Mean Girls

I had never truly understood how people could run without breaking into sweat in the first three minutes. As I panted after the race, I wiped the sweat streaming down my forehead with the end of my t-shirt. A game of tag has always been an exhausting activity for me. The sound of shoes thumping on the grass alerted me of the danger and I broke into a run, ignoring my burning lungs. The wind rushed against my face, forcing me to squint my eyes. The sunlight showed me no mercy as it continued to cast its burning rays of light onto my head. Bulging beads of sweat began surfacing on my forehead once again before rolling down my face and onto the grass. No wonder some people called me a human sprinkler.

By the end of the run, my hair was completely disheveled and stuck to my face in the form of damp curls. I trudged towards the benches, completely exhausted when I heard a snicker behind me. Turning my head, I saw two of my classmates, Zara and Charlotte, giggling together as they clung onto each other’s t-shirts. I cast a wary smile towards them, feigning a friendly demeanor As I could barely string together two sentences in English at the time, I did my best to avoid interactions that would mire me in confused and embarrassed attempts at broken dialog. They circled me like wolves, snarling to me in words I couldn’t quite understand. Zara poked my forehead with their index finger before wiping it frantically on her skirt. She let out a torrent of words, staring at me with her icy blue eyes, her face contorted in an expression of disgust

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before grabbing Charlotte by the arm and running off, a cacophony of cackles trailing behind them as they ran away.

I have always been able to entertain myself. My favorite activity was to climb the tree behind the bench in the park. Standing on the edge of the backseat of the bench, I could lift myself onto the branch. Shimmying my way up required some courage and effort and sometimes resulted in a few scrapes and bruises, but it was always worth it in the end. Lying on the thick and sturdy branches, I would gaze up at the sky through the holes in the foliage that shaded me from the sun. I would stare at the clouds trying to find hidden shapes in them. I had always wondered about the purpose of clouds. If they weren't hiding a land floating in the sky, what could they be for? The rough bark scratched my arms as I lowered them slightly, my thoughts shifting back and forth before finally stopping at my grandma. I wonder what she would say if she saw her me precariously perched up high in the tree, like a bird hiding from a snake slithering through the branches. She would most probably ask me why I wasn’t playing with my friends. I wished I was home with her, listening to the soothing sounds and smells of her preparing a meal for me in her kitchen or feeling her arms wrapped reassuringly around me. In the comfort of her arms, I would find the courage to ask her what was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I make friends? Why did Charlotte and Zara look at me with disdain? Was my smile not welcoming enough? Why didn’t you come with me, grandma, I wondered to myself? But the ring of the bell snapped me out of my consoling daydream and, slowly and carefully lowering myself from the

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tree and dropping onto the grass below, slightly stumbling from the fall, I ran back to my classroom, leaving my questions hiding in the branches with my lonely self as I ran toward the building toward the teachers who spoke too rapidly in a language I did not yet understand and toward the Zaras and the Charlottes and their cruel laughter and conspiratorial whispers.

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PART III: CANADA

AStudy in Contrasts

Learning Quebec History was always a pain. My fourth-year self could barely understand French, the language that the class was taught in. But something always puzzled me, and that was their lack of appreciation of the indigenous people. In New Zealand, there were plenty of museums dedicated to the ancient history and artwork made by the Maori people. The national anthem of New Zealand also included Maori. I had heard that approximately 1 out of 7 people in New Zealand are of at least partial Maori origin. Because of New Zealand’s apparent pride in and celebration of the Maori people, I was struck by the conspicuous absence of indigenous people in Canadian history books and classes. The only time our history books mentioned them that I can recall was in the context of the war between France and England for the territory. Different Indian tribes had fought alongside one country or the other during the Seven-Year War. After that, they disappeared for the next four years of Canadian History class.

Another prominent difference between these two countries’ treatment of their indigenous people many players is in their national sports. For example, many players on the New Zealand National rugby team are of Maori descent. The group even has a tradition of preforming a Haka before the games, a traditional Maori performance that includes chanting and dancing. Perhaps the most famous example of the Haka came in the 2011 World Cup Final against France when the All Blacks

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