The Life of a Teenager of Racial Minority Living in Western Society

"Crap." The alarm rings when the clock strikes 6:20 and then starts another day, identical to every other one that's just passed. I try to remember what day it is hoping it's the weekend so I won't have to go there, and then it comes to me, it's Tuesday. "Great," I think, "another day going to hell."

I get out of bed, look in the washroom mirror, my hair a mess and the never-ending acne. I almost smile honestly, puberty is annoying but can equally be just as amusing depending on how you look at it. The crazy mood swings and to make them worse when your parents come at you and you're like this ticking time bomb just mere seconds remaining before the explosion happens, but you hold it in, and instead of everyone else experiencing the pain, you do, but it isn't the first, you're used to it by now anyway, you've become numb to it. And then there are the hideous negative body image days, bloated, puffy skin, swollen under eyes, stomach as big as a balloon and please let's not get on to how your favourite pair of pants just automatically make you look 2 sizes too big.

Heck, who cares anyway. I walk back to my room post the hygiene routine and I start pondering. And before I know it, I'm weeping because the truth is I'm tired of wearing this mask every second of every day of my life pretending that I'm OK when I'm not. It's tiring putting up a face to the world when the only person who knows your true self is you. Having to be your own coach, your motivator, your worst critique, your best friend, you become your entire world and it sounds selfish but is it really when you're the only one there for you? And after all the questioning I feel like a slight amount of weight has been lifted off my chest.

I check the time, it's 7:02 am. I have to be out by 7:30 to catch the bus and still have to journal. When the only person listening to your problems is you, you need to let the crap out somewhere, writing does that for me. And so I start, writing about how I think the day will go, how I hope it's not the worst, how I'm going to dodge homework (I am an A student, but I'd rather make my life than do hours of homework) and fit in a workout to stay sane, about aspirations and what I want my life to be like (I'm a self-growth geek). I sign off the entry by writing the time, 7:17 am.

Now, this is what I call my last-minute sprint, I change, eat breakfast, put on my hijab, pack my bag, get out of the door and catch the bus all in a matter of fewer than 15 minutes. I'm not late, for someone normal I might be, but this is how I work, I leave school off to the very last minute, why wouldn't you if school for you was like mine? It happens every day and yet somehow I never have to run to catch the bus.

"Good Morning," the bus driver says. "Good Morning" I respond walking towards a seat. I look out to the autumn sky, it's beautiful, and instead of lightening me up, it just reminds me more of my problems. I think about my life, how far I've come, it makes me feel better about the present. Thoughts of Middle School cross my mind, friends, enemies, embarrassing moments, it all makes me smile. And as soon as my spirits are lifted, the sight of the three-story half-century-old structure appears before my eyes. I get out, take my brother's side and we walk to our usual spot.

15 minutes until we're let in, the suspense kills. Every minute feels like an hour and we're finally let in. Civics is my morning class, it's nearby and I'm always the first one in. And if the outside waiting wasn't enough, I have to wait another 15 min until class started, so I take out my Chromebook and start working on the second-period class.

After the anthem, and an extra 20 minutes more of waiting, the teacher finally greets us with a group assignment, where we chose our partners. Whenever I hear those words from a teacher, it means in simple words I'll be alone, this isn't the first time it's happened, but the way this time went, is one I can't forget.

Everyone moves their seats to sit next to their friends, and I sit there, looking at the projector screen, while my teacher frantically goes to each group begging to let me in, and everyone says no. That, its what kills. When you're alone, and no one wants to be with you, and you start questioning your sanity, but the thing is I was frozen, stunned, I didn't know what I was feeling. I was officially broken. And so I sat, for what felt like an eternity, all eyes on me, and finally, a group is forced to take me in. Before the teacher walks away she points her finger to her head and says to the girls "she's got the brains". As if them knowing I'm smart will make them accept me.

I join them, but I'm quiet. A time comes when your personality feels so shunned, that the paradigms and beliefs people hold about you feel so overwhelming, that psychologically you start acting as everyone thinks you are. The quiet, weak, lonely hijabi.

I walk into the second period ruined. But the face of my teacher lightens my day the slightest, he gets me and lets me be. Like this slightest bit of liberty, I wish all classes were like AP classes. It's biology, and we have lab work, with partners.

I gain some courage and ask a group to join them. But the girl says she's almost done the lab. She wasn't lying or being rude, but it stung. I couldn't help but relate to what happened this morning. It hurt, and I didn't have the strength to go and ask anyone else. So I went up to the teacher, told him I didn't have a group, and he suggested he put me with some group, and it was like through my mask, only seeing my eyes he could see right through me, he read the pain in them and took his statement right back. He said I could work by myself if I wanted, and that's exactly what I did.

I stood in the back, pretending to work on the worksheet even long after I was finished it, while everyone was gathered around their microscopes with their partners. And with a half-hour remaining in class, I rush to an empty microscope I could find and got working, I was the last one finished. As the bell rang, I waved bye to my teacher, his eyes pierced through me again and I return home covered in wounds.