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Britanny Amawan

1/16/2019

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"I am lucky to be where I am now and want to thank my parents for helping me get here.

I was born in the bustling city of Manila, Philippines on July 3, 1998. Shortly after, my mom moved to the United States to work as a nurse and my dad hopped around from Singapore to Malaysia and to Saudi Arabia to work for different airline companies. Although they didn’t want to, they left me in the care of my Lola (grandma) and Tita (aunt) so that they could focus on earning money for our family. 

For the first few years of my life, I grew up in my dad’s hometown of Mayoyao, Ifugao. It was a hidden rural area with the most beautiful rice terraces and waterfalls cascading from the edge of mountains. My family wasn’t very rich but they got by and made the most out of everything they had. I used to run around freely catching dragonflies while my grandma planted rice in her field. My Tita was the pastor of the only church around and since it was a small town, I was known as the mischievous pastor’s niece who was always be messing around. Our neighbors were very friendly and always said hi to me.

Something about me that most people don’t know is that the first language I ever learned to speak was the dialect of the Ifugao people. This was the mother-tongue of my dad’s side of the family, so it was just natural for me to pick it up as well. Family members have always said that I was very talkative with my Lola and we would always be bickering.

It was a bittersweet time when I turned four years old because my mom came back to the Philippines to come get me and bring me with her. I completely forgot the Ifugao language because my mom only spoke Tagalog to me. Looking back at it now, I really wish I still knew how to speak it because I can’t really have a conversation with my Lola anymore since we don’t understand each other.

My mom and I both moved to Saudi Arabia to live with my dad for a few months and it was a completely new environment. People prayed five times a day and fasted often. Many men wore traditional qamis and women wore abayas to cover their faces. It was alright for men and children to wear casual clothing but women could not, so my mom had to wear an abaya even though we didn’t practice the same religion as the rest of the country.

When I was of age to start elementary school, I immigrated to America and lived with my mom, grandma, and aunt in their townhouse in Des Plaines, IL. My grandma on my mom’s side didn’t like being called Lola because it made her feel old and liked it better if everyone called her Nanay which means mother in Tagalog. I didn’t know any English coming to the U.S. but I learned quickly from going to school and watching cartoons on the TV. Tagalog was only spoken at home with my family.

My mom and I moved around many times to different apartments and when my dad immigrated to the United States to live with us, we moved to different houses, too. By the time I was in 3rd grade, I had moved to six different homes in four cities and attended three different elementary schools. I was always the new girl at school and was forced to make new friends all the time. It wasn’t a problem because I was an outgoing ball of energy but I never really had the same group of people that I grew up with.

In 4th grade, my family finally settled down in Hanover Park, IL after the birth of my younger brother. It felt good to finally have that stability that my early childhood lacked. I had the same friends from year to year and we lived in the same house and the consistency just felt right. I finished elementary school and went to middle and high school in the same town. During this time, I met some of my best friends and the most influential people on my life.

I grew up in primarily white neighborhoods and I found it sometimes difficult to talk about my Filipino heritage with my friends. At home, my parents always emphasized the importance of upholding Filipino values, eating the food, and speaking Tagalog even though we were living away from the homeland. There were times, especially in high school, where we would have disagreements because they believed that I was forgetting where I came from. At the time, I didn’t appreciate what they were doing but I realize that they have taught me a lot about who I am and even more about the country I was born in. I am the only granddaughter on my mom’s side that can speak fluent Tagalog, I know how to cook Filipino food for myself, and I will never forget what it truly means to be Filipino.

Coming to college, I have been able to find a community of friends that support me in exploring more about my culture. I’m learning more everyday but I still give all the credit to my parents. I am very thankful for all the sacrifices they’ve made for me to be where I am now. They’ve taught me everything I know and have taught me to be proud of my culture."
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Leeza Perez

12/21/2017

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"Whenever I’m with friends, whether it be just a few people or a whole squad, I’m usually the ‘mother’ figure within the group. It just comes naturally to me; I love to bake pastries and give them to my friends, always nag them about staying safe and to make good choices, and treat them as if they were my own family.

Sometimes, I feel as if I don’t know when to stop ‘parenting’ them. I have this dependency issue where I latch myself on to people I’ve gotten closer to and become almost obsessed with them. I constantly start conversations with them, treat them to boba tea or coffee, and invite them to almost anything I do outside of school. At some point, I begin to make my life revolve around them.

I’m still not exactly sure why that happens, but I believe it’s because I value anyone who would just talk to me and listen to what I had to say. I’ve had anxiety since I was in elementary school and that has always made me feel like the outcast. It got to the point where I would have so many anxiety attacks that my teachers didn’t know how to handle me, so they would pull a desk out in the hall for me to sit in until I calmed down. Because of that, I grew up believing that having anxiety would only keep people away from me. 

As I learned to socialize with others, I would latch on to those who I opened up to. I felt valued and cared for when someone listened to me talk about my anxiety. They provided me with a comfort zone. I just wanted to surround myself with their presence. This is what started the dependency issue; when I wasn’t with my friends, I was miserable. I didn’t know how to deal with my anxiety while I was by myself. 

It only got worse in high school. My underclassman years were definitely the toughest ones. I tried seeking professional help but therapy and counseling felt like temporary solutions. It would take years for their advice to actually change my life permanently and I didn’t have the patience for that. I figured that I knew myself better than they ever could, so I continued to try fixing my anxiety problem on my own. 

During my junior year, I became friends with the most amazing people I’ve ever met. They have been one of my biggest support systems in my life. But, getting close to them was bittersweet because I started caring for them more than I cared for myself. They were my top priority. I put them before myself in any situation. In my mind, I owed them all of my compassion because dealing with me was a struggle. I felt like I was a burden with all of my problems, so I had to make it up to them. I gave my friends everything I had: my time, love, money, and attention. Seeing them appreciate me meant the world. 

While I was making sure my friends were happy, I completely ignored my own needs. I thought if I could make others happy, then I would be happy. That was true, but only in the moment. Once I got home, I was overcome with sadness. This happened so many times that I started believing that I was cursed to always have a horrible night if I had fun throughout the day. Why was I like this? I didn’t have a reason to be sad, yet I would cry myself to sleep every time I hung out with friends. 

It wasn’t until my first year in college when I started to figure out the cause of my depression. I felt underappreciated and upset that my friends didn’t go out of their way like I did. I had so many expectations from them. I like to believe that I follow the saying “treat others the way you wanted to be treated.” I didn’t realize that the way I treated my friends was the same way someone would treat a person who needs a lot of emotional support. 

I wouldn’t have come to this realization without the support of my current boyfriend. After many nights of crying, hours of calming me down, and emotional conversations, he made me realize that all of these years of trying to help myself haven’t worked. He brought up the option of taking medication to treat my anxiety. I was hesitant at first, but after one of the worst mental breakdowns I’ve had in my life, I was desperate to find any sort of relief. This past summer, I saw a psychiatrist who prescribed me two medications: one to take daily to treat my anxiety, and the other to only take while I was having a mental breakdown and couldn’t calm down. 

I’m so proud to say that I’m doing a lot better now. Of course, my problems didn’t disappear and I still face my anxiety every day, but coping with it has been easier. My support system is also been stronger than ever. I’ve had a few episodes this semester, but it’s nothing compared to what I was going through last year. I feel less dependant on others and learned to give people their space, as well as give myself some distance from others whenever I need to. I might still be clingy to friends sometimes, but that’s because I genuinely love hanging out with them. Their time and company is valuable to me, so I’ve learned to appreciate it rather than take it for granted like I used to. 

My take away message would be to make sure you take care of yourself before you try to help others. I can’t stress that enough. You are the most important person in your life, and no matter what happens to you, you’ll always be left with yourself. Mental health is a challenge that everyone faces at one point, so don’t be afraid of seeking help or reaching out to others. Also, don’t be afraid of taking medication. I can promise that you won’t become a different person if you do. 

I’m lucky to have the people who tolerated and supported me throughout the way. To anyone reading this: don’t hesitate to approach someone (or even me!) if you need help. Closing yourself off from others perpetuates the problem. Opening up can help heal the wound before it scars. "
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Edward Fok

12/7/2017

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Our outsides don’t always match our insides. I think this phrase can be applied to anyone and everyone at one point or another. We all build our walls and keep our feelings bottled while at the same time we keep our smiles wide.

For a long time, I spent my days alone. Alone at home watching tv or playing games to past time. Eventually I found a group of friends to spend hours on league of legends with. After that I found my group of friends in high school who I spent my nights with. But for some reason I still felt empty inside. I always had that stabbing feeling in the back of my mind that these guys…these guys don’t care about me. I remember there was a day where I got home and I logged on but my usual group were all offline doing things outside of league together. That day I felt extremely lonely and thought if I died would they have really cared? Am I actually important to them... am I important to anyone?

Then came college and I was lucky enough to find a person that played a big role in putting me where I am today. He reached out to me to join his org and taught me that I should embrace my hobbies, be proud, and do what makes me happy. He influenced me to want to give back to the organization and reach out to people who might be in a similar situation- to give people who don’t have anything a place to call home. 
I was given the privilege to join one of the largest organizations on campus. I became a brother of an amazing fraternity with brothers all around the midwest. I got myself a big, an ate, a big bro, a lil bro, plenty of littles and kids and despite that I still feel lonely. I still have my walls and I still have no one I can truly talk to. “Got a house full of homies, why I feel so the opposite?”

All my conversations seem to be the same format “Hey , how are you, what are you up to today, wanna ...” and nothing more. Sometimes I just want to skip the small talk and really open up to people. I believe people don’t want awkward small talk. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want to talk about their problems however it’s just hard to put yourself out there and be vulnerable. Lately, I have been keeping myself from being happy, keeping myself from having fun at parties, keeping myself from going out with friends. I think the reason I do that is because I don’t think I’ve earn the right to be happy. For a while I refused to go out to anything and just stayed home watching netflix to pass the time. Sometimes I see myself lying in bed thinking what would it be like if I wasn’t here.

However, with all of these emotions, there is still one feeling that stands true- that is without the Asian American community on campus I don’t think I would have a place to call home. I found out how to be happy but the more important question would be...

How do you stay happy?
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Jeffrey Hanke

11/30/2017

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‘I am adopted.’

This was my biggest secret while growing up. It was a part of who I was, yet I was never ready to share it with anyone- even to people whom I considered my closest friends. To begin, I was originally born in Taichung, Taiwan. At the age of three, I moved to California where I was adopted into my multiracial family. It consisted of my white dad, Asian mom, and two golden retrievers, Max and Simba. In short, I had an interesting childhood.

Looking back, other people always looked at us funny- my dad and I in particular. Once, when I was four, I was in the play area of McDonald’s crying over losing my favorite ball. My dad, being my dad, came over to try to calm me down, but he didn’t understand what was wrong. The louder I cried, the more looks we got. Thinking about it now, we got a lot of strange glares that day. A young white male trying to console a small Asian boy. Sounds funny when you think about it. I was eventually calmed down by a phone call from my mom, but it was that time that I realized how different I was.

Middle school was the first time friend groups formed based on shared interests and/or cultural identities. When it came time to decide which group I should join, I was stuck at a crossroad. Should I join the Asian group just because I looked like them, or should I join a different group because of my unique background? I had never questioned my cultural identity before-- it never seemed like a big deal until I was trying to make friends. People were so fascinated that I was half-Asian and half-White. According to them, I had the “best of both worlds.” At this point in my life, I was in limbo. 

I had so many opportunities to tell people that I was adopted, but I never took them and I don’t know why. 8th grade biology class was the first opportunity I had. We were studying genes and inheritance and the teacher told us to map out our own genetic history and discuss it with our peers. It never occurred to me that I would run into any problems, but when my classmates started asking me questions about my family, it made me nervous. “Why don’t you look more half? You have a White dad.” I froze for a second and told them off. “I just inherited more of my mom’s genes. You know, that dominant and recessive stuff.” I don’t know why I lied to my peers. Was it because being called “halfie” was normal to me? Because I liked that status as a “halfie”? Or maybe it was because I was afraid of losing friends if they found out the truth. Regardless, from then on, I never had the courage to tell the truth.

Ever since that moment, I was scared that people would start questioning me again. I became closed off and introverted in high school. I didn’t have many close friends and would keep the friends I did have at arms-length. I didn’t want to risk losing them if they had ever found out. Keeping them at a distance felt lonely. I didn’t have anyone to confide in—not even my parents. They were very hands off and felt that I was mature enough to take care of myself. All my friends grew up with their biological parents. They all had someone to confide in when things got tough. I, on the other hand, saw no one I could point to as my biological family. I really missed that connection.

I tried to ignore that feeling of loneliness and I was doing okay until--

“You’re not even part of this family. You’re not even related to us.”

There were a few moments of silence to let that sink in. My cousin and I had gotten in a terrible fight and he soon came towards me to apologizing, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t do anything but look away. I had never felt more alone. 

It may have hurt, but the pain eventually faded away. I doubt my cousin even remembers that argument we had. I was resolved to move on and to change for the better. I knew I could be different once I accepted who I was. I didn’t want to hide anymore. At our senior retreat we had one last gathering as a class. The teachers gave us a chance to speak our minds and asked for volunteers. I was scared, but I wanted to make a change. After a deep breath, I stood up.

“Hi everyone… I just wanted to say that I am adopted.”

Apparently, this big secret that I’ve been carrying was not as big as I built it up to be. Everyone still treated me the same and my friends were still my friends. Instead of turning away, as I feared, they all came to give me a big hug. Internally, I felt like a weight had left my shoulders. I felt like a whole new person. For once in my life, I was being honest with myself.

Fast forward to today, I’m not that same shy, unsure guy I was. I’m a lot more outgoing and always trying to make an effort to talk to new people. Being in the Asian American community, I’ve been able to get in touch with my Asian heritage. I was also able to join ICASP (Illinois Cultural Adopted Student Program). Through this program, I was able to meet other adopted people and talk to parents about my experiences. All in all, I’ve embraced the fact that I am adopted and am very I’m proud of the person I have grown into. 

TL; DR:
My name is Jeffrey Hanke and I’m adopted.
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Caryn Moy

11/16/2017

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"UIUC wasn’t my first choice. I was choosing between here and a small liberal arts college in Wisconsin. Here, you feel like a number until you pave your own path. 

One of the reasons why I chose this campus was because of its diversity. The college had the package deal – a traditional “college town” setting, a diverse population, a variety of majors, and a strong research institution. However, once I arrived on campus I noticed that many students would only hang out in their “bubbles.” For instance, Asian organizations only socializing with other Asian organizations or Greeks only socializing with other Greeks. I acknowledge that the reason this happened was because of common interests or background. You flock to where you are most comfortable. With that being said, there’s a difference between diversity and inclusivity. Yes, the University of Illinois has a large population of international students. Yes, the University has a disability friendly campus. Yes, the University has multicultural houses. But personally, I struggled to see integration between all of the various groups. Many of these cultural organizations co-exist, but they have a tendency to only stay within their own circles. I am only speaking to my experience with Asian organizations since those are the only ones I have been involved in. It is hypocritical for me to say all of these things because I also perpetuated this. 

Coming from Chinatown, I came to college wanting to avoid the “Asian bubble” – I wanted something new and different. So, my freshmen year, I didn’t get very involved in the Asian community organizations and focused on my major and Illini Service Dogs. During this time, I struggled to find people with similar interests and hobbies. I ended up resorting back to the “Asian bubble.” I couldn’t help but found a home with people that shared similar experiences as I did. 

I wish there was a way to break that barrier, but I know that inclusivity is something that isn’t just built overnight. Some people feel uncomfortable venturing outside of their comfort zone. It is difficult to find organizations that are actively looking to work with other organizations because they are just genuinely disinterested."
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Annika Kulkarni

11/2/2017

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"For the longest time, I thought I was just an Asian-American, and that was enough to identify myself and for society to define me. And as I got older, neither I nor society was satisfied with that simple, vague definition. 
My family, throughout my elementary school years, used to live in a predominantly white town in northern New Jersey. Although, when I say “town”, it was more village like: we lived in the mountains, where your closest neighbor was down the street. Despite being an all white neighborhood, most of my friends back then were Japanese. This is mostly due to the fact that my mom wanted us to learn culture from very early on. She was willing to drive 30 to 40 minutes to our friend’s house so we could have Japanese friends, and she sent us to hoshuukou, or Saturday Japanese school. I had loved it because it was all I knew. I had Japanese friends, went to Japanese school, and ate Japanese cuisine that my mother made all the time. I thought I was Japanese! I was completely aware that I didn’t look like anyone else, but in my mind, there were a handful of half-white, half-Japanese kids at school too, so I assumed I was one of them and didn’t make much of it.
I remember in the 4th year of Japanese school, we were playing dodgeball, and no one wanted me on their team. I was surprised because I thought I got along with everyone. Turns out, I was just hated by the most popular guy in class. He told me that no one wanted a “weird person” on our team because “I wasn't Japanese and I wasn’t white”. This was the first time that I was shocked about not being included. And I cried. Hard. 
My teacher came after several minutes and saw me by myself. She asked me why I wasn’t playing and I told her what had happened. She looked at me and paused for a second. Then she smiled and led me to the teacher’s lounge, where she gave me some snacks and tea, talked to some teachers, and then left. I tried to avoid everyone for the rest of the day, but people were surprisingly nice. They included me in everything that day, and were more conscious weeks and months after that. I wasn’t entirely sure what my teacher said to those kids, and I never will know. All I know is that she is an amazing person to be able to explain the complex issues of race and culture in terms that a bunch of 8 year olds could understand.
As far as I was concerned, I definitely wasn’t American, because the white people at my school didn’t accept me. I was Japanese, but not fully. And if people said something mean about it, they’d have to apologize. That was when I was 8. Although at that time my teachers were the ones that supported me, life didn’t always work out that way. That time taught me a little that I am different, but I didn’t really know what to make of it.
The next experience is positive. Little old me, now 10, had been doing classical piano all her life. Although I didn’t get the cultural context of western music until high school, I knew that we played in a recital every year in December and ate snacks after we all finished playing. The last recital of my life in New Jersey, I became friends with this boy named Rijul. He was Indian. This was new for me, I’d never really had many Indian friends before. We got along really well, and so did my family and his family. Sometime in the spring, his mom asked me if I’d like to come see her dance at the nearby church. This dance truly changed my life. Everything from the music to the costuming to the hand movements and bells on her feet left me completely in love. I went up to her after and told her how much I enjoyed it and asked what it was called. She told me it was an ancient art form from India- the classical dance called Bharatanatyam. 
I loved Bharatanatyam, and while I have questioned every part of myself and everything in my life, Bharatanatyam was the one thing that never even crossed my mind to quit. I loved every minute of it. Granted, other parents and students thought of a “halfie” dancing Bharatanatyam was “not natural”. But I loved dancing and that’s all that mattered to me. Dance changed my life: it made me a more confident person, and gave me a better sense of who I was. I was one of the best dancers in the class, and I completed my graduation performance. I, now, deserved to be called Japanese as well as Indian. I learned that it didn’t matter what other people thought, it only mattered if I felt good in my own skin. And that’s exactly what heritage let me feel: safe and comfortable, yet living on the edge without a second of boredom. 
Now, it wasn’t that I hated white culture or white people. To be honest, I wouldn’t be able to. I had been doing classical piano since I was little, and my mom loved it. I loved it. Playing piano is still my passion to this day. I thought that being a pianist was what I wanted to do for the longest time because it took me to another world. I loved learning the western history behind the music, and although I had been hurt by white culture and people in the past, music only made me appreciate their rich culture and history. 
I’m now a junior at UIUC. Musicology made me excited about going to class everyday and learning about new cultures and practices, both western and nonwestern. It makes me a more open-minded person everyday, which I now realize is an extremely valuable quality that I’ve gained thus far in my college career. I was formerly president for SPICMACAY, an organization that promotes Indian Classical Music and Dance. I’m now the undergraduate president of ASHA, who organizes Holi and is a non-profit that helps underprivileged children gain access to education. Not only that but I have come to learn more about cultures that are not my own: I joined a Balinese music ensemble. All while studying western music and playing piano on a day-to-day basis. I even reached out to areas outside of music: I joined the Leadership Certificate program to build more confidence in myself, and work at the Illinois Leadership Center. I’m involved in Crescendo: a music organization that strives to give representation to underrepresented minorities within the music department. And I guess that’s what this whole journey, my life, has been. A way for me to feel confident and comfortable in my own skin. I am far happier than I was when I was little and far happier than I was in high school. My heritage has given me so much: it has shaped my into the strong and independent individual I am today and it has shown me how beautiful history and culture is and can be. The reason I am happy every morning because I am proud to have my heritage. Although these stories I’ve presented here are only the bare surface of all the accounts I’ve experienced with identity and culture, I am a Japanese-Indian-American and calling me anything else would be a completely inaccurate representation of who I am.
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Hajira Ahmed

10/19/2017

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"When I was in 2nd grade, my teacher couldn't pronounce my name because it was too hard. She said, "I'm just going to call you Haj." Unfortunately that nickname stuck, and since then I've grown a complex about being called my full name. I tell people when introducing myself, "My father did not come to this country for someone like you to mispronounce my name." Pretty dramatic, and most people get offended, but I mean it.

This got me really interested in how people form sounds with their mouths, and what causes some people to be completely incapable of pronouncing mine and others' names. Try this for me: make the sound 'v' and pay attention to where your tongue, teeth, and lips are. Now make the sound 'w.' If you switch quickly between the two, you'll notice it's just the placement of the top lip on your bottom teeth that makes the difference. However, for years, my siblings and I would make fun of my mother for telling us to "get in the wan" or to "wacuum your room." [Try the same thing with the 'R' and 'L' sounds. Hopefully it will give you more understanding on some people's mispronunciations.]

I think that's all it comes down to. We can work to understand each other, even when it is not easy for us. My name is no harder to pronounce than many English names. By the way, it's HA-ji-ra, not ha-JEE-ra. I'd like to turn to the words from an interview with Nigerian actress Uzoamaka Aduba:

"I went home and asked my mother if I could be called Zoe. I remember she was cooking, and in her Nigerian accent she said, 'Why?' I said, 'Nobody can pronounce it.' Without missing a beat, she said, 'If they can learn to say Tchaikovsky and Michelangelo and Dostoyevsky, they can learn to say Uzoamaka.'"

This photo was taken in the Warehouse District of Peoria, IL, by the lovely and talented Miranda C. Thank you to her, and thank you to MM for providing a platform for minority students to express themselves."
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Jeffrey Lyang

10/13/2017

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"I struggle with understanding other people. I find myself expecting perfection from those I choose to interact with, even though I know that it’s unrealistic. I expect them to be mature yet humorous, timely yet easygoing, caring yet understanding,and forthright yet candid. Most of all, I expect them to be kind. I hold the people around me to a higher standard than I do myself, and it’s something that I struggle with everyday. 

How can I expect to build meaningful relationships if my expectations of people are impossible to live up to? I struggle with the problem whenever I meet someone. You see, every relationship goes through a “honeymoon” phase–this isn’t exclusive to just dating. It works with friendships as well. Whenever I make a friend, the honeymoon phase is always perfect. I find their quirks endearing, their humor refreshing, and their presence something to look forward to. I’ve noticed that throughout my life, I make friends quickly, and if I really try to get to know someone, I bond with them faster. The honeymoon phase is strong with me. 

But after some time, I always reach a point where a switch flips in my mind, and I now notice a million tiny flaws about them that just make me want to distance myself. So I slowly cut off contact, ghosting away and disappearing into someone that they “used to know”. The switch could happen for a multitude of reasons, some more serious than others: the way they talk, how they interact with people, their moral compass, or even if they leave me on “read” too often. I’ll admit, sometimes I think my reasons are petty; the problem is I never realize that I’m cutting them off until I haven’t messaged them in two weeks or I haven’t made plans with them in a while. And when I think about it, I find all these reasons to justify myself in doing so. 

I realize now that I am the problem–not these millions of reasons.

Growing up, I had social anxiety when it came to relationships with my peers. I wanted to fit in, so I conformed to their interests. They liked sports, so I liked sports. My brother loved video games, so naturally I loved video games. In third grade when beyblades were in, as you can imagine, I was one of those kids screaming, “let it RIIIIIIIIIIP.” In seventh grade, I was ready to d-d-d-d-d-duel. Whatever the trend was, I was the guy who was always on it. I wanted to be the perfect guy to talk to. I tried to be funny so that people would see that I was humorous. I tried to be caring so that my friends could talk to me whenever they had problems, and open with my own so people could see that I wasn’t hiding behind a facade. 

As a naive child, I expected everyone else to be like that too. In my mind, I was a perfect person; in reality, I wasn’t, and couldn’t understand when people wouldn’t talk to me as much as I wanted them to. I was jaded by how people I thought were arrogant and self-absorbed would get more attention than me, even though I strived to be selfless. I felt pissed off that I couldn’t be the coolest guy in school, and that all my friends only saw me as an obnoxious goofball. I didn’t have the maturity to realize that the problem was intrinsic; it had little to do with the people around me. My personality was abrasive, clingy, and annoying, but I was blind to my imperfections. So slowly, I began to judge the people around me, picking at their flaws to convince myself that I was the one that wasn’t hanging out with them and not the other way around. Eventually, as I got older, I realized I wasn’t perfect. In fact, far from it–but neither were they, right?

After entering college and meeting people around me that I thought of as not only my friends, but also my mentors, I realized that the reason I look up to them is because of how altruistic they can be. They understand that people make mistakes in life, and that no one is perfect. To expect everyone around you to conform to your morals and ideals is what leads to problems; every person has a unique way of thinking, and discouraging people from thinking differently is fundamentally wrong. These special people that I’ve had the honor of meeting here at UIUC have truly shaped me into a better person. Now, I like to think of myself as more understanding and open-minded. Even though I stand up for my beliefs as fiercely and as passionately as before, I realize that I am not perfect. Nobody is–and that’s okay. 

When I think about the relationships that I have built and maintained at this moment, I like to think that I’m doing better. I’ve grown a lot since my angsty high school years. I no longer believe that I have to be the coolest guy, nor do I have to be the person with all the friends. I just need to have those friends that I would do anything for, who I know would do the same for me. I no longer feel the need to be perfect in the eyes of my peers. As long as they can see me for the person I am, and realize that I’m just trying my best to find my path in life, I feel like I am truly being myself.
More importantly, I no longer expect perfection from myself–or from the people around me.

Now, when I look at the people I’m close to, I see people who are dealing with problems in their life. I used to look at these problems as an out, but I now see these problems as a chance to let the people that I care about know that I am there for them. I’ve learned in my short time here at UIUC that every person you meet has their own story, and it’s unfair to look at a person and write them off without ever giving them a chance. Perfection is something that we should always strive for–in academics, in relationships, and in life. But I’ve learned that expecting to reach perfection is a fallacy, because being perfect is unrealistic. Trying my damndest to make the lives of the people around me better by any amount is close enough for me. I also like memes so hmu."
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Ahsan Ali

9/28/2017

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"It seems like it’s hard to find an outlet these days. The world seems revolve around this 24-hour news cycle, but even in that reality there’s no room to say what you think matters; you get drowned out by what society tell you matters. It’s a harsh reality to stomach because our world impresses upon us this desire for individualism, and yet if we deviate from the accepted norm we suddenly cannot find the audience willing enough to hear our story.

And at the same time our world is riddled with the fear of unsheathing these stories; if you were to look into my grandfather’s eyes, you’d see what I mean. This man grew up in poverty and watched his father’s family strip his mother of everything she held dear. And then, on a stroke of pure luck, he hopped on a plane and ended up in Brooklyn. Somehow, he mustered up the courage to find a place in a society that treated him as second-class. Throughout all the ridicule, racism, and bigotry, he worked three jobs, bought four pharmacies, and became a self-made millionaire in a matter of years. The immigrant perspective here in America is such an interesting phenomenon, and it really never ceases to amaze and terrify me. Mostly because throughout all of this my grandfather never felt validated in the slightest. He never felt that sense of belonging or of entitlement that his American-born grandson innately feels. On the contrary, he made it his mantra to be a “good citizen” and keep his head down. Hell, the thought of me writing anything like this would probably have him looking over his shoulder.

So I guess when I first thought about it, that’s why I wanted to start Mus•Ilm magazine; because the Muslim experience is so fraught with uncertainty and fear. We want to yell our stories to the world, but we fear what they may eventually bring upon us; we want society to empathize with us, but we irrationally fear the possibility it responds with apathy. Being a Muslim-American is a struggle, and I think it always will be. But if nothing else, I just want to give my friends and community a chance to talk about the hardship and a chance to maybe shift the narrative of how society has classically perceived us. It’s a big task, but why not try?”

If you would like to check out this magazine, please visit this page:
https://www.facebook.com/muslimmag.uiuc/

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Audrey Gomez

5/17/2017

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Dear Audrey,

How are you? It’s me–or you–but four years in the future. You’re thinking: why am I writing this letter to my freshman self? If you listen to the story I have to tell, you’ll know why by the end. It begins freshman year at Illini Tower.

Chapter 1: Freshman Move-In Reflection
You’ll be happy to be away from home. More than you would like to admit.

Minutes after your parents leave from your dorm room, you will feel partly sad, but also partly relieved. No more helicopter parents–not that you actually listened to any of your parents’ warnings and scoldings in the last semester of senior year. You rebelled in every way possible: took the car without permission, started dating and even talked back whenever they made their usual wayward comments about your younger sister. You had only gained the guts to do so after you achieved the dream they had laid out for you: being accepted to a prestigious school with a scholarship, and on the way to becoming an engineer. It only made sense of course; since you were young your parents had put you on the path towards a career beyond what they could have achieved in the Philippines. In kindergarten, your dad had you practice writing full sentences and the basics of math as you ate breakfast. The rest of your pre-college experience consisted of Kumon worksheets, summer STEM programs, and science Olympiad meets. You partly think it was because of your pride that you worked so hard, but know it was also because you wanted to make your parents proud. At least you actually are interested in the major that you applied for: bioengineering. It had a good ring to it.

Chapter 2: Quad Day Exploration
You’ll sign up for more clubs than you can commit to.

Society of Women’s Engineers, Engineers Without Borders, UNICEF. These are only a few of the clubs that you’ll put your school email down for. You’ll go to maybe one or two of their general meetings, maybe even buy their club shirt or pay for membership. Then, two weeks later, when you see the emails from more than 10 clubs, you’ll realize you signed up for more activities then you could handle. You unsubscribe to at least half–or more. You would much rather spend your time with your friends in Illini Tower and focus on school. However, there is one organization that you didn’t think you would sign up for; on Quad Day, the Philippine flag randomly caught your eye. You will allow their officer board to talk you into writing your name down. You don’t throw out their flier. Instead, you thumbtack it to the corkboard on your desk. 

Chapter 3: Class to Class Traveling
You’ll regret bringing six pairs of heels.

This isn’t New Trier, where your classes are literally floors apart. This is a college campus, and yes, after three weeks you will stop wearing heels to class. Don’t wear heels to parties either. You’re short. Everyone knows it, whether you’re wearing heels or not, so just go with the comfy option and throw on some cute one-inch wedges. In four years, your feet will thank you. Trust me.

Chapter 4: Philippine Student Association (PSA) Welcome
You didn’t know this organization would become your home.

Your inner introvert is going to freak out the first day you go to the PSA ice cream social. You will be so nervous that you leave before you get ice cream. Some will ask you the same question: name, major, and why you’re here. Others will get to know you beyond the standard question and ask to exchange phone numbers. Almost everyone encourages you to try cultural dancing and Battle of the Bamboo (no, it’s not a martial art…you’ll understand later on). Either way, you leave with a smile on your face. This was the first time that you met a large group of Filipinos–and other Asians–outside of North Shore. They weren’t snotty. They were pretty chill actually. But your inner introvert had enough for now. 

Chapter 5: Physics Dilemma
You’ll fail your first midterm–but this won’t be the last.

Physics 211 will not go as smoothly as you had hoped it would be. You wonder if you should have just taken AP Physics back in high school rather than AP Biology. One night, your friends from Illini Tower complain about receiving a C on the first exam. You stay silent. You got a D. You got your first D in a science class, and it was only freshman year. You regret taking the As and Bs back in high school for granted. You start worrying about your scholarship. Your palms sweat and your forehead scrunches up. You excuse yourself from the lounge and lie on your bed. You’re supposed to be a fricking engineer, and yet you can’t even do well on a simple physics class. You ignore your mom’s text: “How was your exam?”

Chapter 6: Night(s) Out
You’ll party. You’ll drink. Even when you don’t want to.

Before you start drinking, you will consider the repercussions. Your mom hates, hates, hates alcohol, and reminds you at least once a month that it makes your heart pound like crazy and that your father is practically allergic to it. You think about your friend group back home, who enjoyed spending nights watching movies, window shopping, and reenacting Harry Potter/Hunger Games; partying and drinking were definitely not in your daily vocabulary. The first night you drink you take a total of ten shots (that will be the most shots you would take in one hour your entire college career). You go frat hopping every weekend for the first month (secretly, you think that frat hopping is a bit creepy). You didn’t know that from then on, you would think partying and drinking were normal parts of college. Sometimes, you would drink until you threw up (one time, even throwing up on your pants, and attempted to wash them in the person’s apartment). You’re such a lightweight, and no amount of drinking will change that tolerance. You will wake up with a slight hangover one morning, and wonder if you drink and party because it’s fun, or because you want to fit in. You didn’t want to be the girl who stayed in the library studying while everyone else enjoyed the “college experience.” You spent too many lunch periods in high school skipping out on your friends to study for exams. You didn’t leave home to repeat the mistake of being lonely.

Chapter 7: Dining Room Gains
You will experience the “Freshman 15” firsthand. 

You’ll eat more than you should when you go to the dining hall. At first, it’s because you feel guilty that you aren’t eating more, since it’s buffet style; when you were younger, your parents brought you to Old Country Buffet and told you to eat until your stomach burst. Then, as the semester progresses, food will unconsciously become your ultimate comfort. You will eat breakfast, brunch, lunch, brinner, dinner, and midnight snacks. You will eat when an exam went badly, when you were getting the silent treatment from your roommate, when you were upset with your boyfriend, when your sister posted more pictures of her hanging out with your older cousin than with you, when your parents visited and told you that you got chubbier, and when you felt any other emotion besides happiness. But no amount of food will change how you feel.

Chapter 8: An Encounter with the Professor
You’ll skip classes. Only one teacher will notice.

You will begin taking BIOE classes your sophomore year and realize you’re falling behind partly because you don’t understand what some of the professors are saying (you’re bad with Asian accents), and partly because you’re not interested in the material. You will pass by your BIOE professor’s office to pick up the graded homework, and hope she doesn’t ask you why you haven’t been to class. But she stops you and asks what’s going on. You take a seat and give your usual cheery smile, but your bottom lip is twitching as you struggle to find the words to explain your absences. Your eyes begin to tear up and eventually you’re bawling. You apologize. You spit out the words: “I don’t belong here.”

You explain your doubt of your mental capacity to do well in your current classes, and whether you are truly passionate about your major. You had been researching about the nursing major on campus but were afraid of your parents’ reaction. She comforts you:
“Be honest with yourself. If you think there is a better major out there for you, then you should pursue it and tell your parents how you feel.”
She will suggest scheduling a meeting with one of the school counselors. You tell her you would follow up. You lied. You knew there was no good in talking to a counselor; nothing a counselor would say would change how your parents would feel. A part of you knew no matter what, your parents would reprimand you for ever suggesting switching out of engineering for nursing.

Chapter 9: The “Talk”
Your parents will tell you they are disappointed, just as predicted.

You sit on your disheveled bed with the lights turned off. The sun slightly peaks out from behind the blinds. Your ears are ringing.

“Why did we spend so much time on all your science-related activities if you were going to waste them in the future?”
“If you wanted to do nursing, you should have gone to community college.”
“We thought you were smart enough…”
“If your grades are bad, then you need to try harder. Stop wasting your time outside of your academics.”

Whatever you say, they will not want to to hear it. If only you tried “harder” (whatever that means), then you would succeed in BIOE. Not that you were already doing all-nighters to finish work. Not that you sacrificed time away from people that you cared about. You will sweat blood and tears…for a career path that you are not even passionate about.

But you will still feel selfish. Changing your major meant betraying all your parents’ hard work and investment into your future the past twenty years. It was not simply a decision of telling your parents how you really feel, but rather one of breaking their hearts. 

Chapter 10: Eventual Silence
You will push away others–even when you need them most.

You sip a cup of tea at the dinner table at 1:30 am. You studied for your upcoming exams for hours, but still feel unprepared. You feel your heart beat faster from your anxiety. You close your eyes, attempting to recall the material, but drawing a blank. Your roommate, who is also attempting an all-nighter, interrupts your thoughts. She asks you how you are.

You hesitate, but decide to tell her about your last conversation with your parents. She’s shocked that your parents are resolute in how they view your career path. You feel your eyes watering but instead smile and reassure her, “I just need to work harder. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.” 

You will repeat those same words to your sister, cousins, and friends. You will not burden others with your problems, even when they open up to you.
Yet, despite your words, you will skip an exam.
And another.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”
You will sleep and barely attend classes.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”

You will find yourself in a hole that you dug yourself in. Your uneasiness, self-denial and silence will lead you here. Yet you still refuse to argue for your future with your parents because a part of you is still waiting for their approval, for them to say, “I’m proud of you.”

––––––––––––

And this where I will stop. I will go no further than the events of sophomore year, but there are no missing pages to this story. You may wonder if there were any good moments in your college career, and there are. There are a ton of good moments that you could not be more grateful for, and a handful of people that have blessed your life with their presence. So why end on a sour note? Why not tell the entire story? Why not skip the events in between and just tell you the ending?

These events are the reason why you ended in the place you are at today. Yes, it would be more appealing to avoid the emotional roller coaster of the next four years, but you are going to realize that hardships don’t stop happening when you graduate college. Realizing that life IS hard is more valuable than me telling you how to achieve an A in each BIOE class, who to date, how to get hired at your first job, etc. And despite how hard life is, you are going to realize you have the ability to make it through because:

1. You know yourself better than you think you do. You’re always in conflict with yourself because you think too much of how your actions will affect those you love. You’re not hurting anyone by choosing a career path, because it is your dream and where your passion lies. You have the ability to make that dream come true, and no one is worth giving it up for. If you let go of your dream, no one else will hold on to it for you. That is why if those you love do not realize the amount of dedication you put into the work you love, then unfortunately, they are not people you want to keep in your life–even if those people are your parents.

2. You will find the right people to surround yourself with. There will be people throughout your college career that will wander and drift away. They’ll take photos with you, but never hold a conversation longer than two sentences. They will only know the surface you: the quiet, somewhat strange but diligent Audrey. Then, there will be people who persistently stay by your side, no matter the circumstance. Seeing those people on any day will make you unconsciously break into tears or a smile–depending on what’s on your mind. They’ll see the side of you that people are unfamiliar with: the lazy potato, the Ate who prioritizes others over herself, the carrier of group projects, the pasta and leftover food lover, the K-Pop and K-drama obsessed fan, the nerd who watches game commentary, etc. You will meet good people. Don’t let them go.

As this letter comes to a close, the only request I have left is that you change the way you view yourself. Not just physically, but also mentally. You are smart, you are kind, you are important. Not everyone will notice or appreciate those aspects of you, but I will. I will always love the person you are. I will always believe in the validity of your choices when everyone else questions you. I will remind you every day that you are worthy of being loved, and that is why you must survive through the pain, the disappointments and the obstacles that are awaiting you. I will always be here for you. You are not alone. 

Love, 
Audrey Gomez
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