What’s in a name?

  The first time I realized I was different was in the 2^nd grade: while the rest of my classmates looked forward to having substitute teachers, I absolutely dreaded it.

   Each time the substitute would stand in front of the class and begin to read names off the roll call list, I’d become anxious.

   You see, my name was the only one that he or she had trouble pronouncing. My peers had easy and beautiful American names like Kaitlyn and Julia, while mine was weird and unusual.

   From the beginning, I was embarrassed about being unique and not possessing the typical features my peers had: easy names, light eyes, pale skin and that all-American look. I was even embarrassed about being bilingual, and I’d deny being able to speak Farsi whenever a teacher or friend would ask.

   I hated the fact that my life couldn’t be a carbon copy of the lives of the people I was surrounded with.

   After September 11^th, 2001, my fears of revealing my nationality grew significantly. Although the terrorists weren’t from Iran, students constantly made ignorant racial remarks towards me.

   My olive skin and black hair revealed my cultural identity, so I began to work hard at hiding my features. I dyed my hair platinum blonde and disconnected myself from being Persian for years.

   But this last summer was the Iranian election for president, and I was so hopeful that the country would finally get an opportunity of freedom with a new leader and regime. Unfortunately, the election turned out to be fraudulent with several votes’ uncounted, causing havoc on the streets.

   At this point, I knew I had to take a stance. My friends and I made posters and protested on the streets of Sacramento, hoping to have our voices heard.

   I stayed up throughout the nights worrying about my family’s safety overseas. The Iranian government shut off all means of communication and wasn’t allowing American journalists to enter the country, so I had no clue how the situation was going.

   Although the experience was painful, I came to the realization that it was the first time that I truly felt ready to stand up for my background and heritage.

   And after 17 years of living as an Iranian, sometimes accepting my culture and sometimes not, I can finally say that I am 100 percent proud of the person I am, inside and out.

   I can finally say that I love the color of my hair and the color of my skin, and I love my Middle-Eastern features that set me apart.

   And believe it or not, I even love when substitute teachers pronounce my name wrong, because I can finally embrace the fact that it’s unique.