with; the fear that being in an environment with such a lack of diversity would unintentionally cause me to be unaccepting of those that are different than me. My family feared of what would happen if I continued schooling at Baldwin, graduated, and was suddenly launched into the real world without understanding what the real world truly is, as I had only been exposed to such a small part of it.

It wasn’t until nearly the end of my freshman year of high school that I finally came to terms with this and sat down with my mother to discuss the possibility of switching schools. The conversation went something like this:

Hadleigh: Mom, I think I would like to leave Baldwin.

Mom: Finally! Where would you like to go? 

Hadleigh: I have no idea.

The end of the school year was nearing and I knew that my options were slim, and for this reason, the idea got pushed to the side for a while. The next time it was brought up, my mother mentioned the school, Science Leadership Academy, that she passes sometimes on her way to work. I had heard of it and knew that one of my best friends who was a grade below me was applying. It is located in the city where I grew up, the student body is far more diverse than Baldwin, and it overall seemed that it would be a more comfortable environment for me. I made the quick decision to apply as well.

Luckily, the last set of interviews happened to be the following week. I was told to find one recent project that I was most proud of to present, as SLA is a project based school, to one current student and one teacher. I had only done one project that year at Baldwin and it was a group project that I wouldn’t have necessarily defined as one I am “most proud of.” I then decided to take it upon myself to change the project around a bit and create an improved, more personal version of the original project. I was the only person there that was already in high school and many people looked at me strangely. However, my interview went well and I felt confident.

I did not find out that I had been accepted to SLA until my last week of school at Baldwin. I was on a serious time crunch as there were deadlines on both ends that had to be met. My mental state at this time could be described as jumbled and disorganized. I had no idea what I wanted to do. Leaving Baldwin after 5 years was only just a thought until I got the news that SLA had wanted me to attend. I weighed the pros and cons:

Pros: more suitable environment, will be better prepared for the real world, fresh start

Cons: leaving everything I know and starting new, friends, amazing education

After a few days of frantically searching within myself to come to a decision, I had finally decided that I would transfer to SLA.

Although the transition was intimidating at first, I cannot express my gratitude toward my parents enough for pushing me to take the risk that has formed me into the person I am now, and the person I am proud to be. When I think back now to the person I was when I attended Baldwin, I am barely able to recognize that person. SLA has forced me to come out of my shell and put an end to my habit of trying to blend in with the crowd. SLA accepts me for who I am and pushes me to be an individual. I find it amazing that such a seemingly small change could change my life so drastically for the better. After taking this risk and experiencing the positive effects, I feel obligated to take more risks in life with the intention of bettering and working toward becoming the best version of myself.

Tigidankay Saccoh

English 3

Pahomov

Jan 9, 2017

                                     Best Personal Essay Ever

I sat nestled in between my mother’s legs as she massaged a relaxer into my scalp. She once told me my kinky tresses were my very own majestic lion mane, but after years of yearning to fit in, she relented and tamed the beast on the top of my head. I twiddled my thumbs as she subdued the slayer of all combs, defier of gravity, the eighth wonder of the world : my afro. About thirty minutes later, she rinsed the chemicals out of my hair and my tightly coiled locks metamorphosed into fine strands that cascaded down my shoulders. Light poured through the gap in my teeth as I beamed in front of the bathroom mirror, finally satisfied with my reflection.  I would finally be just like my friends, even though I was never meant to.

For most of my life, fitting in has been a survival technique. When I moved from Freetown, Sierra Leone, to Seattle, Washington, I did what was necessary to resist ostracization. I quickly shed my accent, adopted the moniker “Tigi”, and ditched the traditional west African garbs my grandmother had sewn me. I observed the mannerisms of my all-American classmates and gradually assimilated into their culture. Soon enough, there was a stack of Barbie movie discs next to my mother’s Nollywood collection on the living room book shelf. My new Hannah Montana shirts clashed with the ornate stitching of my Kente cloth in my closet. I spent most of my freetime translating my favorite Krio songs to english in my notebook, in order to eliminate the stark language barrier. Despite all these efforts to successfully integrate into my new surroundings, I remained the odd one out.  

           To be quite frank, there is only so much you can do to blend into the crowd when you are the only black person in the crowd. From kindergarten through third grade, I was the darkest complected amongst my group of peers. I was the girl everyone anticipated a unique reaction from during discussions of slavery in social studies class. In fact, I can still vividly recall expressing audible outrage after learning about segregated water fountains during the Jim Crow era, which Jacob Allen in turn responded “You’re only mad because you’re black”. I was the second grader left out to cry in the rain after my best friends Serena, Claire, and Kristen informed me that I could not “twin” with them on “Twin Day” because my skin color did not match theirs. When I moved to Philadelphia after third grade, I discovered that my struggles with attracting unwanted attention were not unique to my elementary school’s  predominately white student body.

In 2008, my father ecstatically told me about his acceptance to the University of Pennsylvania. Following his release from jail due to a miscarriage of justice, obtaining his green card, and a few years of community college, my dad was especially determined to pursue the enriching education the civil war in Sierra Leone deprived him of. When we moved to Philly in 2009, I began attending Hardy Williams Academy Charter School in southwest Philadelphia. To my surprise, I was no longer teased for being black like I was in Seattle, but instead for not being black enough, despite my bold African features.  “Why do you talk like a white girl?”, were some of the questions funnelled my way.  Being constantly interrogated about why I spoke so “white” and why I was so serious about my academics taught me to erroneously associate intelligence with whiteness, sentiments I later disposed of as I became more knowledgeable.

Before starting ninth grade at Science Leadership Academy, I reflected on what it would mean to be in a community of many different backgrounds. Would it make me less unique? Would anyone find me weird anymore? I thought it was all I ever wanted, to be in a school where I would not be questioned for my differences. I just did not want to relinquish my peculiarness as a result. It was then that I realized I had always enjoyed being special. I did not want to have the same story to share as everyone else, and the dramatic change from attending schools lacking diversity to a school acclaimed for its cultural variance allowed me to firmly grasp this. I was determined to stand out in a school consisting of multiple people who haled from my demographic background and people who had never been able to fit in anywhere else before.

First, I learned to fully embraced my full name. I was still going by TK, but I no longer felt embarrassed telling people my full name. I made no apologies when they could not pronounce it correctly the first time. I accepted that my name, although devoid of deep, insightful significance certainly had a life of its own. Four syllables, each coated with a zesty sauce inspired by many cultures . I could taste cassava leaves and the other West African cuisines familiar to the roof of my mouth when the beautifully crafted vowels and consonants escaped my tongue. This confidence, which had always been inside me, but never truly tapped into, inspired me to join slam poetry. My first poem I shared was about finally being able to appreciate the beauty of my name.  Mr.Kay, my mentor and poetry coach, gave me the nickname TK The Voice (of a Generation) because of the exuberance and assurance I had displayed while reading my poem.

Realizing that I was never meant to be boxed into one category allowed me to thrive in many of my extra-curriculars. A short while after joining slam poetry club, I joined the robotics/engineering club. At the time, the club was primarily male, but that did not deter me from participating. I was no longer letting lack of representation discourage broadening my horizons. I quickly grew accustomed to everyone on the team and in no time I was learning how to use machinery and basics of coding. It made my parents proud to see their young black daughter defying the odds and pursuing a career in engineering. I knew that to be a woman hoping to occupy a profession in the STEM field, would be to exist in a place where I was not fully welcomed. My past, unique experiences prepared me for this feat of course.

In conclusion, realizing that I was never meant to blend in with the crowd has had endless positive effects on my experiences in high school. I have been able to push my boundaries and explore uncharted territory through the extra-curriculars I participate in and the friendships I secure. I have learned how to adapt to changes in environment without forsaking the attributes that make me who I am. This is what makes me confident in who I am today.

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.