Because of Her Almond Eyes

Christina (both 7th grade and present day)

Today, I ruthlessly purged my bookshelves, and amidst the memories and the junk, I found some gems from when I was younger. The most significant being a writing journal that I used to document my daily life in. In it, I found an old story of mine that just utterly broke my heart.

It was by my 7th grade self, titled Almond Eyes.

Prologue

In middle school, every aspect of life is a big deal, especially being popular. The first thing people remember about you is the “group” you are in. Does it matter what your name is or what classes you are in anymore? I don’t know.

Chapter 1

The beginning of my story starts in a small, smelly closet with some broken chairs. It was the interview to get into leadership. Leadership: the name itself demands attention. A couple of other kids were in there as well, but they seemed insignificant at the time except for one girl. She sat there picking at her perfectly manicured nails completely undaunted while the rest of us were nervously shaking and twitching from time to time. The interview ended up just being some simple questions, and as soon as it began, it ended.

Chapter 2

Over the summer, I anxiously waited for the letter that could make or break my high hopes: the leadership admission letter. I checked our mailbox everyday crossing my fingers, but it still wasn’t there. 

One day, I finally received it. Slowly and cautiously, I opened the envelope as I held my breath until I finally saw the word “Congratulations!” I had made it in!

Chapter 3

It’s the first day of school, 5th period to be exact: my leadership class. As I sat in a seat in the back, I noticed that I did not know anyone in this class, so I was alone. Just great. Also, the undaunted girl from the interview had made it in too, but unlike me, she was surrounded by friends. That day, I realized her name was Victoria, but everyone called her Viki.

Chapter 4

Somehow, seemingly magically, the only four 7th grade girls sat together and talked. I was one of the four. Isabel and Tascha were two close friends, and Viki was everyone’s friend which left me to be remembered as the lonely Asian, the one with small almond-shaped eyes.

Not surprisingly, we barely had anything in common, so our conversations lasted for about five to ten seconds at the most. Obviously, Isabel and Tascha stuck together, so Viki and I sat next to each other.

Chapter 5

Hold on! The most popular girl at the school was sitting next to me! Without a doubt, this started several rumors about me including that I was just a book-smart Asian. Who cares though; all that mattered to me was that people knew who I was.

While there’s definitely more to this story, I stopped writing it down. Although if I had written it, it would go something like this:

In leadership, the teachers would try to develop skills like teamwork and collaboration, so naturally, every day, we had to get into groups of two to three. The thing is, I was always excluded on purpose. I was treated with little respect as the other girls would pick on me for my Asian ethnicity, especially my yellow-tinted skin and my single-eyelids, and would tell me remarks like “Go to hell” when I asked to join them. I later learned to defend myself from these snarky comments by responding with equally caustic remarks like "I'll meet you there" or avoiding them all together, but in the moment, I felt stripped of my dignity, totally humiliated.

As a young seventh grader, I was ashamed that I was the victim of bullying because I felt like it was my fault that I didn’t fit in. Sometimes, I would even shed tears over the events that unfolded in class. Thus, I hoped that if I didn’t record it in my journal, then it would be erased from my memory as well.

But now, looking back as an incoming senior in high school, I’m not only horrified by the bullies’ audacity to reduce someone down to nothing, but I’m also saddened by the fact that I didn’t stand up for myself and realize my self worth. There were so many solutions to this issue like alerting the teacher or simply finding new friends, but instead, I was preoccupied with fitting in and gaining their approval as validation for my own worth. Today, my heart aches for the girl who cared more about her popularity than her satisfaction. It aches for the girl who didn’t speak up because her voice was overpowered by others. It aches for the girl whose wasted tears fell upon her cheeks.

But, at least, something positive came out of it. The girl, who emerged after the storm, battered by the experience, but still standing tall, is independent, strong, and worthy, and I’m proud to say that she is the person I have managed to become.

** Attached below are the handwritten pages from the original manuscript by my 7th grade self.