America’s Beauty Is In Its Diversity
by Alaa El-Saad – age 15, Austin, Texas http://thisibelieve.org/essay/42798/
America is built on the idea of freedom, and there is no exception for Muslim women. I believe in the freedom of religion and speech. But mostly, I believe it’s OK to be different, and to stand up for who and what you are. So I believe in wearing the hijab.
The hijab is a religious head covering, like a scarf. I am Muslim and keeping my head covered is a sign of maturity and respect toward my religion and to Allah’s will. To be honest, I also like to wear it to be different. I don’t usually like to do what everyone else is doing. I want to be an individual, not just part of the crowd. But when I first wore it, I was also afraid of the reaction that I’d get at school.
I decided on my own that sixth grade was the time I should start wearing the hijab. I was scared about what the kids would say or even do to me. I thought they might make fun of me, or even be scared of me and pull off my headscarf. Kids at that age usually like to be all the same, and there’s little or no acceptance for being different.
On the first day of school, I put all those negative thoughts behind my back and walked in with my head held high. I was holding my breath a little, but inside I was also proud to be a Muslim, proud to be wearing the hijab, proud to be different.
I was wrong about everything I thought the kids would say or even do to me. I actually met a lot of people because of wearing my head covering. Most of the kids would come and ask me questions—respectfully—about the hijab, and why I wore it.
I did hear some kid was making fun of me, but there was one girl—she wasn’t even in my class, we never really talked much—and she stood up for me, and I wasn’t even there! I made a lot of new friends that year, friends that I still have until this very day, five years later.
Yes, I’m different, but everyone is different here, in one way or another. This is the beauty of America.
I believe in what America is built on: all different religions, races and beliefs. Different everything.
Thirty Things I Believe
Tarak McLain - Austin, Texas
http://thisibelieve.org/essay/57159/
I believe life is good.
I believe God is in everything.
I believe we’re all equal.
I believe we can help people.
I believe everyone is weird in their own way.
I believe hate is a cause for love.
I believe that when I meditate I feel peaceful.
I believe we should be generous.
I believe brothers and sisters should be kind to each other.
I believe kids should respect their parents.
I believe I should not whine.
I believe people should wake up early.
I believe people should go outside more.
I believe in nature.
I believe people should use less trees.
I believe we should help the Arctic and rainforest animals.
I believe people shouldn’t throw litter on the ground.
I believe people should not smoke.
I believe God is in good and bad.
I believe in magic.
I believe people should not give up.
I believe love is everywhere.
I believe that God helps us to have a good time.
I believe we live best in a community.
I believe we can protect people in danger.
I believe we should help the poor.
I believe it’s OK to die but not to kill.
I believe war should not have started.
I believe war should stop.
I believe we can make peace.
Seven-year old Tarak McLain was born in Thailand and lives with his family in Austin, Texas. He collects and hands out food to the homeless, raises money for orphans and impoverished schools, reads about the world`s religions and listens to public radio.
The Beatles Live On
Macklin Levine – 12 years old, New York, New York
http://thisibelieve.org/essay/46931/
0.271679695013433
I believe in The Beatles. Although they don’t exist anymore, their music is very much alive, even to a 12-year-old like me. As old as the songs are, you can learn a lot about yourself from the lyrics. Listening to them with others and singing along has been important to me and to my family.
Three years ago, my dog Phoebe ran away near our house in Cold Spring, New York. Every Friday afternoon, we would drive upstate from Manhattan together as family and dog. My parents never had much music in the car—nothing that we could all agree to listen to except for “Yellow Submarine” by The Beatles.
We were really scared when Phoebe took off, but hoped she’d come back soon. She didn’t. My friend’s Dad hiked into the state park behind our house, miles in, posting signs explaining about our lost dog. A day passed, and still no Phoebe.
We called and called into the woods.
Next thing I knew, my Dad climbed into our station wagon and disappeared. A half an hour later, I saw the headlights of our car and heard the weirdest thing: loud, loud music. It was nine o’clock at night, my dad is in the car alone, and he’s blasting Beatles music.
My Dad was really smart, probably the smartest one of any of the people looking for Phoebe. But Mom thought he’d lost his mind. Dad explained he figured Phoebe had been in the car with us all those times when we had nothing else to listen to but The Beatles over and over again. He thought if anything could make her come home, it would be the sound of The Beatles.
Phoebe did come home a few days later. It wasn’t The Beatles who got her there; it was a sign a neighbor saw, and the phone number on her collar. But I think back to my Dad playing The Beatles’ music so loud we could hear him a half mile away across the lake, and it makes me smile.
My Dad died a few months after my dog ran away, and when I first wrote the essay I was afraid to say that because I knew I wouldn’t be able to read it out loud in class without crying. But now when I think of him, I remember his wacky idea to play the family music, and how it made me feel like everything would be okay.
The Beatles don’t exist anymore but their music will live in everyone forever. I believe in The Beatles because their music brings people together, and gives us hope.
A Duty to Family, Heritage and Country
Ying Ying Yu - Princeton Junction, New Jersey
As heard on NPR’s Morning Edition, July 17, 2006
Ying Ying Yu has a maturity beyond her years. The 13-year old immigrant from China believes she has a duty to honor the sacrifices made by her parents, her ancestors, her teachers and her homeland.
I am a good child, obedient. I grew up in China, a country where education is the center of every child’s life and a grade less than 85 percent is considered a failure. Grades mean more to us than a mother’s smile, more than the murmur of a wish lingering on birthday candles. I had homework during lunch, math and language classes two times a day. There were punishments for not paying attention. I was beaten with a ruler. I learned to do anything to get a good grade.
I believe in duty, but that belief comes with sacrifice. The achievements I make come with a cost.
I remember first grade, the red scarf flapping in the wind, wanting more than anything to be the first one to wear it, that, the symbol of responsibility, excellence and loyalty. The first thing that flashed to mind when I put it on was how glad my family would be, how proud the motherland would be of the child it had borne and how my accomplishments would look on a college application.
All my pride, love, self-esteem — they merge into duty. There have been times I wanted to throw away everything, but duty and obligation were always there to haunt me and to keep me strong. I would think: My parents and grandparents brought me up, my country gave me shelter, my teachers spent so much time building my foundations just to have me throw it all away? No, I can’t do that! I must repay all that they have done. “I must,” “I should,” “I have to,” all those little phrases govern my life and the lives of many of my classmates. We struggle on because duty reminds us that the awaiting success is not just for us. It’s for our families, our heritage and our country.
I used to want to be a gardener. I liked working outdoors and the gritty feel of dirt was much more tangible than a bunch of flimsy words strung together. But I can never grow up to be a gardener. Everything I have done so far points to the direction of becoming a lawyer. That’s a job my family wholeheartedly supports.
There is no other choice for someone who’s been brought up by such a strict system, someone who has ambition. Here in America, there is almost a pressure to follow your dreams. I don’t want any more dreams — dreams are illusions. And it’s too late for me to work toward another future, to let the foundations I have built go to ruins.
I believe in the power of duty to impel. Only duty will offer me something true, something worthy of my effort and the support of my family and country. Duty can bring me to an achievement that is greater than I am.
Ying Ying Yu was 13 years old when her social studies class was assigned to write This I Believe essays. Yu and her parents immigrated to the United States in 2001. She starts high school this fall in Princeton, New Jersey.
“Happiness is a Choice”
Aaron - Huntington, West Virginia
When we are young children, one of the first lessons we are taught is to “play fair”. We are taught to share and treat others as we would like to be treated: “The Golden Rule”. We then expect that if we treat others fairly, we will be treated fairly. As we mature, we discover that, regardless of how fairly we treat people, life is not fair. As we confront issues in our lives and realize things are not always just, it is important to have a positive attitude and choose to be happy. While social injustice should not be endured, physical impairments must be accepted to be overcome.
In some way I feel that life has been rather unfair to me from the beginning. I was born with an extreme visual impairment. I use a long cane to travel and read Braille as my preferred school medium. The print textbook for my math class is only one book, while the Braille version is fifty-one bulky volumes. I learned early in my education that I might have to work harder than the other students in certain areas. I tend to have more homework, so when other students are playing videogames and watching television, I am doing homework. For years I would complain, “It’s not fair!” to my mother to which she would reply, “Well Aaron–.Life isn’t fair”. Throughout my life I have found this to be true at times, and have accepted it as a fact and moved past it.
I have made the choice to be happy in my life. Although I have much school work to complete, I am able to go to school with my friends and live at home instead of being sent to a school for the blind eight hours away. Instead of looking at the things in my life that get me down, I try to focus on the blessings God has given me. I have been blessed with an excellent memory ability which has aided me in remembering vast amounts of information for my school work. Support from my family, friends, and teachers has been more than one can fathom.
I believe that being happy is a choice you make. I was on the wrestling team at my middle school for three years. Instead of focusing on the fact that I never won a match for the first two years, I enjoyed being part of the team and participating in a sport like the other students. Currently I’m on my high school swim team and perform with the High School Jazz band.
Everyone has times in their lives that are not fair. A broken family, an ill parent, or too little money may make life seem unfair. Having a positive attitude and being thankful for the blessings you are given is the key to being happy. Life is not perfect for anyone. It is only in dealing with the “unfairness” of our lives that enriches the life we live. Sometimes we are the bug, something we are the windshield. Life cannot be perfect. If it were perfect, there would be nothing to live for.
Being Yourself
Carolyn - Dayton, Ohio
I believe in silly dances.
Ever since I was 13, my mother has delivered the ultimate embarrassment tool on her children. It is known as the “silly dance”. Whenever she gets excited about something, she jumps up and down, hopping from one foot to another, waving her arms in the air and shrieking in excitement. As her daughter, I find this completely mortifying. Anytime she goes into the silly dance, my siblings and I would suddenly inch slowly away smiling awkwardly, explaining to people, “No, she’s not my mother.”
Even though as a child my mother embarrassed me to no end, and even though she still does the silly dance when something goes her way, I now enjoy it. The silly dance is who she is, and it shows that she’s happy. If she didn’t do her dance and just obeyed our wishes of “not in public, mom,” she would be compromising who she was.
My mother dances to her own beat, and many times that beat follows the works of Roger and Hammerstein, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Gershwin, the classics. Road trips in my family were always a fun time when we sang “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” “Oklahoma”, “West Side Story,” and all the musicals that she grew up with. Now, my whole family is involved with theater. I owe my love of theater to my mother. I now sing show tunes in the shower and in the car. I even sing in public like my mother does and my friends are always doing that same awkward smile and whispering under their breath, “Carolyn, public.”
So in many ways I’m becoming my mother, which for any daughter is a fear of great proportions, but I’m not going to stop singing show tunes just because people feel embarrassed by it, that’s not who I am. I am a very random person. Although I can’t dance, when my favorite song comes on the convenience store speaker system, I dance down the isles mouthing the words. I have no doubt I will mortify my own children with my rendition of the “silly dance”. So what? That’s who I am.