By Ana
I walk into the reception area where officers and handcuffed criminals wait. I hear whispers: “Who is she?” “She is the intern.” My stomach tightens. “How old is she?” “She is twelve!” A handcuffed man asks me curiously, “How old are you?” I reply, “I am sixteen.” Walking away, I hear a rowdy “Ohhhh, No Way!” My face turns red. I hold my breath, all my muscles clenched.
I am an intern in the New York District Attorney’s office. The contrast between how people view me and how I view myself is frustrating. However, I feel that what I lack in size, I make up for in grit and determination.
Later on in the internship, during a mock trial, I stand in front of a judge, my speech in my hand. At the microphone, I give my strong opening argument, reminding myself to speak slowly. I feel nervous, but remember the Eminem lyrics: “If you had, one shot, or one opportunity…To seize everything you ever wanted…Would you capture it? Or just let it slip?” Each of my words comes out with a powerful bang: “Nelson Lebron is innocent. He did not attack Mr. Walker with the payphone.” I feel spectacular; my voice matters. This is what I am made of; this is my moment to shine.
On a dance concert at Berkeley Carroll, electronic music begins. I stand center stage alone. I start the basic steps of salsa, then jump, rhythmically moving my hands to the twisting motion of my hips, dancing; the choreography is mine. Taking huge leaps, I feel energetic and jubilant, free and at peace: the real Ana, expressed through movement and rhythm. Music flows into me between each step; I feel content with who I am. Again, what I lack in size I make up for in confidence and rhythm.
Maddy, a Dominican girl who I tutor in a program that helps children from my neighborhood, Washington Heights, excels academically, looks young and reminds me of myself when I was in sixth grade. I sit down with her, ready to be helpful. We begin with a Connect Four game, then switch to reading comprehension. She asks, “Are you a sixth grader, too?” My heart falls on the floor: “No, I am a junior in high-school.” I feel minuscule, compared to what I ought to be. Despite Maddy’s initial misconception, I didn’t let that deter me from doing my job, showing up every day and making an impact on her life through the tutoring program. Eventually, she began to view me as a role model, mentor and friend.
I approach the podium to talk about Affinity groups in front of my entire school. I have just come back from the Student Diversity Leadership Conference, excited to share my experience. “Not all Hispanic people know Spanish, are Mexicans, illegal immigrants, or loud! We are hardworking and determined to reach the American dream.” I feel bold and important. This is my moment to speak up. I am fearless. The powerful applause makes me smile. I became known as a strong-willed Latina.
I have always looked young and petite. My outer appearance makes me feel left behind by my older looking classmates. I always have felt that I have to work harder to prove my age instead of it being already assumed. Looking small and young has advantages. I can always get free toppings at Haagen Daz! A less delicious advantage is that most people see me and underestimate my ability to perform, but once I perform, they are shocked and realized that I am a force to be reckoned with. I want to dedicate my life to this work. Like my idol, Sonia Sotomayor, I will speak up for people who don’t have a voice, who feel insignificant or left behind. Like a piranha, I’m tiny but strong.