Minerva C., Selma E., & Alex S.

Topic: Body shaming

Despite the chipped yellow paint, my window and I had something in common: people just see right through us. I put my hand on my cheek and sighed. After finishing my thoughts, I rolled over and placed my head on the soft, silky pillow that rested on my bed, and I glanced up to the blank ceiling. My eyelids started to get heavy, so I shut them, relieving the tension in my face. I suddenly heard footsteps climbing up the house’s aged stairs, followed by a knock on my door that broke the silence.

“Mia, what do you want?” I was slightly annoyed, but I was careful not to sound annoyed.

“Thanks for the warm welcoming,” she said, starting to walk into my room. “Get ready and meet me at the stairs in five minutes.”

I was going to speak, but she had already taken off, leaving my questions in the dust. I rolled out of the sheets that hugged me close, letting the cool breeze enter my body. Hmm, what will it be today, what will it be? I was staring at my closet filled with colorful items. I reached forward and grabbed my favorite baggy jeans, along with a white T-shirt you could tell I’ve worn a lot.

After I put on my clothes, I walked over to my bathroom mirror and took a long hard look at myself. I did different facial expressions in the mirror and started to laugh; I can never stay serious. I put in my lucky hoop earring and put my brown, soft hair into my favorite scrunchy. I'm ready for Mia's craziness.

I trotted down the staircase, holding onto the stern handrail. While walking to the kitchen, I encountered my well-energized dog, who greeted me with a couple of yoga poses.

“Mia, I’m ready!” I called out, looking around. Suddenly a woman I was not familiar with skipped into the hall and smiled at me. Her freckled face was covered in loads of makeup, making her bright blue eyes sparkle.

“Mia?” I was so confused. “What…?”

After she rolled her eyes, she grabbed my hand and said “Come on!” and led me to the front door. “Yes, it's me! Mia!” she said, doing a spin. “I like your outfit, Cam. Where did you get those clothes?”

This kind of felt like an insult, like no one my size would have decent clothes to wear.

“I made them,” I said.

“Really?” she said, taking me to the car. “All of it?” I know this reaction; I get it a lot. I’m used to it.

“Yes, all of it,” I said in a fake, cheery voice. “Where are we going, anyway?” I heard a clicking, meaning she had locked the car door.

After a few moments of hesitation, she said, “We are going to a modeling interview, hence the reason I'm all dressed up...” As soon as those words reached my ears, I threw my  arms at the door, trying to open it, but after a few moments of fiddling with the handle, I realized that Mia had locked the door.

“DUDE!” I blurted out. “I can’t go to that! Why are we going, anyways? What’s the reason?” Her expression went from a silly and present look to a nervous and scared one.

“I--” She cut off. “I want to be a model.”

I stared at her. “Okay, why am I involved?”

We came to a red light. “I’m nervous, and I need you. Please?” She started to bat her eyes and quiver her lips. “Pretty please, favorite cousin?”

I stared at her and sighed. “Fine, let's go.”

***

We both walked inside the main hall, which led to a couple of large and very well decorated rooms. If you didn't know Mia very well, you couldn't tell that she was nervous. From the outside, she looked so calm and confident, but I know Mia. She was shaking on the inside.

I heard the clicking of heels coming our way. A tall, blonde woman with a tight dress on came over and started talking to Mia. She took a couple of glances my way, and they weren't necessarily the best ones I've ever gotten. All I did was smile at her. After some small talk with Mia -- compliments, laughter, and some hand movements -- she put her hand on Mia's shoulder and started to walk away. I thought Mia would turn around or something, but the lady with the perfect face did. She gave me a death stare from head to toe, like she was scanning me. Out of nowhere I just blurted out, “YEAH! Go, Mia! You're going to do great!!” Now she looked behind her, towards me, and smiled, mouthing, “Thank you.”

I sat down in a black leather chair next to the exit of the building and started to read, trying to ignore the fact that people were staring at me. Man, when is she going to get done?

I looked up from my book and marked my place. The fair maiden... I stuck my tongue out like a dog begging for water. I got out of the soft chair, trying to find someone who would help me.

I finally found someone who got me some water. She was skinny and beautiful, too, like all the rest of the fine women who worked here. Something about this place seemed off, something that made me feel really uncomfortable.

I went back to my comfy little area in the corner and picked up one of the magazines that were so neatly placed on the side table. The first one I grabbed said… “Abercrombie and Fitch? Are you sure?” Not knowing what I got myself into, I started to read.

“Mike Jeffries says he only wants beautiful people in his store, only the cool kids with high self-esteem.” This can't be real, I thought. I kept on reading. “He says he is not afraid to kick oversized women out of his stores.” Is that what people think of others like me? That we don't “deserve” to be in fancy stores like that? Am I a disgrace to society?

***

I am currently in the car listening to Mia go on and on about how much they loved her, and about how much fun it was. At the end of all her boasting, she turned to me and thanked me for coming. I forced my face to make an authentic smile, and then I congratulated her.

We arrived home, and I started walking up the stairs while watching Mia skip into the kitchen and tell my mom all about the modeling thing. I opened my door and listened to the fierce, creaking sound. I walked over to my bed, grabbed my phone out of my bag, and jumped and fell onto my bed, sinking into the squishy wonderland. I picked my phone back up and typed, feeling the rhinestones on the back of my phone case. Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie and Fitch. I wanted to see if this was real.

After some research and a couple of cups of hot cocoa, I found what I needed, and I wasn't very happy. After that day, I've been feeling pretty depressed. No wonder I never go to the mall. My friends and family have been hiding me, hiding me from the real world. Along with all the disturbing articles, I also found an article on diets, and how to lose weight. I found something called the water diet, where you only drink water for three days, and you supposedly will lose weight. I was so desperate to fit in at this point that I wanted to do it.

***

It’s been two days, no food, only water. I’ve been hiding from everyone. Hiding. I’ve been getting out of dinner, saying I had homework and would eat later. Mia has been getting a little nosey lately, but not to the point where comes up to me. Mom hasn’t been suspicious at all, though, mainly because she has been very busy at work. It’s been hard, but I really want this; I don’t want to be judged anymore. I haven’t been moving around the house as easily. I have no energy.

***

I have been feeling extremely light-headed, but I’m almost there. I’ve lost almost seven pounds, but that’s not enough.

Something interrupted my thoughts, footsteps that were followed by a petite voice. “Hey, Cam.” Mia opened my door just a little bit. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, whatever.” I sounded hazy, tired. I stood up and started to look at the birds flying so freely out in the open air through my window. She walked in slowly and stared at me. I knew what she had come in for.

“Cam.” She started to tear up and crumble to the ground. “Cam, please don’t, please.”

“Don’t what?” I managed to get out, choking my tears back.

Her big, blue eyes turned a lighter blue. ”Cam, you know what I’m talking about, please stop,” she was saying to me, but I didn’t listen. I sat back down on my bed. Talking took more energy than it needed to. I lay down, making hot tears slip down my face, to then get sucked into the pillow’s fabric. She read what I was about to say. “I needed to go on your computer for homework, Cam.” She was trying hard not to cry. “And you didn’t close your tabs.”

In that second, tears didn’t matter to me, because instead of being sad, anger appeared. “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” I startled her. “You’re a beautiful, gorgeous woman! Look at me, Mia, look at me! I don’t fit in, people don’t want me!”

She started to cry, even more, making her mascara drip down her cheek.

She started to talk. Though she was very quiet, she was trying to understand.

“Cam, you--you have never felt--felt this way before. Why are you now fe--feeling like this? What happened?”

I started to shake, and I felt extremely light headed. I felt as if I were lost, as if I couldn’t find the right words to say, but I managed to get out, “Abercrombie.” I felt myself getting really hot. My voice started to fade and turned into a whisper tone, but I got out, “And Fitch.” I started to spin, and I felt the floor reach my face.

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Kendall C.

Topic: Girls' educational opportunities

On a Tuesday, as I woke up from a morning of sleeping in later than I usually do, I smelled the comforting scent of my mother’s cooking. I walked into the kitchen, to see her waiting for me with a basket of dirty laundry.

“Asali, can you go clean those for me? Food will be ready for you once you have finished,” my mother told me without looking up from her cooking.

“Yes, Mother.” I carried the clothing outside and started the day’s work.

My life consists of housework, and only housework. I do the chores, and cook the food, and help out my mother, Badeea. My mother always wished that I could have the life that she was unable to have: get a proper education, a nice job, a right to live the life I want to. But that was unable to happen, and there is nothing that I can do about this, and she blames herself for that. I was once enrolled in primary school, but I had to leave because my family could not afford it, due to the lack of education my mother had. But my story is not that different from many girls who live in my country, because there are 34 million other girls, just like me, not getting the right to live the life they long for. I got used to it, though. I knew this was what my life would be like, and there was nothing I could do about it. I mean, that’s just the way things are around here.

***

My best friend Farhia and I live similar lives. She also does not attend school, and spends most of her days taking care of housework, like all girls are expected to do.. But her family wants it that way. They believe that her role as a female is to clean, get married, and have children, whereas my family would do just about anything to give me the life that I want. Sometimes Farhia and I stay up late at night and fantasize about what our future lives will be like; I want to be a licensed nurse and help people, and she wants to be a writer, and leave this country. It’s nice to think about our lives being like that, but we both know those things will never be a possibility for us.   

***

“Wake up, wake up! You have to get there on time,” my little brother, Hashim, said to me as he woke me up.

“Hashim, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have to get up this early. It’s only 7 a.m.”

“Did Mom and Dad not tell you? You are going to school!”

I could not believe what he had just told me. Don’t get me wrong, I had dreamt of the day that I could have a real life. But I never thought this could actually happen. As I dug through my drawer of clothing to find my school uniform from many years ago, tears of joy started to stream down my face. The only thing that could make this moment better was if Farhia could be doing this with me, but even though I had prayed that she could get everything that she wants in life, I knew that would not be a possibility for her. It pained me to admit it, but there would be no way; she is forced to live the life that her parents want her to have, the life everyone in this country expects  you to have.

***

As we took the trail to the all-girls school, I saw Farhia outside of her house, hanging up clothing to dry. When she looked up and saw me, in my school uniform, it was clear to me that she was at a loss for words.

“So you are going to school now?” Farhia said in a voice that clearly showed her fake excitement.  

“Yeah, but I wish you could be going with me.”

“Asali, we both know that will never happen. But promise me one thing. Achieve everything that you have ever wanted. It will be hard, but do it for me.”

For the second time this morning I was crying, and not tears of joy this time. I felt guilty. I am one of the lucky ones: I get to go to school, I get to live a real life, unlike Farhia and my mother, and many other girls. But I will keep my promise, no matter how hard it will be, and not only will I be doing this for myself, I’ll be doing this for Farhia.

***

Fifteen  years later...

I kept my promise to Farhia: I achieved everything that I have ever wanted. I’m a licensed nurse, I have a seven-year-old daughter named Gulnar, and I help people. The blessings that I was given were not given to Fariah. We are still friends, but it pains me being around her because it is so clear how miserable she is with her life. She had always dreamt of becoming a writer, and getting out of this country, and she can’t have any of that, just because she is a girl. And the worst part is I know that if she were given the chance to go to school, she would have been so happy.

On Saturday night, I walk into my daughter’s room later than I usually do, and I see the comforting sight of her doing her math homework.

“Mother, can you help me with my math homework? You can go back to what you were doing once I have finished.”

“Yes, honey.” I pick up the pencil, and help her with tonight’s work.

Kathleen D.

Topic: Gender stereotypes in media

As I walk briskly to the big glass doors of the building that has changed people’s understanding of me, and of other people like me, I am nervous. I am normally nervous in public because when people find out who I am, they find me weird and stop talking to me. But I know I will have to eventually walk in the building, so I slowly open the door, and as I walk through, I trip on a door stopper, almost dropping everything in my tan folder with all my audition information in it. A tall blonde woman with bright blue eyes who was behind the front desk rushes towards me and asks if I’m okay, and if she can be of any assistance. I quickly stand up and say that I’m okay, and I thank her for rushing to my aid even though I’m perfectly fine.

The woman walks back behind the desk and checks me in by checking all my audition forms and my headshots. She goes to my personal information page and starts to read. She gives me nasty looks as she continues to read. She starts confirming information that she can contact me by, but speaking to me in a tone that just screams, “You’re weird, and I don’t like you.” Almost like I’m a different person than when she was kindly trying to help me when I had tripped earlier. Then I realize that she’s most likely giving me nasty looks for what I wrote on my information paper. There was a checkbox for male and female, but not for other. So, I wrote my own checkbox for gender non-binary. Most people think that you have to identify as a certain gender, and that makes me stand out, mostly in a bad way. But maybe not everyone will act this way, right? That was proven wrong quite quickly.

She said I was good to go to room 127, and I should sit inside to wait for the director and his assistant. As I walk down the hall, I read the numbers, and finally after two or three minutes I reach room 127. I open the metal door and am not surprised to see beautiful young women and handsome men waiting for their audition. I thought I had a chance, but I start doubting myself because everyone in the room is “the look” that most people have on TV. But maybe I’ll act more like a person on TV.

The director and his assistant walk in the room, and everyone falls silent. They give us a little speech about what they expect and when to check our email for when they’ll tell us if we made it in the show or not. They start to call names in one by one. “Parker!” they yell after about ten minutes. I get up and walk to where they called me from, and into a seperate room. I stand up in front of some other judges, the director, and his assistant. They start to read my information paper and immediately start looking at each other awkwardly. They whisper back and forth, but I can’t tell what they are saying. The director says, “Okay Paker, why don’t you cold read this monologue?”

I respond, “Alright, may I have a few moments to read this?”

They all look at each other silently and nod. They have kindly highlighted the part that I need to read, and I assume someone will read the other lines. I start to read my lines in my head. Is this supposed to be funny? This is a identity that people are, but they try to make it seem funny or like a joke. In the script, I’m supposed to be this gay person (which I don’t have a problem with), and at the top of the script it has jokes about being gay and how to “act gay.” Also the thing that I absolutely hate on media and TV is where they make girls overly feminine and guys overly masculine, and they have that in the script as well.

I say, “Do you think this is funny?”

The director responds with, “Well, yes. I personally do find it hilarious.”

Really? This is outrageous! Just because someone is gay or in the LGBTQ+ community doesn’t mean that their life is a joke. I finally say, “I’m leaving. I hope you’re happy that you’re making people’s gender identities a joke.” I quietly walk out of the room without a word and through the hall, back to the front desk, and out the front entrance. I knew at that moment something had to be done.

I ask a few other LGBTQ+ people and gender nonbinary people how their audition experiences have gone, and all of them had similar situations where they were told how to “act gay” or “act lesbian,” and they were told to be overly feminine or overly masculine. Or they were just treated poorly by the staff. I tell them to spread the word about this company treating us poorly and make sure everyone knows why. One week later, it’s everywhere on social media. Everyone is giving their opinion on it, and most of them are supportive. I even receive an email from Channel 8 news, asking if they can interview me. In four hours! I graciously accept because I could get the word out to people who don’t have social media.

Four hours later, I go to my interview. To sum it up, they inquire about what the people from the company said and how they reacted when they found out I was gender non-binary. I also say that no matter how this situation is handled, we need to stay true to ourselves and not change who we are just because a company makes fun of our identities. It is about a 20 minute interview, and it goes by very quickly.  We wrap up the interview, and after they thank me for coming and sharing. I walk outside and back to my house to watch the interview. I turn on my small, black TV and scroll through the channels. As I am scrolling, I find news that a whole riot has begun, where people are standing outside the building where I auditioned with signs, and the people are yelling, “Equal rights! Equal rights!” Wow. This is great. I guess a lot more people care than I thought. Eventually, the company gets fed up and calls the police to move everyone out of the area.

A week later, I watch the news again, and apparently the company I auditioned for is going to get shut down due to me and the whole riot. Since people saw the news of my interview and the riot, the company wasn’t making any money because no one was watching their shows. When the company gets moved out and shut down, I want to start my own company where everyone is treated respectfully and where there are no awful stereotypes of people. So I go to the bank to get a loan and buy that building.

So as I walk briskly to the big glass doors of the building that has changed people’s understanding of me, and other people like me, I remember to stay true to myself and not let anyone diminish me for who I am.