Human Library

I have vivid memories from my childhood where I was deep in play and living the life a little girl dreams of only to turn around and face a parent or sibling and suddenly remember that I'm not in the body of a little girl and, in fact, I'm shamed for thinking I am. I prayed every night that God would change my body during the night to reflect who I thought I was or that I would wake up thinking I was a boy. Eventually, I gave up praying. I gave up playing and pretending. I hid my identity, shut down, and I lost myself. Since I couldn’t be myself, I tried to make myself invisible at school and home and I withdrew from the world. I hid in my room and escaped into video games and movies and any activity that would help me forget that I hated living.

After surviving suicide, I felt that no one really cared about my well-being and realized that I needed to start caring about myself. I moved away from home, attended college, obtained three college degrees in a 25-year time span, and have worked in higher education for over 20 years. I was in a loving relationship for nearly 15 years. I am finally embracing my identity, working through the shame, and slowly coming out on campus.

When my spouse died in 2015, I was 48 years old. As I began the process of grieving, I had great support from friends and family. Once the funeral and immediate tasks related to his death had been taken care of, I noticed I was feeling uncomfortable about my grief. This discomfort was particularly strong when it came to people I just met – people who didn’t know that I had a spouse who died.

I think my discomfort was partly about my new identity as a widow. I had some stereotypes about widows. They are old, alone, sad, and their life stops. In many stories, the fact that a woman is a widow defines who she is. Her loss of love turns her into a witch-like figure living at the edge of society.

I was afraid that the death of my spouse which was horrible and did have a big impact on my life would start to define me and who I am. As important as my spouse was to me, however, he does not define my life. I have many facets to my life including a career, family/friends, and creative hobbies. I can experience joy and happiness as well as grief and sadness.

As time passed and I traveled, took up weightlifting, and lived my life; my fear of being categorized as ‘the grieving widow’ diminished. My spouse’s death is a part of my life, but it doesn’t define who I am.

This book grew up in Akumazi, Nigeria and was 4 1/2 years old when his father died. With the challenges of providing for a large family without a husband, his mother agreed to have an uncle take him. The uncle promised that he would be able to attend school, yet he ended up on a rice farm working long hours. It wasn't until the age of 16 when he finally left the rice farm and returned to his mother's that he learned to read and write.

This book reflects on the many ups and downs in his life. He survived an additional five years at a farm camp. The water and food were so dirty that many other workers died due to the conditions. He was able to attend two Universities and received degrees in electrical engineering and accounting. A lack of family connections, however, meant that the jobs he could get were not well paying.

After surviving a period of homelessness and the death of his mother, this book learned about Central Michigan University and applied. He was granted a visa to come to the United States to study and he is now beginning a new chapter of his life.

In the world of video games, it's difficult to be taken seriously as a woman. It's been that way since the 1970s. However, I've worked hard to make myself someone to be reckoned with. I am now the first female D1 Esports head coach in Michigan.

In my free time, I stream video games and dice-making on Twitch. Streaming video games is something many women have faced prejudice doing in the past. I've built up a solid group of folks in my community, and we have fun interacting and getting to know each other.

Nothing is impossible. Your circumstances growing up aren't what define your future. You get to. And that's incredible.

What is it to be born, live, and grow in a culture that is at the antipode of your family culture? How is it to try to find a home in places where you don’t recognize yourself entirely or are not accepted as member of the community? As a first generation of French-born-Pakistani, I navigated between two very different ways of living and religious views for the majority of my life. As a young adult I moved to the US where I experienced immigration and adopted a third culture that helped me answer many questions about my parent’s journey in a host-country and raising children in an unfamiliar place.

My book is about building relationships to ease into the unknown and break stereotypes about immigrants, Pakistanis, French, and Muslims.

American

Muslim  

Growing up as a Muslim in rural Michigan had its fair share of challenges. There were always questions from curious friends and classmates about my faith, but those differences didn’t define how others viewed me. The events of 9/11 put a terrifying face to those differences. The media’s portrayal of Muslims as terrorists transformed curiosity to hatred.

I became a verbal punching bag and outlet for their fears and anger towards the faith they believed threatened their way of life. I was often the punchline of terrorist jokes, and the target of racial slurs. My family and I were threatened by complete strangers and rather than rising to our defense, family friends distanced themselves.

I felt isolated and misunderstood, I feared every first encounter. Did they not like me because I was Muslim? Are they scared of me? Do they hate me? As I grew older those fears subsided. I learned that I couldn’t control how people perceived me; all I could do was be myself.

Traumatized

When I was nine years old, I began experiencing mental and emotional abuse by my stepfather. Trauma is often thought of as just one event that changed someone’s life, but few people realize that trauma can develop over a period of time. That happened in my case. The impact of  the abuse built up gradually, and my mom and I didn’t see it until it escalated to a dangerous point.

Growing up, I blamed myself for the fighting and the abuse to the point where I felt hatred towards myself and began to self-harm. I had anxiety and was too scared to defend myself both at home and at school. I felt like I was crazy and overreacting. When I talked to my mom, she reminded me that other people have it worse. However, the final straw came when my mom broke her hand while defending herself during one of my stepfather’s blackouts. My mom and I packed our things the day of my senior homecoming game and left.

This was traumatic, and I often relive the moment we left. I have frequent nightmares about my stepfather coming back into my life. I am miles away from him now and surrounded by friends that are like family to me. I am a first-generation college student who is working through college, in a stable relationship, and trying hard every day to not let what happened to me define who I am.