My story begins with my grandfather who was the founder of the Sultan Mahomed Shah Aga Khan School in Karachi, one of the first institutions of secular education in Pakistan. However, my father was a political refugee. Facing imprisonment for his leadership in the fight to include secular education across schools in Pakistan, my father - only 20 years old - ironically was never educated beyond high school and, amid political persecution, had no choice but to flee to Cyprus, and ultimately to the U.S., where our secluded farm provided him tranquility he had found nowhere else. 

As a kid having to stick your arm elbow-deep into a goat mid-labor could undoubtedly be traumatizing, but when you grow up in a town with a larger population of livestock than residents, it's a rite of passage. Until high school, I chased livestock across forty acres of farmland in Angus, Texas. I began to recognize - and it was at times made clear - that I was not like the other kids in my town. A Pakistani kid of the Shia Imami Ismaili faith is not necessarily a familiar sight in a part of the world that only believes in cattle, Christ, and the Cowboys.

When I first encountered discrimination, my mother’s guidance helped shift my perspective from feeling like a puzzle piece packed in the wrong box to one where I could begin to change the box’s image altogether. I realized that my identity and differences provided me with specific tools and experiences required to deal with issues of race and discrimination pragmatically. It is a toolset I learned to use when asked to speak about Islam at Christian Sunday school classes as a twelve-year-old, and I continued to polish working in the legal offices of and on the campaign for the first Muslim representative-elect for Texas HD 92. I’m reminded that my identity is like a kaleidoscope, just waiting for someone to peer inside and witness a fascinating collection of fragmented glass and crazy colors.

As a product of my dichotomy, struggle, and amalgamation, I understand that my identity and “uniqueness” have allowed me to become observant, patient, and appreciative of the differences we have, as well as ensure I can engineer bridges of understanding and opportunity for everyone in our 2L class.