Stories of Resilience

Voices Home

TRACKS
Photo and essay by Laurel, age 16

Growing up, I was always aware that I had a white dad and an Asian-American mom, but I never really understood the significance of this. When I was five, my grandmother, my Halmoni, took me to a Sabbath service at her Korean church. The extent of my knowledge of the Korean language was next to nothing, and the words of the service, prompting emotion, or at least attentiveness, in everyone else in the room, were gibberish to my ears. I felt embarrassed, but mostly just out of place, as all the other sweet halmonis in the room hugged my grandmother and offered me homemade food in beautiful words I couldn’t understand. Never in my life have I felt so white.

In contrast, I spent most of elementary and middle school feeling distinctly Korean but trying to convince myself I was white-- that I didn’t look Asian at all, that I could fit perfectly into the friend group that consisted of Old Medford’s daughters. I begged my mom to buy me a sweatshirt from PINK, which all the other girls at the table owned in multiple colors. My mom scoffed at the website I showed her: why did I want so badly to wear a sweatshirt with a large brand name slapped across the chest and written all down the sleeves? And for sixty dollars more than a regular sweatshirt? It did not make any sense. Now, I am grateful to my mom, but at the time I was embarrassed of my Target sweatshirts and resentful that they were not going to get me into any social circles. As a friend who lived a similar experience recently pointed out, as much as I wanted to blame the feeling of being on the outside on a sweatshirt, there was the fundamental difference that their families had been sitting at that table for generations, and mine was new to the town, new to the country. As much as I tried to suppress my Asian-ness through my growing up, it remained even more present than I realized at the time.

LIKE A GIRL
Photo and essay by a Valued Voice, age 19

I was told I was fast, for a girl
I was told I was strong, for a girl
I was told I was great, for a girl

Always for a girl

What if I wanted to be just fast,
just strong,
or just great?

Because I was a girl.

Limited, categorized,
Underestimated.

Women in Sports
Girls in Sports
Sports

We belong
We compete
We win

Women belong in sports

I am fast, like a girl
I am strong, like a girl
I am great, like a girl

Not for a girl. Like a girl.

Women belong in sports

FUTURE
Photo and essay by KDG, age 16

Looking at this photo, I see an elegant portrait, and I see a hopeful young girl. But at what point does this hope get stomped out of a young black girl? When she sees her first story of a black death on the news? Or when she is warned about walking home alone at night? Or maybe even when she goes to school for the first time and all the other little girls touch her hair? At what point does she realize that she will be treated differently every day of her life?

I SPIED WITH MY LITTLE EYE
Poem by a Valued Voice, age 22

Looking at this photo,
I spy with my eye,
changes we never saw coming.

I spied with my little eye,
restaurants swarmed with students.
Now, I spy with my little eye,
restaurants with stacked chairs.

I spied with my little eye,
students vigorously taking notes in class.
Now, I spy with my little eye,
students with their cameras and mics off.

I spied with my little eye,
students playing a game of cards.
Now, I spy with little eye,
a deck of cards accumulating dust.

I spied with my little eye,
the joy when students saw each other.
Now, I spy with my little eye,
student expressions that are completely masked.

I spied with my little eye,
a time where “normal” wouldn’t fade.
Now, I spy with my little eye,
changed times and a new “normal.”

GOLDFISH
Photo and essay by Erin, age 22

One hour before this photo was taken:
I am anxious. I snack on our giant box of goldfish, something that I had eaten countless times while sitting in this locker room. My feet tap up and down at a rapid pace as I nervously grab handfuls of goldfish out of the box and pass it along to my teammate next to me. I am so focused on my thoughts that I barely notice the worried faces of my teammates around me, the smell of the dirty laundry mixing with the cheese scent of the goldfish, and the feeling of the cold seat against my legs. Every couple minutes, I would get up to pace and do circles around the room, only to sit back down and glare at my phone screen while I wait...wait...and wait. Finally, after refreshing what had felt like a hundred times, I get the notification that our season is canceled, right in the middle of NCAAs. The taste of the goldfish lingers in my mouth as I get up and drop the rest of the handful in the trash. The sight of all my teammates in distress took away my appetite. There were too many hugs, too many sobs, and I didn’t want to believe that it was real. I turned away and kept looking at my phone, continuing to refresh, waiting for a “false alarm” that never happened. I have not eaten goldfish ever since that day and I don’t know when I will again. Looking back, I wish I didn’t throw away that handful of goldfish and finished them instead, because I don’t know when I will get to be in that locker room with my teammates and coaches, and I want to take advantage of all the little things that room had to offer, with all my best friends...even if that was just a measly handful of stale goldfish.

Reflecting one year later:
This photo isn’t aesthetically pleasing, and I would never think to post this photo on any social media because it is not an “artsy” photo. It was taken after we were all ugly crying in the locker room, and it’s not well compromised, the angles are not flattering, and we all had dried up tears in our eyes, leaving none of us camera ready. But the weight that this photo holds, after knowing what events took place just an hour before, makes this one of my favorite photos that I have on my camera roll. It captures true raw emotions and the undeniable love that every person in the photo has for each other. Although associated with a heartbreaking memory, this photo reminds me of all the positive memories attached to this strong, resilient, and beautiful group of women. While it was an honor to have played on the 2019-2020 Tufts Women’s Basketball Team, it was an even bigger honor to have been able to play the game I love with all of my best friends. Looking at this photo reminds me to remain in the present, to take advantage of every opportunity given, and to always remind the people that you care for that you love and appreciate them.