School
Research papers: needless or necessary?
ZiTing Lin, 16, describes how much she enjoys doing research papers. “Stressing, challenging,” says Lin, who goes to the John D. O’Bryant School of Math & Science. “Deprives students of their time.” Research papers can be a big headache for teens. “Very troublesome,” says Meixian Guan, 16, from the O’Bryant. “No significance.” Amanda Pham, 16, from Community Academy of Science and Health, finds that research papers are difficult to write because they are so long. Still, some teens understand that doing a research paper can teach them important lessons. Says Lin: “It helps to improve a student’s writing and researching skills.”   This article was prepared in collaboration with 826 Boston.
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  Kiara Batista, 14, feels self-conscious when people seem sure that she’s something other than Cape Verdean. “A lot of times people have assumed I’m Indian, Hispanic, or black,” says Batista, who goes to the John D. O’Bryant School of Math & Science. “When people assumed my race, I just felt as if I didn’t look Cape Verdean.” Teens and others can be quick to judge another person’s race or ethnicity – sometimes too quick. Brandon Ramos, 15, doesn’t find much wrong with people jumping to conclusions. “People have assumed I’m white and Asian and I’m actually Hispanic,” says Ramos, who attends Boston Community Leadership Academy. “It really doesn’t bother me.” But Sana Dahaba, 15, from the O’Bryant, believes there’s a solution to these snap judgments. “I’ve been called Jamaican, Haitian, and Cape Verdean,” says Dahaba, who is from Guinea-Bissau, in Africa. “I just feel like anyone who assumes someone’s race in general lacks knowledge because they can ask and get an exact answer but they choose to assume.”
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Pires-Marlena-Hating1Dear American People:   From the beginning of time there have been people of different genders, backgrounds, colors, likes, and so on. Yet today in Uganda, there are many living in fear because they are gay. Uganda is known as one of the worst places on the planet to be gay. The government is intent on making some same-sex behavior punishable by life imprisonment. Meanwhile, some newspapers are in the business of outing gays on their pages and a mob could show up at gay people’s doorsteps and beat them without anyone caring. People in Uganda seem to want to hate on them because they believe being gay violates their country’s culture. There have been cases where homosexuals have been disowned by their own families and had to go into hiding, moving from place to place to stay ahead of vigilantes. Gays have no freedom to be who they are in Uganda and it breaks my heart. The purpose of this letter is to raise awareness in America, so people can protest and spread the word about the unjust actions that have been taking place in Uganda.   Thank you, Shameka
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  The chatter in the huge State House hall invaded my head. The media surrounded me like they were waiting for the president to speak. As I heard my name called, I began my walk to the podium. With every step, I could feel the weight of so many eyes on my back. I took a deep breath and began to recite the words I had practiced in the mirror over and over again. “My name is Elianny Rodríguez. I’m 20 years old and currently a junior at Boston International High School. I have a one-year-old son named Steven. I got pregnant when I was in ninth grade and I felt like my life was gone. Life became difficult and the people that I expected would give me a hand just ran away from me as if I had a contagious illness.” Of all the issues I had to work through with my son, housing left me feeling the most unstable. I moved five times in two years. I even went back to my country, the Dominican Republic. While living there I realized I could not provide a future for my son. I returned to Boston. I applied for a shelter. There was only one emergency bedroom available and it was outside of Boston, in Lynn. I took it. I had to wake up every day at 4 am to come to Boston. I was still late for school. After a few months, I moved back to the city and into a new shelter in Roxbury where I had to share a space with another young mother and her child. My roommate was using drugs. My son was constantly ill because of something he was allergic to in the place. I complained often but ultimately had to move again. I am now in my own apartment in Hyde Park, with help from my mother and my boyfriend. Instead of giving up, I decided to become a voice to be heard. That is why I spoke in front all those people as an advocate at the Teen Parent Lobby Day in March of 2014. Having the opportunity to share my experience allowed me to show everyone that teen mothers can succeed. Now, I advocate for teen mothers because their children are our future. I advocate because I have felt the embarrassment from strangers rolling their eyes as I push my son’s stroller down the street. I advocate because being a teen mother does not ruin lives, but the lack of support can.
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  Growing up, I was so confused. I didn’t have the support of my father to explain both the simple and important things in life – like how to shave or how to be a respectful man. I lived with my mom in Cape Verde. My father and mother were separated. On one occasion, I went to visit my grandfather hours away. When I arrived from the boat, I was cold. He hugged me so hard that I felt his arms wrap around my body like a blanket. He brought me to his house. On the way, the fresh air hit my face. When we passed by the markets, I could smell the cachupa and beans. “I saw in your eyes that something is wrong in your life,” my grandfather said to me. “All my life,” I told him, “I’ve learned important things from my mom. But there are some things that you need to ask a man, things that I can’t talk about with my mom.” “Yes, I understand what you mean,” he said. “I’m here to help and support you.” He started to tell me the story of his life, how he had faced some of the same difficulties. This was more than a simple conversation between grandfather and grandson. It was a big moment that changed my perspective of life forever. One day, I want to teach my son all the things I learned from my grandfather: to respect people and help those who need it; to know that a real man is not the one with the strong voice or the big muscles, but the one who takes up his responsibilities.
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