BRIANNA

35

The scholarship doesn't cover accommodation, and my mother had to pay for that, but I'm here now, and I'm excited to be here. The financial strain this decision placed on us was palpable, yet my mother handled it with the same unwavering determination she has shown throughout my life. She dipped into her savings, money she had set aside for emergencies, and perhaps even her dreams, to ensure I had a safe place to stay while pursuing my education. The weight of her sacrifice is not lost on me; it's a constant reminder of the stakes involved. Standing in my modest dorm room, with its plain walls and simple furniture, I feel a mixture of gratitude and resolve. Every corner of this space, though sparse, feels imbued with my mother's love and hope for my future. The fact that I'm here, ready to embark on this new journey, fills me with a sense of purpose. I am determined to make every penny count, to make the most of this opportunity, and to prove that her investment in me was worth it. The excitement bubbling within me is tinged with a sense of responsibility, a desire to honor her sacrifice by excelling in every way possible.

I can't wait to get to my new school. I can't help but wonder how people live here. Is it the same way we do in North Adams? I know people here are rich, and Brooklyn International is full of rich kids from rich families. The anticipation of stepping into this new world is both thrilling and daunting. North Adams, with its quiet streets and close-knit community, feels worlds apart from the bustling, affluent environment of Brooklyn International. Here, the students drive luxury cars, wear designer clothes, and discuss vacations in exotic locales with a nonchalance that underscores their privilege. It's a stark contrast to my own upbringing, where every dollar was carefully budgeted, and vacations were a rare and precious treat. This new school represents a different kind of challenge, one that goes beyond academics. It’s about navigating a social landscape that is unfamiliar and intimidating. I wonder if the values here are as different as the lifestyle, and if I will be able to find my place among these peers who have grown up with so much more than I could ever dream of. But this is also an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to understand a world that, until now, has been out of my reach.

I'm not one of them, and I know it will be difficult to live amongst them. I've spent my whole life trying to avoid rich kids because I've seen how they treat people like us. The rich kids back in North Adams were a smaller group, but their impact was significant. They moved through the halls with an air of entitlement, their wealth shielding them from the everyday struggles that the rest of us faced. Their parties, their clothes, their gadgets—all were constant reminders of a divide that felt insurmountable. I remember how their offhand comments and casual dismissals could cut deeper than any outright insult. The fear of facing that kind of treatment again, but on a much larger scale, weighs heavily on my mind. Brooklyn International is a haven for the elite, and I am acutely aware that my presence here is an anomaly. The disparity between my life and theirs feels like a chasm, and the thought of bridging that gap is daunting. But I also know that avoidance is no longer an option. I am here to challenge myself, to rise above my insecurities, and to prove that I belong in this space, regardless of my background.

Maybe not all of them, but most of them tend to think that we're not humans like them or that maybe we don't deserve to live in the same society as them. This kind of thinking is not just frustrating; it's dehumanizing. The subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, signals that we are lesser, that our struggles are irrelevant or that our aspirations are laughable, can wear down even the most resilient spirit. Yet, there is a part of me that hopes to find exceptions to this rule at Brooklyn International. Maybe, amidst the opulence and privilege, there are students who see beyond the superficial, who value character and ambition over wealth. I have to believe that there are individuals here who can empathize, who understand that money does not define worth. This hope is what fuels my determination to approach each day with an open mind and a brave heart. I refuse to be diminished by anyone's prejudices. Instead, I will let my actions and my achievements speak for themselves, showing that I am just as deserving of a place here as anyone else.

There's a few of those where I'm from, and I have to say, I was so tired of them, but I think I'm going to have the same experience this year, only this time it is ten times worse than what I know. The thought of encountering the same elitist attitudes, but on a grander scale, is disheartening. I brace myself for the possibility that the disdain and condescension I faced in North Adams might be amplified here. Yet, I also remind myself that I have grown stronger over the years. The experiences that once intimidated me have now become lessons, and I am better equipped to handle the challenges that lie ahead. The prospect of dealing with wealthier, more privileged peers is daunting, but it also presents an opportunity for growth. Each interaction, no matter how difficult, is a chance to assert my worth and to demonstrate resilience. I know it won't be easy, but I am ready to face whatever comes my way with grace and determination. After all, I am not just fighting for myself; I am fighting for every dream my mother and I have nurtured together.

I got ready for my first day at school, putting my school uniform on and packing everything I need in my backpack. I made breakfast and left as soon as I finished eating. The morning routine is a mix of nervous energy and meticulous preparation. Each action, from ironing my uniform to arranging my books, feels like a small step towards asserting control over the uncertainties of the day. As I sit down for breakfast, my mind races with thoughts of what lies ahead. The uniform, crisp and new, symbolizes a fresh start, a chance to blend in and perhaps even stand out for the right reasons. With every bite of toast, I remind myself of the goals I have set and the promises I have made. The walk to school feels surreal, the anticipation building with each step. I try to absorb the sights and sounds of this new environment, hoping to find something familiar, something that will anchor me in this sea of newness. The journey is a physical manifestation of my inner resolve, each step echoing my determination to face whatever the day brings with courage and optimism.

I don't know what it's gonna be like, so I have to brace myself just so that I will be ready and avoid attracting any attention. The uncertainty of the first day at a new school is a heavy burden. I mentally prepare myself for the inevitable stares and whispers that follow a new student. The goal is to navigate the day with as little disruption as possible, to blend into the background until I find my footing. But I also know that avoiding attention is easier said than done. My appearance, my demeanor, everything about me will mark me as an outsider. The key is to remain composed, to project confidence even if I don't feel it. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that this is just the beginning, and first impressions, while important, are not the end-all and be-all. Each encounter is an opportunity to redefine myself, to show that I am more than just the new girl. The resolve to maintain a low profile is balanced by the understanding that I must also be open to new experiences and connections, no matter how intimidating they may seem.

I know it's going to be easy for people to notice me, but a girl can hope, right? Even though I've never been a new girl at school, I've seen how students look at newcomers. The inevitable curiosity of others is something I have braced myself for. New students are always a topic of interest, their every move scrutinized by their peers. I have witnessed this phenomenon from the other side, watching as newcomers were dissected, their every action analyzed and judged. Now, I find myself on the other end of that gaze, and the prospect is unnerving. Yet, I cling to the hope that not all attention will be negative. There is a chance, however slim, that some students will see beyond the surface, that they will be drawn to me for reasons other than mere novelty. This hope, though fragile, gives me strength. It reminds me that, while I may be different, I am not lesser. The potential for forming meaningful connections exists, and I am determined to remain open to it, even as I navigate the inevitable scrutiny that comes with being the new girl.

I also wonder if I'll be able to make any friends here. I know it will be easy for them to notice that I'm not from here, but I hope they won't make life hard for me. The fear of isolation looms large, the prospect of facing these new challenges alone a daunting one. Making friends in a place where I feel so out of place seems like an insurmountable task. Yet, I remind myself that true friendship transcends superficial differences. It is built on mutual respect, understanding, and shared experiences. While I may be different in many ways, there are surely others who value authenticity and kindness over wealth and status. The hope of finding such kindred spirits keeps me going. I know that forming friendships will not be easy, that it will take time and effort to break through the barriers of preconception and prejudice. But I am prepared to put in that effort, to seek out those who see the world as I do, and to build connections that are genuine and meaningful. In the end, it is these connections that will make my experience at Brooklyn International truly worthwhile, turning a daunting challenge into a rewarding journey