Growing up, I felt like I didn’t quite belong.  I talked too much and cared too much about the world at a young age. Being mixed meant always existing somewhere in the middle, never fully claimed by either side of my background, always translating myself for however I was in the room. Over time, I learned to make myself smaller. I pushed down the parts of myself that felt like “too much”, molded my personality into whatever I thought people needed me to be, and slowly without even noticing, lost the wide-eyed wonder I once had for the world. One day, I looked in the mirror and didn’t quite recognize myself. 

Sophomore year forced me into a different kind of quiet. What started as a suspected stomach bug quickly spiraled into debilitating dizziness, fainting, and migraines. For months, doctors were completely puzzled, offering no answers while my life seemed to fall apart around me. I missed many school events and ordinary moments that teenagers take for granted. When I was finally diagnosed with POTS, the initial relief was shattered almost immediately by a harder truth: there is no cure. I would have to learn to live in a body that no longer felt like my own.  

The isolation that followed was unlike anything I could have prepared for.​​ There were days I lay still and listened to the world continue without me. Watching my mom grieve for the version of my life she thought I’d have was one of the most painful things for me. Somewhere within that emptiness, something shifted. I began to understand that what felt like suffocating stillness could actually be space, space to sit with myself, to figure out who I was when everything I had used to define myself felt far away. It was not the high school life I had imagined. But looking back, three things pulled me back to the surface.

Family has always been my sanctuary. My parents and my sister Leila have shown me, in the most concrete and daily ways, what unconditional love actually looks like, not as a concept, but as a practice. They kept me grounded when my health felt unreliable. Mom, your resilience, deep conviction for your beliefs, your warmth and empathy, those qualities truly shaped the person I am today. My dad immigrated from Pakistan to Chicago for college far from his family. In times when life felt incredibly difficult your hard work, determination, and grit balanced me out. Leila has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Thank you Leila for being the person I always will run to no matter what. I love you all so much. 

My friends and Cole reminded me what it felt like to be seen. Esther has been a constant through every version of me. Her loyalty and kindness has been something I will not forget. Tabi and I went to different high schools, but distance never really affected our relationship. Nikhta you have been my rock through the past four years. Both Tabi and Nikhita, though we are going to school so far away, please know I am always going to pick up the phone and answer no matter what. Cole, I don’t have the words to fully explain what it means to have someone who helped show me what happiness and hope looked like again. You helped me believe that my dreams were attainable, and worth protecting. Each of these people handed me pieces of hope I hadn’t even realized I was missing until I felt them return. 

When my grandfather (Abba) passed away in August of 2024, it became a time of reflection for me. Abba was a member of the UN and worked incredibly hard through his life to provide for his family. He wrote a book A Bridge with Three Spans in 2016. I first read it when I was 11, and at the time I was in 6th grade ready to take on the world. My passion for politics had been growing rapidly, and my grandfather was always the person I would run to to discuss them. At the funeral, I was asked to give a speech. Writing this was a task I wasn’t sure I was able to do. How do you write something that illustrates how you felt about a person who was so important to you? My whole life I spent looking up to Abba, as a baby always crawling to him, as a child playing games with him, and as a teenager discussing current events or watching tennis with him. For me, this speech was an opportunity to reflect on how his life affected me and the way I view the world. I didn’t feel like myself at the time and somehow writing this allowed me to come to that realization. I have re-read my grandfather’s book 2 more times since his death. When applying for schools I was initially going to go in for a pre-PT track. I did not choose this out of passion, instead out of practicality. When I joined journalism class, my confidence slowly returned. I felt as if my words did matter. To Ms. Conrad, Mrs. Henderson, Tim, and Aidan, thank you all for the amount of work and time you put into helping me throughout the past few years. Your dedication, and patience really lead me to pursue my passion for journalism in high school. Now, I will be attending University of Rhode Island, double majoring in political science and journalism, with a minor in economics. Without this program I am not sure I would be in the same spot I am now. 

Although my high school experience was nothing short of difficult, it was also a time of exponential growth for me. Looking back, I wouldn’t take anything back, because in the end I got to the place I wanted to be. As Mr. Callaghan always says “Once a ranger, always a ranger”! Thank you WHS. 🙂