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.

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.

The Sound of Growth

Freshman Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sophomore Year

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

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

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

Junior Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Siani Davis

Personal Essay

Ms. Pahomov

December 22, 2016

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

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

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

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

Everything, I believe, starts with a question. So I think it is fitting to pose a question to start. “How did I get here?” Let me rephrase that since that seems a little broad. I do know how I got into the world. I’ve had the bird and the bees talk so maybe the more fitting question/s is “How did I get here in SLA? How did I change to the point that I am comfortable here in this school that I, at first, didn’t even want to go to?” I have asked myself this question constantly. And now as I sit here with my friends in a huge circle as we trade gifts, I will finally sit down and try to answer it.  How did I get here surrounded by such wonderful people?

Walking down the halls of Wagner Middle School, I walked through the middle. There were only three types of people who walk down the middle, the trouble makers, teachers and the student government. And being in my third year of student government, I walked down the middle with all the confidence in the world . It was almost the end of my eighth grade year and it was around the time that everyone was receiving our acceptances to high schools. Finally making it to the office with my friend Kierra in tow we walked in collecting our paper that told us what schools we got into. We were hoping on going to Central together for the longest while. We took a deep breath before opening our letters. I didn’t even bother to read the letter carefully opting to look at the schools I got accepted to.

‘Palumbo-Center City- Accepted

Carver-Waitlisted

Some other school I don’t even remember- Accepted

Science Leadership Academy- Accepted

Central High School- Waitlisted’

Despite everything, I was angry. Not sad. Angry.  I felt like they should be honored that I was applying to their school. They should be saying, “She’s 12 and she’s applying to our school!? We have to let her in!” If you couldn’t guess, I had an ego and a large one at that over the fact that I was younger than everyone else. Trying to shake off my anger,  I looked over at Kierra to see if she was having a better time than me. She, however, was not. She was bawling her eyes out. I thanked the secretary and led Kierra out of the office. We went to the bathroom, cleaned her up and then went back to where our other friends were waiting. Turns out Kierra had been flat out rejected as well as everyone else. I was the only one that was waitlisted. They tried to convince me to go there held my ground saying I would rather go to Palumbo with them until our math teacher heard us. He gave the class a worksheet and called me outside and asked to see my list of schools that I  got into. I still remember the words Mr. Oh said to me to this day. ‘Paul-Ann, I know you want to be with your friends and all but you need to think about what’s best for you. Palumbo won’t show your true nature and waiting on a school that waitlisted you will not be good for you. Go to SLA. You’ll love it there.” Not even wanting to listen to him, I nodded and he let me back in the class.

I went home to my mother and told her the results of what schools I got into and my decision. She said “No.” She didn’t believe that was a good idea. “ You are going to SLA, you can make new friends.” I couldn’t believe that she was doing this to me but I nodded and accepted that I was going to SLA whether I wanted to or not.

Fast forward to August 2014, Summer Institute of SLA. I still haven’t changed my mind about not wanting to go to SLA. I still knew no one. No one except Sam and even then we weren’t close. My ego had gotten me in trouble with him already. I rather not share how but it was not fun. All I can tell you is that it was a wake up call. A wake up call thatat I’m not better than everyone. I’m not the best even if I am younger. Thankfully, this lowered my ego but it also lowered my self confidence into dangerous territory. I no longer would walk in the center of things but tend to stay closer to the walls. I wouldn’t speak up about my age in fear people would judge me rather than praise me. So going to SLA after this change while knowing no one, it was very scary. I didn’t have any confidence to make any friends and I was scared of staying alone and becoming a loner.

“Are you okay?” Meet Alexa Lahr, a sweet and model worthy girl who decided to talk to me.

“Y-Yes. Sorry.” I also had a habit of apologizing for no reason.

“No problem. You look scared, how about staying by me for today?” I nodded without hesitation. She was really nice to me and I realized that being here might not be so bad. Until the first day of school. We were shown our advisories and luckily Alexa was in mine, however, she had already formed a group and I was once again left alone. We were forced to do ice breakers and sit with people you didn’t already know, so I chose to sit with three girls. They introduced themselves as Lily, Jhazzelle and Jae. I grew closer to Jae until we were split into streams and once again I was forced away from someone I got close to. I decided from then on not to talk to anyone. In our streams, we were introduced to our Bio-Chem teacher, Ms. Sessa. She put me at a table with Sam, a  girl and a guy. The girl introduced herself as Avery, very wildly. I already liked Avery. She was everything I wanted to be. Not afraid to be who I want to be without the ego. The other person was CJ. CJ introduced himself with a joke following it. I really liked my group already. Who knew these would be the people I grew the closest with these following high school years,  

“Paul-Ann are you there?” I hear Sam’s voice ring out. I was brought out of my memories from his voice. I smile and shake my head as CJ makes a weird joke. CJ, my wonderfully weird friend. Avery proposes a game and while everyone says yes, I decide to sit out choosing to observe. Avery, the girl I like to think of as a sister. Eleanor proposes BS. Eleanor, the one I like to think of as a motherly figure, the mommy of the group. Jessica smiles deviously but we all know she sucks at lying. Jessica, another one that I like to think of as a sister. Halfway through the game, Zoe screams, a sure sign that she is losing. Zoe, although I was never close to her, I’m glad to have her as a friend. Claire tries to calm her down. Claire, a total sweetheart, a great friend. Sam just shakes his head. And then there’s Sam. My ex but we’re not those exes that hate each other. Nah we’re still friends. My friend group that I love soo much. I’m glad to have them. No matter what I went through and how much I have change, I will never regret my change and how much I left behind. If anything, I’m glad.