I know what it feels like to be different. I have always struggled when asked the question, "What are you?" and having to provide a long winded explanation of who I am. My skin color hides so much of my identity. I have chocolate brown skin, which leads to the assumption that I am Indian, which I am not. My very being is inconspicuous, a mixture of cultures and backgrounds that have come together to make me. My father, born and raised in Kenya, and my mother, a survivor of civil war in Sri Lanka, created me. Both of my parents came from difficult backgrounds. My father worked three jobs to make ends meet; my mother always seeking out ways to ease burdens on my father. They made the perilous sacrifice of leaving their lives behind, and leaving their respective countries for the United States after only knowing each other for a couple of months.They worked hard, fighting each day to provide my brother and I with a better life, but we struggled. My parents hid our problems, but I could see through the cloak. Through soft whispers and silent glances, I was able to piece our story together. I never mentioned our financial situation, but I was aware of it. Most kids would beg to grab candy or toys at the store, while I would sit quietly on the shopping cart, undemanding. As I grew older, our financial situation became much more favorable. However, I still see the impact of those experiences on my parents. It changed the way they saw the world, and by effect, changed how I saw the world too. The support we were provided during financial destitution remains fresh in my mind, and I have sought to assist those fields of assistance. This time, I can give. I have been an active volunteer at food pantries for years now, packing boxes and providing support to those who need it. I have run food and clothing drives at my high school, collecting boxes full of meals that can help people make it through the day. Those small practices have allowed me to give back to others. To me, being aware and understanding towards other people’s experiences is the most important thing someone can do. We all have a different story, but by being empathetic towards others, we can work to create equality. Our differences turn us into better people, and in turn, it allows us to create a better world.

I used to hate running. During the summer of my seventh grade, my mother decided to scare me with some news: “We’re signing you up for cross country!” To my horror, she actually went through with it. I had no idea what to expect, only knowing that I was going to be running- a lot. I wasn’t the only one forced to join, and I found others to run with. Practices were rough. As someone who had never played a sport, running for even 10 minutes felt like I was submerged in quicksand. And yet, I stuck with it. The feeling of being surrounded by others, the encouragement from the crowd, and the endorphins after finishing? That was what kept me going. The summer of seventh grade, everything went to chaos. Covid shut down my world, but there was one thing I could still do: run. When everything felt lost, all I had to do was lace up my shoes to find some peace. Those strides kept me going. And I continued to run. 8th grade went. And then came high school- the place of adolescence, nerves, and growth. And, boy, did I grow. The first day of summer camp, I walked into a room of girls who were older, taller, and more in shape than me. I was terrified. Being one of only two non-white girls on the team, I wondered, “Do I belong here?” I clung to my friend for reassurance, but that practice was unlike anything I had experienced before. We ran six miles that first day- the most I had ever run. I went home that night, wondering if I could do this. But I went back. Again, again, and again. With each practice, I got faster, healthier, and more confident. Seeing what my body could do made me believe I could take on more than I ever thought possible. Going into my sophomore year, I had begun wearing a hijab. No one on my team wore one, and I had no idea what I was doing. So, I researched. Through trial and error, I figured out how to balance my modesty and my academic performance. I am proud to say that I have run cross country and track for three years while also wearing a hijab, and being the only African woman on my cross country team. It was hard to be different, but putting myself in a space that pushed me allowed me to grow and become a leader both on and off the track. Feeling like you don’t belong is hard, but one of the core goals I have made for myself is to focus on making sure no one feels that way. I have worked to become friends with other girls, not just their teammates. During summer camp this year, there was an underclassman who was incredibly quiet. She was new to the team, and clearly nervous about all of the expectations. After a run, I decided to pull her into a group conversation, and months later, she has found her place on this team. Simple actions- like inviting someone into a conversation- creates strong bonds. I want them to feel like they have someone to go to whenever they need anything. Because to me, being a leader isn’t just about being a good athlete, it’s also about being a good person. No matter what someones time, pace, or background is, I want to make sure that everyone can gain the same feeling of belonging that I have received on my own team. Thank you.

When I was 8 years old, our class was given an assignment: find the meaning of your name. Before then, I had never really thought about my name. Sure, I had written it out thousands of times, but I hadn’t considered any particular meaning to “Arwa.” With no clue, I turned to Google. Merriam Webster offered two origins: a classical symbolism for mountain goats, and Queen Arwa of Yemen. Ignoring the former definition, I decided to refer to myself as a queen for the rest of the day. It was just one day, but it has always been my connection to the past. Queen Arwa of Yemen was born in 1048, during a time when the world was dominated by a patriarchal system. Arwa defied these norms. She was adopted by the ruling elite after being orphaned. Exposed to the political atmosphere, she thrived. After her husband- the ruler Al- Mukarram Ahmad- passed away from battle wounds, Queen Arwa took power, not as a mere consort, but as the de facto ruler. One of the most admirable aspects of Queen Arwa’s reign was her ability to command respect in a male- dominated society. She moved the capital of Yemen to Jibla, turning it into a political and cultural sphere of influence, established effective international relationships, and balanced religious responsibilities. Her reign was also defined by her commitment to the welfare of her people. She was known for her fair approach to governance, consulting advisors before taking action. Under her leadership, Yemen thrived. She built a grand mosque that still stands today—a symbol of her lasting legacy. As someone who has always had a passion for politics, her impact gives me hope. In the United States, white men have dictated the rules for hundreds of years. Even today, the highest levels of government and law are predominantly male- dominated. While many of these leaders are capable of representing their people, many voices still lack representation. Queen Arwa shows us that it doesn't have to be that way. Women have as much of an ability to lead as men do. As a young Muslim woman, seeing an admirable historical leader of my background gives me the confidence to be a leader too. I want to work in politics or law to change the world in my own way. Just like Queen Arwa, I want others to be positively impacted by my actions. Her name is a daily reminder of who I can be. I wasn’t just given her name, I was given her legacy and the potential to achieve her greatness. Every time I write my name, I carry her story. She was willing to break through barriers in society, and in turn, has inspired me to do the same in the face of America’s underrepresentation.