On February 26^th, 2021, while still during the pandemic, it was shown that there were hate crimes involving Asian-Americans blowing past the charts. The incident was initiated with Maggie Cheng’s mother being shoved to the ground in the crowded street of Flushing. This attack was considered the highlight of all hate crimes against Asian-Americans, which stoked fears, in addition to the racism that they were facing during the beginning of COVID-19. Later that same day, it was reported that a man of an Asian descent was stabbed near Chinatown. The number soon rose to become 28 hate crimes in one year. The fact that these incidents were never brought to any authority figure such as the police shows that this country shows disregard to all Asian Americans. Chris Kwok, a broad member of the Asian American Bar Association of New York, states that Asian Americans’ complaints aren’t being taken seriously by the police and prosecutors. In his own words, he comments that “The political and social invisibility of Asian Americans have real life consequences, with the invisibility being that Asian Americans not crossing the invisible line into becoming American citizens and will remain permanent foreigners until that line is crossed.”

This article from the New York Times really pushed me into thinking as to how these injustices would only target one group of minorities. There were many stereotypes of Asians that existed, such as all Asians being good at math, and not having 20/20 vision, but I never imagined that they were considered the victim of hate crimes. They were even considered to be the reason as to why this pandemic started, with an animal market in Wuhan City, China showing results of the virus being contagious, thus spreading it to everyone. While I may not be Asian myself, I still think that this social issue needs to be addressed to the public because some Asian Americans may be considered foreigners, but not all of them have terrible intentions for them to be punished through hate crime. Most other minority groups such as blacks, Hispanics/Latinos face these kinds of issues, but it wasn’t too over the top as it is with Asians. This even made me think that it’s not just Hispanics who face these issues, but other minority groups aren’t safe either, as we have daily shootings of people from our group. Every time I open the Citizen app, the always has to be notifications of people dying in shoot outs, or gang violence, and the worst part is that the police don’t even take the time to investigate these issues or take the complaints into consideration. If it’s a case of a white man on the verge of death, they always rush into the scene and get the most out of the case. At the end of the day, these cases should be taken more than just a grain of salt.

Works Cited:

Petri, Alexandra E., and Slotnik, Daniel E., “Attacks on Asian-Americans in New York Stoke Fear, Anxiety, and Anger,” The New York Times, 26 Feb 2021, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/26/nyregion/asian-hate-crimes-attacks-ny.html, Accessed 31 August 2021.

Home. It is always a comforting word to hear, especially after having a dreadful day at work or an exhausting day at work. But where do you call home, when suddenly you aren’t sure if you can call home your home?  

The headlines read “Trump Ends DACA”, my stomach dropped, and a thousand thoughts started racing through my mind. What does that mean for the hundreds of thousands of DACA recipients that are currently in school or working in the fields? No, what does that mean for me? Do I still have a job, how am I going to work, better yet how am I going to continue school? I do not know how much time had passed until I finally got the courage to open it up, I was hoping it was a joke. My eyes began scrolling through every sentence trying to get a grip of what would be my new reality. With a sigh of relief but a ton of guilt weighing heavily on me I realized I was not being affected. Even though it did read “Trump Ends DACA” the article was talking about him ending the program for new applicants for DACA. DACA was a program started by Obama that allowed undocumented children that were brought into American at an early age to work legally. And even though I was not being affected, I felt guilty because I knew of people that would be at a loss now that the program would only be in effect for renewals and not new applicants.  

Scrolling the entire day through Instagram, I couldn’t help but repost and continue to advocate for a change in this immigration policy. I made posts to encourage those who could, to raise their voice towards this injustice, I had to write my feelings out and hope I was being heard. I am grateful today that this is no longer the case, yet I can’t help but think where home would be if things had turned out differently.  

Mental Illness is widely stigmatized within society. Even when we leave in an era where we have more understanding and aid for mental health, that hasn’t stopped people with mental illness from being misunderstood.  As someone with an mental illness, this issue has felt very personal to me. I always hear commercials about bringing awareness to mental health, but it always felt empty to me. Although, before I was diagnosed  I had a very little understanding of mental illness, and what I knew about it, I got from movies and television. This changed when I heard about the book “Turtles all the way down” by John Green.  I think the way this book depicts a character with mental illness was really moving to me. Especially as I can go back and relate to the character suffering from mental illness. For instance, I liked how the book showed there wasn’t a simple fix and its a lot of work to try to get better. I t wasn’t even afraid to show the really ugly parts of mental illness that a lot of shows shy away from. I especially love how the main character, Aza Holmes, was given obsessive compulsive disorder. As I feel a lot of media prefer to portray characters with depression and anxiety, which makes me feel as other illnesses are being ignored and further stigmatized. I also loves how much of a toll her health problems can take on her friends and family. They weren’t depicted as bad people for not being able to properly handle someone with mental illness. Which is how I empathize with my friends and family when my illnesses took a toll on all of my relationships. This book helped me realize that no one is too blame in this scenario and that it does get easier. It also made me try to look out for other forms of media that properly portray mental illness instead of glorifying and stigmatizing it. I was so impacted that some of my future research papers involved mental health. Showing how little help and attention mental health is given. I think it even helped me with my goal to become a psychiatrist.

Earlier this month, it was announced that Rihanna is now a billionaire. As any Gen-Z Black woman, who loves to see other women of color breaking the barriers of white supremacy, I instantly saw this as a huge win. When the news broke, I immediately reposted it on social media and commented on how inspirational it was. Little girls of color everywhere will finally have a self-made billionaire to see themselves in. However, after sitting with the news for a while, and following the “Rihanna’s a Billionaire” discourse on twitter, my outlook on the situation quickly shifted. It’s no secret that the capitalistic society we live in thrives off of hoarding wealth, and flaunting it’s inaccessiblity to the public. While they keep people wanting what they can’t have, there will always be a market of supply and demand that benefits larger corporations. The issue is that the large profit obtained, usually comes at the expense of the employees that work for these corporations, and from the exploitation of the people and resources in vulnerable countries. So how does this connect to our girl Rihanna? Well, no billionaire can obtain their status without part-taking in said exploitation in some way, shape, or form. In order to become a billionaire in a capitalistic society, you have to get your hands dirty; or at least exploit some people to get theirs dirty for you. A large part of Rihanna’s billionaire status can be attributed to her well-known Fenty clothing and makeup company. One key ingredient that is included in many of her makeup products is Mica: a mineral mined from the eastern hemisphere of the world. Most of the Mica in makeup products is unethically sourced and is obtained through child labor mines in places like Jharkhand, India. Many people– including myself at one point– can argue that Rihanna is not more harmful than the centuries of white billionaire men that came before her, and that if there are going to be billionaires in the world, she might as well be one of them. The issue with this argument is that it supports the idea that it doesn’t matter what people of color do, just as long as they’re the first ones to do it. Rihanna being the first Black female billionaire in the makeup industry doesn’t take away from the fact that she obtained that title in some unethical way. The children who are forced into labor for the ingredients in those makeup products will not suffer any less just because she is a woman of color. It’s very easy to romanticize billionaires when you don’t have to directly suffer as a result of their existence. If we don’t start placing a microscope over these people now, then the question becomes: when is the right time to hold billionaires accountable?

For quite some time now, I have been hearing and seeing a ton about the #MeTooMovement. This is essentially a movement formed over social media in which victims of sexual assault are able to come out with their personal stories and express the trauma that they have dealt and are dealing with. Being from New York City where sexual assault rates have skyrocketed in the past year, it would be a total understatement to say that I fear for women, especially for the women that are close to my heart. It sends me chills as I scroll through my social media pages and see the number of women coming forward with their stories and as I finish reading the post, there it goes. #MeTooMovement. It’s crazy to think that in just a matter of a few clicks, I get access to millions of stories across the world. I fully support everyone who has the courage and is brave enough to express the damage that has been done and is willing to become stronger because of it. I also feel for those who suffer silently and pray for their healing. As a man, it is easy for me to say I have never been scared or worried for my own safety, walking alone at night or when getting in an Uber. But this is only a small portion of problems that women have to deal with on a daily basis. This is not to dismiss the fact that sexual assault can also happen to men, and my heart goes out to everyone that has been afflicted with such trauma. As I did more research, I discovered that the rate of sexual assault has gone up about 322% in only one year. That startled me. With that being said, I am definitely more aware of my privilege as a man and about the circumstances that women are put through and as a result, I have been making sure the stories of women are heard and validated, and I speak out against any injustices that are done against them and their safety.

Years ago, I read The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri and I did not like it. I wrote about it, analysis paragraph after essay after discussion board, and every time I saw my English teacher I complained to him about how much I didn’t enjoy any part of it. Before I graduated, I asked him if the book was still on their curriculum; he laughed and said yes because it was one of his favorites. It did not occur to me then to think about why I disliked it so much. It didn’t hit me until recently when I began to see conversations about immigrants and refugees flooding my feed in the wake of the crisis in Afghanistan. I found myself thinking of The Namesake again and I realized, for all the time I spent complaining about it, this book was the first time that I could remember feeling seen.

All the melodramatic chapters of the narrator complaining about his hatred for his name, the complete immersion in the most mundane details of the lives of this immigrant family – it felt very familiar to me, an immigrant who also used to dislike her name. I realized I had disliked it because it had hit too close to home. I was keenly aware for the first time of how empathetic this book was and how much the world was lacking empathetic narratives, whether it be for immigrants or anyone part of any other group that has to justify why they too deserve to have their stories written. I spent a lot of time looking for more books like it, talking to my other English teachers and my friends about it. Representation has been gaining ground in the last few years, yes, but I still think it remains in the periphery of people’s minds because it’s not all that pressing, cannot be remedied by law, and doesn’t pose any immediate danger to anyone. But ever since I read The Namesake, and even years before I realized it, I have wanted to see stories of people who have lived my experiences. I want to see people who share my roots be given the full spectrum of complexity in fiction, beyond the caricatures we have been assigned and rooted in for decades. I want to see it in everything, in good, groundbreaking books that win awards, and in bad, melodramatic books that make English classes difficult.

I’m the 4th of 5 children from my mom my oldest sister is gay and my younger sister is bisexual. Both of them I love dearly. I remember seeing my cousin post something on Facebook in 2019 it was a post that read “If you react to my post with the gay flag I’m blocking you.” This post came out during pride month when the gay flag was first introduced to Facebook. To me at the time I thought it was beyond funny. So I laughed at the post and even sent it to some people. At the time my younger sister wasn’t a part of the community but my older sister was. When my older sister saw I laughed she blocked me. I didn’t understand why so I asked her. She explained that she would get bullied and talked about in school and when she’s with people because she’s gay, so to her it wasn’t a joke. I told her that she was being sensitive and that he was joking. Then I remember her asking me “if someone was making fun of you because you like a person how would you feel?” I asked something like why does it matter what others think? And she said “it matters because you’re not talking about one person, you are talking about a lot of people.” This made me think a lot because I know I’m not homophobic but I really did find that post funny. So I said I love you, I don’t know why you’re mad at me. Then she said I’m mad at you because you know better you know that gay people have hard times and you making fun of them just to go along with others. I remember she asked me what about all the gay people who have never been accepted that can now express themselves. That situation taught me that even when things are amusing to you it can be harmful to others. After talking with my sister I knew I should have thought more. To me like I said it was a joke but to her it was restricting her from being herself. My biggest takeaway from this story is that me sharing and laughing at a post without thinking about others can cause more harm than I thought. 

I barely watched the news for the first sixteen years of my life and wasn’t socially conscious. I knew about some things that were going on, but I wasn’t informed about them. It wasn’t until December 13, 2013, in the wake of the protests regarding the grand jury decisions in both the Eric Gardner and Michael Brown cases, J Cole was on The Late Show with David Letterman, where he performed a powerful rendition of his single “Be Free.” Sitting in a dark room, it was a heart wrenching performance that filled my body with sadness as tears slowly trickled down both cheeks. Lyrics like “All we wanna do is take the chains off All we wan’ do is break the chains off, and all we wanna do is be free.” And, “I’m in denial, uh, And it don’t take no x-ray to see right through my smile,” penetrated my heart and impacted me like never before. His choice of words to illustrate and convey his frustrations left me in awe. Truth be told, I was not as informed about the cases as I should have been, but J Cole’s lyrics still left me in tears. I’ll never forget that moment, and I try to share the clip with as many people as possible. I immediately became more socially conscious and started looking at and appreciating songs highlighting social injustices differently. His words changed my perspective on the power of art and drove me to get my head out of the sand and be more socially conscious, and for that, I say, thank you, J. Cole.

Valentine’s Day of 2018 was supposed to be like any other Valentine’s Day. Couples hand in hand, kids giving each other love notes, confessing to your crush. These things were all on my mind that faithful day during my freshman year I was attending a High School in Miami, Florida and I was just starting to feel safe and assimilated at my new school. Later that afternoon when watching the news at home I learned of what happened at Parkland. Nickolas Cruz disguised himself as a student and was granted entry into his former school, Marjory Stoneman Douglas, where he proceeded to shoot several people with an AR-15 he purchased himself. 17 lives were lost that day. Teachers were killed. Students were killed. Several freshman students were killed. At that time I was barely 15 and I had never been more scared in my life to go to school the next day. I cried in my mother’s arm begging her not to leave me there.

After the shooting Florida schools began issuing IDs, all kids had to wear so no one would be able to sneak into a school as Cruz did. My school hired a personal police officer to stand guard outside 24/7 after we’d gotten a couple of threats over the phone. Although I wasn’t there that day and my fears and trauma could never amount to whatever the victims of this shooting felt, an impact was still everywhere. Something horrible happened on our turf and it just felt way too close to home. Students all over Florida began protesting. We had moments of silence, walkouts, signs made. We did everything we could to make our voices feel heard. Sadly, We realized no matter how many people lost their lives, no matter how many tears were shed, nobody was ever going to listen to a “little kid”.

I was made to write an essay about how stricter gun laws were necessary. Our language arts teacher asked us to include statistics and valid information to support the gun laws we mentioned. As I sat thinking about what I could write, I realized there was no need for statistics. The valid information was that people were dying. Mothers, fathers, children, were being shot dead. A 19-year-old with a history of mental disorders was able to buy a military-grade weapon but in this country, he couldn’t even purchase a beer. I stood in front of my class and read out my paper with statistics and all.

I desperately wanted to see some change. I wanted to be one of the voices who brought about the change for those who couldn’t speak up. I wanted to stomp up the steps of the white house and scream at the top of my lungs for gun reform. But who would have ever listened to a little girl who never touched a gun in her life? Those adults who clutch their precious assault rifles and automatic weapons and chalk up their use to safety and protection would never listen. Those adults in the White House who stay afloat through NRA funding would never ever listen. Those adults who say we kids don’t know anything about politics would never listen. We are just children in their eyes.

But I knew who listened. Alyssa, Scott, Martin, Aaron, Nicholas, Jamie, Chris, Luke, Cara, Gina, Joaquin, Alaina, Meadow, Helena, Alex, Carmen, and Peter all listened. They listened to gunshots flying through the air and into their bodies. All their classmates and co-workers listened. They listened to Nickolas stalk through the hallways and gun down their loved ones. Their parents listened. They listened to news reports confirm the death of their kids. All of them had to listen to something that could have easily been avoided.

I realized in order to bring real change, I had to make those adults listen to me. For the 17 who lost their lives. For the 17 families who lost a son or a daughter. For the numerous gun violence victims around the country. For a better tomorrow.

I had used to think that when you wanted to change things in the world you had to wait until you’re an adult. Since most adults don’t take children seriously and believe they are too young to understand the world around them. I used to believe this since there are many things, I wanted to change but I believed that I didn’t have the power or the tools at my deposal. When I was 17 years old, I realized that I was being a coward and I could change the world around me.

When I was in middle school and throughout high school, I saw on the news about school and mass shooting in public events. I always though that the events were tragic and sad, but I thought the event will eventually fade away in my mind. In my junior year in high school, I saw and read about the Stoneman Douglass High School Shooting. I saw the videos that the students posted online and the interview of the student who told their narrative of the events. When the student saw the how the government would do nothing to help, the students decide to stand up for themselves. This amazed me because usually when I see protest about gun shooting it would be adults talking or politicians avoiding the topic of gun control. I saw how students who were close or around my age talk about a nation-wide protest and saw them acted on it.

The student of Stoneman Douglass High School made a nation-wide protest all by themselves and tried their hardest to get the gun control law passed especially ban the weapon that killed their classmates. I saw that despite their young age and criticism from adults they pushed through to complete their goals. I saw how there are many young adolescents who can change the world, and they didn’t wait until they were older or richer to change the world. This event inspired me to take charge of my life and how I don’t need to be wealthy or old to accomplish my objective.