by Amerra BukhariIf someone were to ask me what New York City is? My answer would be a city full of different culture, people and languages, not the Empire State Building, Central Park or Times Square. These attractions might be what makes NYC an attractive city but it is the 8 million people who live her, make the city adventurous, enjoyable and breathtaking. I intern at the Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs – We Are New York. This program is designed to help 1.8 million immigrants whose English is limited. We Are New York is an Emmy award winning television show, it is a 10-episode series that centers around immigrants living in NYC. Through the episodes, they are able to learn how to get access to services such as: education, health, and employment. It also teaches them that they are not alone in this city and that there are many sources of help. This program is linked with organizations across the five boroughs where volunteer conversation group facilitators provide English language support. The conversation groups meet for 2 hours a day for ten weeks. I was placed at Queen Satellite High School for Opportunity, where they have a program called Pathways to Graduation, where students have the opportunity to get their high school equivalency diploma for the ages 18 – 21. I worked with 26 students every Friday from 9 – 11am. I was very nervous about my first day because I am not a person who stands up in front of large groups and teaches. The one thing that kept me going was that I was helping immigrants while being an immigrant myself. I once went through what they are now going through. My responsibility was to lead conversation groups with the students, show them the We Are New York episodes, go over the episodes and ask them questions. After that, I explained to them in detail what they saw because some students had trouble understanding what was being said. The students in the classroom were from India, Bangladesh and Haiti. When I introduced myself to the students, I told them that I, too was an immigrant and came from Pakistan and spoke Urdu. The students from India got excited because they were able to speak to me in Hindi and/or Punjabi, if they did not understand something I said in English. After the introductions, I felt a little more comfortable standing in front of the room. The fact the students were close to my age, made it even comforting. I was able to converse and help the students as if they were my friends or classmates. We would joke here and there, sometimes they would ask me things like how to open up a student bank account. There was one student Gurmail Singh, he asked if I had a student bank account and how I had opened it. I sat down and explained to him what he needed to bring with him to the bank, such as: a school identification card, social security card, a minimum deposit and a government issued identification card. Every Friday, I would go early to class, around 8:30am. The class would begin at 9am and I would set up for the morning with the in-class teacher Mr. Sanders. I would go over the lesson for the day with him, show him which episode I would be showing and the exercises I would have the students do. Mr. Sanders knew his students’ strengths and weaknesses well and would printout worksheets to address their educational needs. I would have them do the exercise that related to the episode of the day right before I showed the episode. I would ask them what the episode might be about and what would happen. During the viewing of the episode, I would have them take notes and pay close attention because they would be responsible for finishing the exercise afterwards. I would walk around, watching them do their work. The students were an eager bunch and loved getting their work checked. They would call me “Miss! I’m done” and I would go over to them and check it. But, there were some students who did not do their work and would talk to other students in the class. I would walk over to them and ask if they needed help because they weren’t doing their work. The majority of them did their work and were happy to call out the answers, then I would have to ask them to raise their hands. They often got very chatty and would talk across the room in their own languages. Mr. Sanders was very strict about talking across the room, especially in languages other than English. Sometimes, I would not understand what they would said and feel out of the loop, like Mr. Sanders does most of the time. I felt a personal connection with them because I am an immigrant as well and I understand their confusion in a new place. When I first came here, I didn’t know English and it like “blah blah blah blah” to me. I had teachers in my schools help me with and now I am able to help other immigrants. The number they remembered as most important was 311. If someone needed an interpreter for a school meeting or to find out information about high school or programs they were able to call that number. The funny part was when I went to say “you should always call-“they called out “311, yes we know”. I spent every Friday morning with them for ten weeks, so when it was time to hand out their certificates for completing the program, it was bittersweet. Working with these students made me want to do more work with immigrants in NYC. Immigrants are who make NYC a wonderful place to live in and create and recreate its cosmopolitan vitality.
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by Maksuder RahamanEvery day, every morning, as I exit the subway, there is one thing that I do. I am sure many New Yorkers can relate. What is it, you ask? Smoking cigarettes. Personally, my vice of choice is Marlboro Lights with a cup of regular coffee—my day is incomplete without my two friends and companions. As I walk to school, I think about and simply enjoy the pleasure derived from the taste of both coffee and tobacco, mixing and creating a new flavor that is unique to me. Some say addiction, but I say, it’s my prerogative. Most of my friends are smokers too. We smoke on a regular basis, and it seems there is no shortage of cigarettes, because if I don't have a cigarette, then my friend has one, if my friend doesn't have one, then there always someone else who has. Therefore we don't need to worry about it. But it wasn't always like that, because a few of my friends whom I have known for quite a few years weren't smokers when I met them for the first time. It was just a few of us, smoking, for quite some time. One of my closest friends didn't smoke 3 years ago, but that all changed once he met our friendship circle. He started to smoke with us, once or twice a day. Then he kind of started to like it, and then it became habit. Now he smokes even more cigarettes than we do, and he is really addicted to it. There is another friend who also didn't smoke a year ago. But last summer he started to smoke. It was not because he had to or anything. For him it started out as fun, because since most of his friends are smokers and it was summertime and we hung out late at night. It influenced him, and he was curious about what smoking feels like. In the beginning it started out as fun, and he smoked once a day. Now I see it's not just for fun with him. He has gotten used to it. Sometimes we make fun of him and remind him that he always used to say that he would never get used to smoking. He still claims that he is a not regular smoker, because he doesn't buy a pack of cigarettes. But I know that's not true. Even though he doesn't buy cigarettes, with large numbers of friends he doesn't need to buy the cigarettes to become a chain smoker. He always can borrow one or two cigarettes from us whenever he needs it. And end of the day, if we count how many cigarettes he smokes from here and there, it would mount up to more than me or other regular smoker friends. Most of the time we have bought our own packages of cigarettes, but for him it's kind of unlimited, because he can borrow from anyone whenever he wants to. He doesn't realized that he is now a regular heavy smoker, but I know that he is addicted, because that's how I started, and since then I couldn’t stop. I m not much of a talker outside of my comfort zone. That's why most my friends are fellow Bangladeshi and neighbors. As much as I like to talk to people and become friendly with others, outside of my comfort zone it's really difficult for me to socialize. That's why most of the time I just stay quiet or just listen to other people. It’s same for the college, where I don't have many friends, nor do I know many people. But there are some people who I used to hang out with, and there are few people I hang out with after school or between classes. I can socialize easily with these people because we all have one thing in common: we all are smokers. This socialization starts with a borrowed cigarette or lighter. Then we start to ask each other’s names, and then before we know it we begin to talk regular basis, and become friends. I’m not saying that people need to smoke to make friends, but for me it helped, because I am sure otherwise I wouldn’t be able to make friends in college. I think smoking is a habit that is, most of the time, influenced by the friends or people with whom you socialized. It doesn't start suddenly, one day when you wake up and decide to smoke. It's more that you observe or follow the people you hang out with. Then the next thing you know, you have also start to smoke, because you want to do what they do, share an activity and a moment in time and a space. Later people get so used to smoking cigarettes that they become physically addicted to it. On the other hand I think smoking also a form of sociability, because in my personal experience I have found that smoking lets people start a conversation with anyone, anywhere. You may be wondering what is the difference between smoking solo in the morning as I walk to school versus smoking in the evening with my friends after class—this question, I am still pondering….but what I know for sure, as of now, that I have to have a cigarette between my walks to and from school and the subway. Am I addicted to cigarettes or the routine and habit of smoking—I don’t know. But I know that after every meal I have to have a cigarette whether it’s breakfast, lunch or dinner; otherwise it doesn’t feel right. I also know that it releases my tension and give me peace of mind for a while. We all know smoking cigarettes is bad for our health. The purpose of my writing is not to encourage people to smoke. It’s just my personal experience. Perhaps that’s the same experience many other smokers I know have. Otherwise it’s difficult to explain why people smoke. Since I am Muslim some people many question the morality of smoking in religious point of view. I don’t know whether smoking cigarettes is allowed or not. But some Muslim people in my South East region say it’s allowed and some people say it’s not, because there is a lot of Muslim people smoke. I didn’t try to find out which one is true, because I think I am not ready to quit smoking yet. by Ummer AliDear World, You condemn my people on the basis of our religion. You search us at the airports on the basis of us having beards, or looking “too Muslim”. What does that even mean? Your definition of Islam is skewed by the media's manipulation, and by fear-mongering politicians who seek to profit from our misfortune. This letter was originally written in the immediate aftermath of the bombings which occurred in Chelsea on September 17th. That’s the original introduction you just read; it was a letter filled with rage and emotion, about how the United States government, in an effort to reduce terrorism, is effectively perpetuating Islamophobia and xenophobia. After letting the issue digest, and speaking about it to several different people, I decided to rewrite my letter, but in an effort to not lose emotion. As I did so I experienced a struggle. A struggle to be blunt but not to be depicted as the “angry Muslim,” because we know what kind of stereotypes come with that specific characterization. My father grew up in the countryside of Pakistan, and his mother still resides there. His father, my grandfather is buried there, and while I do not know of the man he was, I have heard stories that exemplify his kind nature. This area, much like a lot of Pakistan, is without clean running water or indoor plumbing, and is without electricity for up to 20 hours of the day. The livelihood of these people is built on grazing cattle, cutting grain and sugarcane, and driving trucks. Many people struggle to survive, and some die in worse poverty than anyone in the States has ever known. Beggars litter the city streets, store owners press people to buy their goods, chickens are locked up in cages waiting to be slaughtered and eaten, (but only as a luxury--meat is not a meal the rural Pakistani eats every day.) People are happy, but they dream. They dream of a better life, and one of the places that better life might happen is the United States. A lucky few, like my family, have been able to migrate here. For those lucky enough to reach the U.S., recent actions by a select few individuals, claiming to speak for Islam, have instilled a fear within my people, my fellow Pakistani immigrants. Taxi drivers are scared to stop in the wrong places, families are afraid to speak Arabic and Punjabi in public, fear being kicked off airplanes as terrorists. Children in school named Mohammed are shortening their names to Moe, while Ahmeds are asking to be called by their last names. I have personally witnessed co-workers of mine refusing to show up for work out of fear of a backlash over the recent attacks. They did not want to be targeted. Justice is dead in the United States, replaced by a regime of injustice and repression. Bullshit. I’m tired of Islam being terrorized. I’m tired of mosques advocating for their members “to be vigilant, to be careful.” An uncle of mine often says that we Muslims are the windows through which the rest of the U.S. views Islam He says that if we show them we are good, they will see us as good. I’m tired of that not working, I’m tired of the window always being clouded by the rain of extremism, by the clouds of a select few individuals. I hurt from all the pain, my mind and soul ache from all the turmoil, genocide, and atrocities occurring in Palestine, in Syria, in Pakistan, in Colombia, in South America, everywhere there is struggle. My heart aches and cries out for resolution. As I walk on the train carrying my gym bag, I see a sign that says “If you see something, say something.” I wonder if people “see” anything when they see me? The fear grips me, and sends me into panic. What if I’m racially profiled? What if they claim I’m a terrorist? I wear my beard proudly, but it identifies me along with my general appearance, for a beard on a Muslim is something that elevates some people’s heart rate. I fear for my sisters in the hijab. Many of you wear this proudly, but hate crimes are rising. My appearance is not wholly defined--maybe someone will think I’m Indian--but you can’t mistake a hijab. I fear for the sexism, and Islamophobia that all this brings on to you, and I am amazed by your strength and it drives me through my pain every day. You are my inspiration, and you, you my sisters are warriors. The faith of many is tested in this context. If there really is a God, how is he letting this happen to his people? God is testing us, but God--I was never good in school--so please help. How can you just watch your people’s lives be ruined, and do nothing? Why don’t you step down and help us? Why can’t you make yourself known? What happened to you, oh great one? Step down here with your people and make a stand! It feels as if we are insects trying to fistfight God into action, and God stamps our pleas with a mighty slam of his foot. But we still breathe. We still act, we still fight for change, we try to pull the curtain back, to say look! Look! See what they’re doing? We can change this but we need help. This is not about me vs. you, about Christianity vs. Islam, about Black vs. White, but instead it’s about hate and selfishness vs. freedom and the right to live. I’m just so tired. I am full of emotion, and just pain. I am overwhelmed by grief and heartache. I reflected on the original article, and thought that maybe, just maybe I would feel differently after a while. My heart is still heavy with emotion, and my mind is a maze with no solution. People stop believing in monsters after a while but that’s because they find monsters around them. The media, and the United States are creating monsters that are hiding in the closets of your mind. And yet, the “monsters” fear you. by Erick GarciaYou are in the mood to socialize with and talk to a friend of yours, but what you want to talk about with this friend is simply too important to put into a text message. So instead of messaging them, you decide to call them. You call, the phone just keeps on ringing, and ultimately, your friend doesn’t answer. But right as the phone stops ringing, your friend texts you right back and says, “Hey! What’s up?” Maybe you’re thinking to yourself that your friend just missed your call and you think nothing of it. But then what if every time you called to talk to him or her, you get the exact same result and instead of picking up, he or she just ignores the call and instead texts you back? I’d like to think your immediate response would be, “Why won’t he or she talk to me?” The answer to this question is that some people find the act of verbal communication over the phone a strange, tedious, and overall irritating experience! However, I’d like to offer some insight as to why it’s important to give phone calls a little more consideration. When I asked people why they didn’t like talking over the phone, they have told me it’s usually because they find the experience to be an awkward one and because they don’t feel as if there’s anything to say. Additionally, they find the lack of facial cues and body language disturbing. They see phone calls as “rude.” While I can say I respect those reasons for not wanting to accept a phone call, I’d like to counteract some of these arguments most people nowadays make for not accepting phone calls. First of all, what is there to be afraid of? I can certainly understand if someone says that a phone call is an awkward experience when talking to someone he or she doesn’t know, but if it’s a friend calling, what is there to be weirded-out by? This person is someone that you know well enough to feel comfortable talking with, so why be afraid to talk to them over the phone? This brings me to my second counterargument: the lack of facial cues and body language. Sure, not being able to see the person you’re talking with in front of you can be a bit strange, but here’s the thing: you can still hear the other person’s voice! The human voice is made to express emotions such as happiness, shock, surprise, disgust, anger, and so on! Even if you can’t see who you’re talking to face to face, you’re still getting a sense of how they are reacting to what you’re saying, and this in turn should make it easier to keep the conversation going, because you are talking to them as if they were right there in front of you! As for the argument that phone calls are rude, I’d like to disagree: a phone call nowadays is possibly even more personal than a text message. The reason I personally think that a phone call is more personal is because a phone call now is a rare occurrence, especially if it’s a call from friends or family. Some people say it’s rude to get a phone call because it’s like the caller is saying “I’m more important than anything you’re doing right now.” I say that getting a phone call from someone is their way of telling me that even though they have a lot going on, they are going out of their way to talk to me and are expressing a desire to hear my voice. They don’t have to call me to talk to me, but they want to, and therefore, they want to establish a human connection with me instead of sticking to the technological norm that is texting. For a while I wondered if I was alone in holding these views in defense of phone calls. But then my best friend Lisa, and I had a conversation about precisely this. To my surprise, I found that she felt the same way I did about phone calls, particularly because she has fallen victim to the very scenario described in the beginning of this article. Every once in a while she would call a friend to talk to them, only to be ignored and instead receive a text from her friend not even a minute after she had called. When I asked for her honest opinion on phone calls, she told me that talking over the phone is important because she believes that a lot of the connection and emotion we have with people gets lost in translation through texting. While she agrees with me that being able to see someone’s facial cues and body language during a conversation is great, she also agrees with me that talking over the phone is the next best thing because the emotion in the other person’s voice compensates for the lack of their physical presence. Therefore, the human aspect of communication is still being preserved! Lisa believes that even though the use of emojis and texts are fun, they will never be the same as talking over the phone. Additionally, Lisa pointed out something that I hadn’t thought about before, and that is that a lot of arguments and misunderstandings could be avoided if people just called each other instead. This certainly got me thinking, and I’m sure now you are too! Maybe this article won’t be enough to sway your opinion on phone calls, but at least I hope I inspired you to think twice the next time someone calls you, especially if that someone is someone near and dear. Take a risk, answer the call, and above all, remember that wherever the conversation goes is up to you! by Joey ButtsI just got off work. I have a paper due tomorrow, but there are things I have to do before I start it. I have to clear my head, make some time for myself so I can focus on the paper when the deadline starts to become worrisome. I grab my board and push toward the infamous Lenox Ledges in Harlem. I coast down the hill, starting on 110th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. No headphones. The sound of my wheels and broken bearings on the street put me at ease. While to other bystanders, might sound like the noise of a deviant kid. I skate there for about an hour, mostly bailing on tricks that I think I can one day land, meeting up with all the local kids that have learned my name, and I theirs. We go to Marcus Garvey Park, to end the session. Then I push home, to start the rest of my night. The sense of community that skateboarding has brought, is actually remarkable. In cities like New York especially, it is great to be a part of. However there are ways that it is being ripped apart, and being exploited for things that it is, and things that it is not. Skateboarding goes through phases of being popular, and not so popular. Kids in grade school 15 years ago were not appreciated, and much ignored. But today, they seem to be on the rise. There is a new found sense of acceptance with the act. For better, but really for worse, skateboarding is now in the Olympics. It is now a culture that non-skateboarders want to be a part of. This alone is dividing the community that exists between us. The very-much-not-affiliated-with-skateboarding-magazine Vogue, recently dedicated a week to skateboarding and what they saw as its culture. With articles titled “An Ode to Great Skater Hair” and “Here’s How to Do Skater Style Like a Model”, they tried to discuss aspects of skateboarding. This was probably the worst thing to happen to skateboarding since the 2003 movie Grind. Skateboarding has become simply a style. People are not realizing the true essence that it brings. A magazine like Vogue puts the culture of skateboarding in the wrong hands. It takes brands that they say are relevant, and promotes them for use in all things other than skateboarding. It is the war of essence versus style in the world of skateboarding. It is not that skateboarders don’t want their world to expand. They want it to be as big and popular as possible, without harming what it really is. The bigger skateboarding becomes, the easier it will be to do. You’ll find more parks and skate-friendly plazas, so you can stop worrying about getting kicked out or receiving a court summons. With its exploitation, it is actually making skateboarding more accepted, in a way. Preserving the essence of skating is the main goal. A skateboarders fear is walking down the street and being called a poser by other skaters. So many people have “stolen" the style of skateboarding, that it causes anxiety in actually skateboarders. They don’t want their image being used for something it was not intended for. Skateboard clothing was made for skateboarders. It has a raw, abstract appeal in terms of appearance. It fits loose, (in most cases; but go to L.A. and you’ll see a bunch of guys ripping in skinny jeans) so they can push easily down the streets or parks of New York. The creator of the world famous skateboarding magazine entitled Thrasher, Jake Phelps recently saw photos of celebrities that have no connection with the mag and told a reporter that he really wishes they wouldn’t wear it. Like most companies and businesses, Thrasher offers apparel for people to feel affiliated with the brand of magazine. It is supposed to connect the culture of skateboarding and skateboarders all over. When these people wear the clothing, he said it makes Thrasher seem less than what it really is. He was quoted in an article on hypebeast.com saying that “We don’t send boxes [of Thrasher apparel] to Justin Bieber or Rihanna or those fucking clowns.” Boxes are what Jake Phelps might send to young kids, or even adults who demonstrate a passion for skateboarding. People like Phelps are advocates for protecting skateboard culture. Phelps is among countless other skateboarders who try to conserve the essence. The kind of people that Phelps doesn’t want to be wearing Thrasher hoodies are the ones who are riding longboards and hoverboards. I write about how people have gone on to steal the trends of skateboarding and take it for their own. But I don’t let that stop me from taking my board and pushing to any of my destinations. They might wear the clothes that skateboarders endorse, but they will never know the satisfaction that we get when we speed down a hill, when we tailslide a ledge, or when we just do the most basic kickflip on flat ground. It is the essence of the culture that we don’t want to lose, or change for that matter. To have your passion flooded by those who don’t appreciate it for what it is, is the fear. by Leslie RomanHave you ever felt like you’re getting old? Is your creativity less than how it once was? Do you still laugh when you see someone fall? Or do you accept the behavior of teens today? There are many questions we need to ask ourselves as we get older. My friends, I hate to break it to you but we have flown out of Neverland. It is time to realize the harsh and undeniable reality of “Growing Up”. I remember the times when I use to cry for silly things that people tried to tell me not to worry about. It was simple things like not having a lot of friends, not being able to dye my hair or have that bar piercing like other girls, or even to have the same clothes--better yet the same brand --everyone was wearing. Not being able to go the “big party” that everyone at school was going to. These moments in my life, or even in your life, are no longer necessary to be or become who you are. As we have gotten older, we have to realize that those things were a waste of time. Our younger selves spent time on things that should not have mattered, but because we were pre-teens and adolescents we focused more on our images and on how we wanted to appear in front of others. [Now, I can’t believe it.] We were so quick to judge someone without even knowing them, and believed everything anyone would say about them. This one thing would never change, even though we tried to. Nevertheless, who can forget that one group of people who were “cool”, Facebook-famous, or how AIM and Myspace was the trend back then. You wished to be in the clique, or even tried to be in it. It gave a sense of power, a sense of unity, and a sense of respect. To have your own posse was to get many people to know who you were, where you came from, and to understand that you couldn’t be bullied by anyone else. Sometimes it came to the point that, during these moments of childhood, a friend would leave their dearest friend[s] to become someone they were not. I know from personal experience that it hurts to see someone you cared so deeply about, shared secrets no one knew, and had a bunch of laughs with, go and leave you just to become one of them. Now as we become older, and turn into adults, we realize we have been so naïve. With this new mentality, we can actually laugh about it. But there are those whose laughter hides the real pain that may still be within their hearts. Just because someone gets older and “wiser”, does not mean they forget the past. Yes, we have learned the typical ideas--to forgive is to forget, to forgive but not to forget, and how a grudge can affect a person. However, even as we get older, there is still forgiveness to be accomplished. It is not easy. There are places, objects, people and words that trigger memories of a time that life was not so great. As we have gotten older, we realize that life goes on and if you hold onto something that is “petty”, the only one who still holds onto it is you. Ninety percent of us remember only the bad events in our lives, not the good ones. Along with creativity, it is frustrating to realize that you are running out of ideas. The other day I was remembering how I had so many ideas for nail art. This was a hobby of mine. I like all sorts of colors, so I was experimenting with which color goes with what; the designs I had envisioned were put into practice; I even had the necessary tools like the dotting tool, acrylic liquid and powder. The point is that I was very creative at that point in my life. However, now I am college student, this hobby of mind ceases to exist. Nevertheless, I am rejecting that thought that my creativity is lessening. I should not accept this reality, and neither should you. This tortures my mind because I guess I do not want to lose that piece of my life that makes up who I am. Nonetheless, I believe that my generation and this generation are completely different. The image, appearance, friendships, and relationships are always going to be factors of the stage of adolescents. I see the way teenagers now get on buses and trains, cursing, making a lot noise. This is usual. One can automatically assume that they are probably in their first year of high school, or sophomores. When I look at them now, I get annoyed, and frustrated. Why is that? We use to be their age, and have conversations on the trains or buses, and be loud. (Well, at least I was not loud or cursing.) Yet I know deep down I crave to be like them again. I guess their presence, and energy, and youthfulness is the luxury I get to encounter. In the back of my mind, I wish I were 15 again. The years have gone by quick, and we think to ourselves that we feel as though we graduated from high school not so long ago. With this new mentality of getting older, we have to realize that we can no longer be taken care of like before. Our mothers will not be giving us breakfast when we wake up, doing our beds, buying our clothes, or even paying the rent. Our fathers will not be the only men in our lives because we might get married. Our brothers and sisters can take care of us but we must hold up our own ends. Everybody says now, “You can take care of yourself” and we agree—even if it’s painful. To grow up is to realize childish things and know your mistakes, to not judge someone too quickly, to learn how to forgive. And yes, we must still admire youthfulness even as we leave it. |
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