With the sun gleaming over our us as we make our way towards starbucks. I’m slowly getting excited, because he’s always busy, so him making time for us to hangout together was a really big deal at the time. It was the middle of the afternoon, he holds the door, and we walk in. It was him and the shy quiet shadow following him, me. Starbucks is usually crowded with people with suits and all that fancy stuff.

Minutes go by,

“can I help you?” He turns around ask me what I want, as I whisper “I’ll have a green tea frappe,” barely allowing him to hear me.

Suddenly it felt as if I became prey to everyone in the place, and the slightest bit of noise out of me, would make them all attack me. He repeats it to the cashier, and orders himself a pumpkin spice latte. I reach for my wallet,  since I already assumed I was paying for my own order. Once again, he turns around, looks at me, and hands the lady the money. Then left me standing there awkwardly with my wallet in my hand almost as surprised as I am.

Trust me, I had no intentions of letting him pay for my drink, and he went ahead and did it. I look around before releasing the arriving smile to myself. Now I’m super shy, everything that I am not I became. Then we wait, we wait for the emotion, the day to fall into our hands, and for the drinks of course.

A friend walks up, he’s liked by many, and they talk, exchange hugs and we wait again. It was hard standing in the back knowing my voice was locked somewhere deep inside me, and the hug I was holding in refused to come out of me. Instead, I still stand there, waiting for the drinks, and being everything that I am not.

Suddenly, his name is called, our orders are finished and are slid onto the counter, as we both go over there and retrieve them. Felt good for some reason, the feeling that they don’t make these type of boys anymore. Something so small, became something so big to me and something that I have never been used to. We walk out, and he goes towards his bike waiting for him.

“ I have to go get my bike fixed,” as I stand there beside him watching him struggle with the bike lock. Using the voice that didn’t come out earlier, I offer to hold his drink to make the job easier. That did the trick! He got it! And I handed it back proud to at least help him in the way I could.

We make our way towards Breakaway bike shop, and he holds the door, and I walk in. Never being in the place, where all types of bike gear is hanging from the walls and sitting tempting on the shelves took me by surprise. He knows what he came for, and he knows what he wanted, he had a goal. We walk into the back of the shop, the guy inspects the bike and tells him that the rear wheel just needed to be adjusted. The two of us take seat next to each other, and no words are coming out of my mouth as I snapchat my best friend where I am.

The guy comes back up saying,

“It’s going to take a while,” and he responds “I’ll just take a walk around the city, and I’ll come back.” The guy agrees, and we make our way out of the shop. Just him and the quiet girl he made me.

With no certain way to go, we just walk where our way takes us, and jokes are exchanged back and forth. He was that important to me, that walking around with him, with the time that he made for me, was meant to be used to its fullest. We approach the painting shop that catches my attention, and I rush inside to see if they had any art created of Michael Jackson. He waits outside, and I constantly check to see if he's still there.  It was satisfying to have him all to myself with no feeling of his attention being directed towards anyone else. He knew how I acted and how I was, so it took me by surprise that he wasn’t trying to break the wall I had put up.

The swinging thought of whether this person had any feelings towards me is what kept me really from being myself. Then again, we were best friends for two years at the time, and I wasn’t trying to jump to conclusions. After time ran past us, we returned to the bike shop, conversation is swapped, and purchase is made. Fifteen minutes really went by, and what seemed such a long time was so short. It was like telling yourself that you are only going to watch two episodes of a season of your favorite show on Netflix, and you end up watching the whole season. In the end, you are so satisfied, but at the same time so shocked at the fact that time was walking right by you. That’s how it felt with him, the time we were spending made me ignore time only making me crave more of it. We both had more time to waste, and we both figured why not go Forever 21. The two of us make our way there, and I want to make a purchase. Keep in mind, the two of us started joking with each other more, and opening up more.  Similar to the conversation, we are escalated to the second floor. So many options, so much variety, and whatever caught my eye I picked up. As we progressed through the clothing pieces, his arm became a hanger.

He was gentleman to hold the clothing items that I was more than capable of holding. Something about the fact that he was following me and helping me, made him stand out. There are not a lot of guys who are willing to even step foot in a clothing store with a girl. First, time is actually made for me, he treated me to Starbucks, and now he is helping pick out clothing items. I pick out about eight pieces of clothing that I like that stuck to my style. Quick question and answers are traded with one of the nice ladies who worked there. She guides us to the dressing room, and I rush to try on each piece of clothing, stepping out into the giant mirror on the wall, letting the floor become my own runway. I rush back in, enjoying modeling some of the shirts, but I put on this one green dress, and it made my shape look super weird. I wasn’t feeling the way it had me looking or feeling. I turn to him, and ask him to go pick out something cute for me to wear. A few minutes go by, and I’m thinking to myself he wouldn’t even do it, and he comes back with a short black dress with no sleeves that was tight fitted on my petite figure. As soon as I tried it on, I loved it, I was the girl in the little black dress, and he seemed to like it too. I valued his opinion, after all he is someone who I trusted with a lot of things, my secrets, daily thoughts, and things you can’t tell a regular friend. We just had a bond that was so strong, that I didn’t have to filter anything I said to him.

I pack up my stuff, and I leave the other options on the hanger, including that dress I didn’t like. The black dress though, I knew I was going to get it, I had to. It was his word I believed, because he has never lied to me about anything at all. It could be the dumbest question or even a test, and he would flat out tell me the truth. I never had the idea that him and I could ever be so close to the fact that I put an outfit choice in his hands. An admiration for him and his characteristics I had no idea about developed for me. There was hardly ever tension between us, which is probably why the relationship was questioned by so many people. Him nor I owed any explanations, because we really didn’t have any ourselves. We are still super close to this day, and not much has changed except for that we have gotten even closer. I wouldn’t ask for a better guy to have as a best friend, because I know the one I have now has so many amazing characteristics to him that simply can’t be replaced. That day, the little black dress wasn’t the only thing I left with. I left with the feeling of knowing that my bond with him could not be broken.

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,

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.

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.

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.

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.”