From Silence to Strength
They say education opens doors but nobody tells you what it is like when all doors slam in your face. I had circled the world and walked into a new school, thinking that I was walking into opportunity. I walked instead into silence, stares, and isolation so loud it boomed in my chest. I thought that I was here to learn but I had no idea that the most important things that I learned would be the result of suffering, muscle, and visibility.
As I entered my first school as an immigrant, I was full of hope. I had come from the far side of the world, the first member in my family to attend school in America. It was as if I had stepped into an untouched page ready to take on a new language, new friendships, and a new life. I proudly wore my school uniform, two ponytails secured with shining red bows, believing I was about to enter the world of my childhood fantasies: decorative lockers, laughter, giggles and best friends at first sight. But what I learned was far from it. Novelty was followed by days. I was shortly thereafter a joke target. My accent, my clothes, my quiet everything I was new to them, and the new wasn't wanted. Students made fun of me as I walked down the hall, giggled when I spoke, pointed at the shoes on my feet.
Every evening, I came home with a knot in my stomach and tears I kept hidden from my parents. When they asked about school, I smiled and stated that I had missed my old friends. This hurt less than explaining the loneliness. I did not raise my hand in class. I did not try to make friends. I was learning to be invisible. And then, quite suddenly, something shifted quietly, without warning during lunch. I was sitting by myself, as I often am, when a woman from my own life came up and asked me why I seemed so miserable. Her voice was kind, but something in its tone hit a place that had been hurt for months. I did not reply. I did not need to. She simply understood. That moment someone observing, someone compassionate was the beginning of something I never expected to find: belonging. She brought me to two other females who, just like me, were looking for home. We shared the same nation, the same language, and the same weight of not belonging. We began to create a corner of trust, smiles, and learning together. I was no longer a stranger for the first time since we got here.
The next day's lessons were not learned from teachers or homework. They were learned through these friendships. They showed me how to be brave again. They taught me that compassion is a type of leadership. They assisted me in getting good grades in my classes not just for this but with happiness. I graduated with a 95 average that year, not because school somehow became easier, but because I had individuals who made me feel strong. My family would constantly remind me, "You can break one pencil easily, but not a pack of them." I now knew what they meant. Alone, I was breakable. Together, we were unbreakable. That ungraded education through culture, connection, and shared struggle was the most valuable part of my formation. I learned that identity is not something you defend by hiding. It's something you strengthen by embracing. I started to stand up in class. I helped others who were new. I walked into chances I previously was too afraid to try. That season of confusion and invisibility shaped my background and made me more empathetic, stronger, and more determined. Since I entered high school, I have had friends from diverse backgrounds, I play
leadership roles, and I make the most of every opportunity that comes my way. I no longer fit in by remaining silent. Instead, I stand out for who I am.
In conclusion, formal education provided me with the background I required. But it was informal education—the raw, unfiltered lessons of experience—that taught me how to live, how to lead, and how to uplift others with me. To all the isolated students in a new world, to all the immigrants who've been teased for what they wear and how they talk, know that you're not broken. You're becoming. The world may not always welcome you with open arms, but what you learn in those difficult, quiet moments will create in you a strength nobody can ever take from you. There is learning in all forms. Mine was written in tears, constructed through friends, and retyped in hope. And that learning is the learning that took me to where I am today not just a student but a survivor, a leader, and a believer in the strength of being seen.
