Stories of Self

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BLACK OR WHITE
Photo and poem by Claudia Henry, age 20

Look up the definition of blackness
Look in the dictionary
Look up whiteness
You know what you will find
What if something white is actually black
What if black is actually white
Can you be what you look like
Is it wrong for white to be white
Is black allowed to be black
What is grey
It has an uncertain definition
Grey is a spectrum
At some point does grey become
Black or white
Is grey only defined as its amount of
White and black
What about purple or red or pink or blue
What do they do
When someone else sees them only as
Black or white

FIRST
Photo and prose by Lil Riki, age 17

During my vacation, I saw different Nepali environments and experienced new levels of humidity but the one thing that remained the same was the love and warmth everyone irradiated. All of my relatives both close and distant forced me to eat big plates of meals and wouldn’t stop hugging me. I enjoyed every bit of the newfound attention because Nepalis from Nepal differed from the ones in the States. They had this tenderness, this unbreakable hope despite their poor living conditions, and heart-touching hospitality despite their economic conditions. Nepal had airplanes now but my father refused to take them because he wanted me and my sister to see Nepal at its core. My heart filled with admiration for the chilly mountains, the burning cities, jealousy for people with big money, and sorrow for the people living just to survive. The biggest flaw of Nepal was its poverty: it didn’t involve beggars throughout the streets, instead, it involved families with broken down homes, children who did construction work, old women and children waiting in the middle of nowhere for travelers to buy their food, and families farming in the scorching hot sun. Guilt crept up on me after knowing that my father had lived this before he got to where he is today. I still remember the conversation with his younger sister, she said to me, “Your father was the first boy in his class! His dream was to be a doctor but he realized he was too late for that after his lack of resources and bad luck.” My father joined the conversation and said, “During my grade ten graduation, I didn’t receive encouraging words, my teacher reminded me that this was probably the end of my academic career.” That was my last needed reason to pursue a career in medicine, to become the first doctor from both sides of my family, and to make use of the time, resources, and privilege I’ve been given.

JOURNEY
Photo and prose by a Valued Voice, age 20

I made the usual journey from my school to my mother’s work. It was a short walk yet so much occurred in one specific afternoon. Along my excursion, I walked by a great number of people. Everyone seemed nice and did not avoid me, until I came by one woman. During the split second of our passing, I noticed that the woman quickly clenched her purse closer to her body. I tried to make eye contact; however, the woman avoided it by looking at the ground. Additionally, the woman increased her walking pace. Prior to this interaction, the women did not display these behaviors when passing other strangers. So, why did it occur when I walked by? Was this intentional? Was the woman’s behavior subconscious? No matter if the action was intentional or accidental, it affected me profoundly. I was confused. My character and outward appearance were being judged by someone who did not even know who I was. Was I a predator to Chicago society? What made her feel the need to snatch away her belongings from me? This humbled me because I knew I was a good kid. At the time, I was in the race to be the valedictorian of my 8th grade class. She did not seem interested in any of my accomplishments, just the purse. I had so many questions for her, but I did not know how to approach this situation.

A NORMAL KID
Photo and poem by JR, age 14

I am Black

I am proud

I am smart

 I have pride

I stand tall

I break boundaries

No matter where I am in the world, I am just a normal kid

I am harmless

I deserve Justice like everyone else

No matter what, I am just a normal kid

I am Black

CLOSE TO THE HEART
Photo and prose by CF, age 19

My life dramatically changed at ten-months-old. I and “strangers” embarked on a 6,524-mile journey from Taipei, Taiwan to San Francisco, California. The “strangers” were now my parents, and the city was now my home. Being an infant, I did not question this life; it was all I knew to be true. It was not until years later — when I could comprehend — that my parents informed me that I was adopted. Still, I did not entirely understand that gravity of characteristic — how did the whole process function and what are some reasons for adoption? More specifically, what was my story? But this was a conversation for another time – in another few years. At that age, adoption was simply a unique trait that I kept close to my heart.