It was the usual evening walk. Down towards Castro Street, Mountain View and back home with my dad. As we neared Castro we heard a lot of honking, and my father was quick to compare it to Bangladesh and I said it resembled New York, where I had just visited earlier in the summer and wished I could live in the NYU dorms. Still baffled, we came to the crossing and saw police cars waiting and driving around the area so we observed and saw a protest taking place. The American flags were waving high and banners were being carried.
“Dad we have to go! Please!”I pleaded to my father to let me go. My father, also eager to join, decided we can go with the demonstration. I kept an ear out, listening to see what exactly was being protested. I scanned the crowd and I smiled as I saw older generations some with children and some with grey hair walking in the march. I knew this was not just a battle that the young were fighting. The old generation gave me hope.
We were in the back of the crowd where a wonderful lady was leading the group in songs. I looked around and heard the echoed slogan of 2017: “Love Trumps Hate”. Even though I knew that not all white people are against immigrants, it felt more real seeing them welcome anyone into the march with open arms. The media has set such a fear inside us all that we let it get the best of us.
We gathered in front of the theatre center in Castro and I slowly seeped my way through to the front. The daylight had faded, illuminating all the wishful candles. The dark is funny like that. Even though our eyes lose their vision, our hearts open up as though we are all standing there with the heart of a young baby beating strong and healthy. We beat as one in our songs. Our hearts were pure and stood with open arms as though it had never felt pain and only ever known love. As though those sixty eight years had no scars just like the child holding a candle in its stroller. We were one.
“This little light of mine”
Today could not have been filled with more fate. I had been talking about going to protests ever since the current president had been sworn in back in January. I have cried so many tears over the heartless bans and violent actions that have been committed in the past eight months. What happened next was never part of my plan, for all I knew was that the lady in the middle had organized this. After three people spoke I thought the demonstration was finished, so I decided to approach the lady to gather more information of future protests and how I could participate. I started to cross over and all of a sudden an older lady says go ahead and speak. The organizer turned around and said the stage is yours. Now in that moment I thought. I could walk away or I could take this opportunity. I think part of me deep down wanted to speak tonight. Every time I saw these protests on TV, I always thought what I would have said if I had that megaphone.
Tonight, however, my voice was all I had. Without hesitation I decided to speak. I did not even turn to look at my father as the first thing that came to my mind was how thankful I was that for some reason I was able to stumble upon a protest that I could participate in.
I checked to see if everyone could hear me as I started. I moved here four years ago from Europe. I may not have an American citizenship, but boy have I never been prouder to say that I live in this country. I spoke of how welcomed it made me feel as an immigrant and as a person of color to see a crowd supporting me. I went on to talk about my parents who could not get married due to their different religions. My mother being Hindu and my father a Muslim. Neither converted nor would ever ask the other too. Instead I grew up in a home where I was never labeled either, in fact I even went to church.
To see an actual crowd standing in front of you knowing that they support your rights and believe that you are equal to others and deserve to be treated as such is unlike any other feeling.
I was not shaking. I was buzzing.All throughout my body came an energy that I had not felt before. I felt as though this is where I was meant to be. This is what I was meant to do. At the age of fifteen, nearly sixteen, I do not want to waste my life and time. I can now happily say that I did not sit back and watch. I played my part, however small that may have been. I have never felt more in my element than that very moment in front of that crowd. Tonight, hundreds of other demonstrations took place across the country in response to the tragedy in Charlottesville, Virginia. Today, we saw truly how love can bring us together.
As people were listening, I saw the kindness in people's hearts as they lit up each other's candles. Although this may seem like common courtesy, I see it as a symbol for the good in our world. Nobody's light will get any dimmer by lighting up another’s light. The pure simplistic act of lighting up each other’s hope is what drove me to speak. I was shorter than most of the crowd and my father was out of sight, but that did not intimidate me for one second because all I knew was that I wanted to say thank you.
Politics have become an important part of my life as I someday hope to work in that field and do my part and help the people the best way that I can. Today I felt a little bit of that. After I was done a kind woman came up to me and handed me her candle and said she wanted me to keep this. I walked with it all the way home still glowing and lighting my path. I looked up at the stars and wondered how I, an immigrant young girl who happened to stumble onto the stage, spoke without feeling fear to a big crowd. Another lady told me that I would go places and so many people came forth and expressed how amazed they were to see a young girl speak. I could barely believe it myself. This was after all my first protest. I heard a woman say that I would end up in congress and that I was like Obama. Two other woman came up to me and told me how they had gotten pessimistic about the political atmosphere but seeing me gave them hope that they are passing the world on to safe hands. The sixty eight year old lady told me that she was also fifteen when she first started out and that she was sure we would meet again. Little did they know that they were the ones inspiring me since they are fighting for a better future not for themselves, but for me.
Earlier today I was telling my dad that in history class we always talk about what we would have done if we lived back then. The truth is most of us would not do much, in fact many of us would have done nothing. I told my dad that I needed to participate in protests because I can not live with myself if in fifty years children will be learning about today and saying how they would have protested and knowing that I, who lived then, had done nothing. I may be just fifteen, but that is no excuse for me not to help. Now my heart is at ease knowing that in fifty years I can tell my future family and friends of how I started my career in standing up in the face of fear, hate and injustice.