Streetside Stories: Story of The Month

June 2007

2007-06-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

This Isn't Going to Happen Twice
Martha Urena

I remember when I had a problem. It was horrible. It was at Edward Robertson Taylor Elementary School. In school, I could see lots of kids running and getting in trouble. I could hear kids screaming. It was sunny, but it was getting foggy.

I had told my friend that I liked a boy from school. His name was Francisco. Francisco was the first boy I liked. He had spiky hair not that long or short. He was tall and skinny and with a bright, big smile and white, straight teeth. He walked pretty funny. He smiled at every person he saw like he was thinking of something. He liked to play soccer. He was actually pretty good. He watched scary movies. He liked to be scared. When I saw him, I talked to him and hung around with him. My friend supposedly tried to get us together, but when I turned around, I saw her flirting with him. I got kind of jealous, but I still thought she was helping me. I was kind of mad at her.

"How could you do that? I thought you were my friend, and you knew I liked him," I screamed.

"But I like him too," she screamed back at me.

"What? How could you!" I yelled.

"I'm so sorry," she declared, scared.

"Whatever," I angrily responded.

It was time to go inside to class, and she had the same class as me. She was just smiling at me. Then the teacher gave us free time. I went to talk to my other friends. I told them what had happened. She came up to me and told me that she was sorry and that she still wanted to talk to me. I told her not to talk to me right now. I needed to think about it. She went to sit at her desk, and she started crying. I felt really bad. I went up to her and told her that I still wanted to talk to her. She got happy and started to hug me and started crying even more because she was happy.

Then Francisco came up to both of us and told us that he wanted to go out with one of us. He said he wanted to go out with me. I saw my friend; she started to smile at me and told me to say yes. I thought about it and I knew my friend was kind of jealous and sad, so I said no. He got mad and kind of sad. Then he asked me if we could at least be friends. I said, "Sure why not?"

The reason I still talked to my friend was because I knew her since pre-kindergarten, and she was like my sister. I met Francisco in the fifth grade. I wasn't going to let a boy I barely met in the fifth grade ruin our friendship. I told my friend, "Friends are forever, and boys are whatever." I still talk to her right now, but she goes to another school. I learned that no boy is going to get in the way of my friendship with another girl.

About the Author
I was born in San Francisco at General Hospital on December 30, 1994. I love to play soccer, sing and also dance. I have two older sisters and brothers. When I grow up, I want to be a lawyer because I like to help people. My whole family is from Jalisco, Mexico. I wish I could go to Mexico and meet my two aunties down there, but I just can't leave my family.

February 2007

2007-02-06T12:13:00.000-08:00

I Don't Want to Eat Yams
Seilosa Tuifao

Usually I like my mom's food, but not my mom's yams. I've never, ever eaten yams since I was little.

In my kitchen, my mom is cooking smelly yams. She is also cooking peas and chicken. In a rush, she goes to the table and grabs a plate. She calls my name to ask me to check on the yams. When I had to look, it was like they had been there for years. I touched them with a fork, and they felt like my sister's diaper when it's full of poop.

I changed my mind, and I tried them. I had said I was going to eat the yams, but then I never did. I put them in my mouth, and every time my mom turned around I would spit them out in the trashcan and cover them with a napkin. After dinner, I went upstairs. I saw that my sister Isis was playing SpongeBob Squarepants, so I joined her.

Isis is a little annoying. She is three foot seven, and is the color of my favorite jacket, which is vanilla. She has light-brown hair as short as the length from my wrist to my elbow. She is skinny like my mom. She walks like she just got off the Drop Zone at Great America. She sounds like a mouse that can talk. She likes to play with her stuffed animals or her Barbie dolls. She is in the third grade, and goes to Hillcrest with my brother. When you look at her, she looks like she going to burst out in a smile.

While I was playing SpongeBob, my mom took out the trash. The napkin fell off, and my mom yelled my name.

"SEILOSA!" she yelled. She didn't give me a chance to talk. "Why didn't you eat those yams?"

I knew if I told a lie, I would never get my sweet vanilla ice cream. So I told her the truth.

"I didn't like them," I said.

"Well, you should have told me," Mom said in a calm voice.

"Well, I thought you would yell at me and say eat them."

I was off the hook, but I had a consequence. I had to change my sister's diaper, but I still got to eat my vanilla ice cream.

I learned my lesson. Never, ever eat yams, and don't lie.

About the Author
Seilosa Tuifao is a sixth-grader who goes to Francisco Middle School. She grew up with her mom in San Francisco, where she was born. She likes to draw things she sees in her imagination. Her favorite class is P.E. Her favorite teachers are Jeremy and Viet-ly. Her birthday is May 28, 1994. Her goal is to get better at keeping her manners.

January 2007

2007-01-04T15:49:00.000-08:00

Helping People See What They Could Not
Hannah Wong

OK, so maybe a hard choice for me is choosing between strawberry and vanilla ice cream, or between getting pink shoes or blue shoes. However, in the third grade, it hit me. I was lucky, very lucky.

I have low vision, and I can't see very well, but I have had a lot of help from my parents, my sister and the Blind Babies Foundation. The Blind Babies Foundation, or BBF, is an organization that helps kids who are blind or cannot see well. They helped me when I was little by showing me toys that were easy for me to see.

Since I was so fortunate, I wanted to give back to my community. I decided my friends and I would hold a jewelry sale at my school, Claire Lilienthal. I consulted with my parents and the principal (which was not easy for a bunch of third graders). We got their OK.

Once we got their OK, my family and I bought a lot of beads. We made jewelry for five months until the day of the sale arrived. On May 1, my friend Sammi and I left class early to set up in front of the Claire Lilienthal lunchroom.

The lunchroom was empty. I could smell the cafeteria food being prepared. I heard the rustling of beads as I set up the display. I touched my favorite piece of jewelry that I made, as I got ready to sell it. I tasted the salami sandwich my dad had made me so I could build my energy up. I saw the foggy weather outside. I looked at the time. It was 10:55.

It's lunchtime! People are running down the stairs. Sammi, my two other friends and I are trying to balance lunch and jewelry at the same time. Sammi has hair as dark as the night sky. She can be lazy, but when she's working, she gets to work. Her voice is usually groggy, but when she talks, it is refreshing like the morning air. While she was working she took a bite of food, sold a piece of jewelry, food, jewelry, and so on. Sammi likes food and sweets. She was working frantically and sold a lot.

My friends and I are talking frantically to our customers. "I would like this and this and this," one customer told me.

"Uh, OK. It's..." I started to reply, and then someone cut me off.

"How much is this?" she questioned.

"One dollar," I told her, then said to my other customer, "OK, sorry. Your total is $6.00."

"Thanks," she replied, and walked off.

That's how it was for two hours as we sold necklaces and bracelets. When the sale was over, I felt very proud of myself. I knew I helped someone have a better life.

After school, my mom counted the money we raised, and told us we had raised $162. I was so excited I was jumping up and down.

A few years later, we did hear from BBF, and we got a thank you. But I don't know what they did with the money.

After the jewelry sale, I learned something important. You don't have to be big to change the world. You just have to try.

About the Author
Hannah Wong was born and lives in San Francisco. She loves to dance jazz, tap and hip-hop. She has been dancing for nine years. She also enjoys making people laugh. Hannah likes to design clothes, especially evening gowns. She has Albinism, which means she has little color in her hair, skin and eyes. She also cannot see very well and is sensitive to light. Hannah dreams of becoming the first single albino woman president of the United States of America.

December 2006

2006-12-11T16:30:00.000-08:00

My Haircut Worries
Fanny Yang

No! My dad cut my hair! And fourth grade is starting!

My dad wanted me to have a new hairstyle. I liked my hair a lot, so
I didn't really cut it. Then my grandma told me that I should cut my
hair, so I told my dad to cut my hair, but not that short.

"You know, Fanny, you should layer your hair. Your hair looks like a
Mao Zedong!" my grandma snapped.

"But I like my hair the way it is," I whined.

"Well, too bad. Tomorrow I'm going to take you out to get a
haircut," she insisted.

"Fine," I sighed.

The next day my dad requested that I get a haircut. I thought, hey,
since my grandma wants my hair to be layered, this is the perfect
chance.

I stated, "OK! But just layer it, don't cut it short."

"I won't," he laughed.

About 3:20 in the afternoon, I went down to my garage to play. I saw
my parents' car is a BMW and a Toyota. I touched the BMW, and felt its
slippery surface. I opened my garage door, and could smell the food
from McDonald's. When I was playing, I felt happy. My dad went down
with me to cut my hair. While my dad was cutting my hair, I could
hear the honking of cars and the chatter of people as they walked
by. After a little while, the smell of McDonald's filled the air in
my garage. I could almost taste the French fries and burgers. The
weather was cool.

So, for the next ten to fifteen minutes, my dad was busy cutting my
hair. When my dad was done, I quickly touched my hair. "What? How
come my hair is so short?" I exclaimed.

"Oh, I thought you would want a new hairstyle," my dad replied.

I rushed up to my room, and saw that I looked cool. "Not bad, not
bad," I observed. I told him I was worried because, when he layered
my hair last time, he made it really short. (Layered means to make
it look thinner.) I had to wait so long for my hair to grow back to
its original length. This time, my dad only cut my hair a little bit
short.

I chose my dad to cut my hair because, when he came to the United
States, his first job was as a barber. At his job, he accidentally
poured alcohol or something on his fingernails. Now his fingers
don't have nails. Well, some don't.

My dad is about 5'7" and has broad shoulders. He has
gold-and-blackish hair and brown eyes. When he is cutting my hair,
he moves around so he can cut different parts of my hair. His voice
sounds strict because he doesn't want me to move or else he'll make
a mistake. My dad likes to cut hair because he used to be a barber,
and I guess he misses being one. He always asks me if I want a new
haircut. I guess my dad feels good because he enjoys cutting hair.
Sometimes I would say, "Why don't I buy you those Barbie heads with
lots of hair for you to play with?" Then I would laugh. But my dad
just looks at me.

When my dad dries my hair, he dries it in some kind of
style. I learned to make sure that my dad doesn't cut my hair too
short.

About the Author
Hi, my name is Fanny Yang. I was born in 1994 at one a.m. I live in
San Francisco. I go to school at Francisco, and my elementary school
is Gordon J. Lau. My hobbies are swimming, building stuff and
watching TV. I love to read a lot. My auntie said since I read a lot
I should be a lawyer, but I'm afraid I won't be a good one.
Actually, I want to be a veterinarian. I love all kinds of animals,
and I want to help them. My favorite food is steamed broccoli and
SPAM. I also go gaga for cute stuff. You wouldn't want to be a cute
dog or stuffed animal because I would squeeze you to death. I
wouldn't really squeeze the dog to death, because it's a living
thing and I don't want it to die. My favorite animal is the dog. I
love dogs because they're smart, loyal and fun to be with. When I
grow up and have enough money to afford a dog, I would get a golden
retriever.

September 2006

2006-09-11T15:41:00.000-07:00

RIP, Big Herb!
by Da'shonique Latrice Yvette Mims

One time, I had to let my cousin go because he got shot. He should have never gone to the store. It was a choice that was made for me. He decided to go, and then he never came back. In my heart, it is like he's still there.

I remember his last day like it was yesterday. I was at home, and my cousin had called. I was in my room. It smells like air freshener. I see pictures of my family. Some are group pictures and some are individual pictures.

It is sometime before eight p.m. I can see people outside my window facing the street. I live in the projects. The weather is cold. The mood is sad and mad. I can feel my pillows under my head as I watch the people walk by. I can hear babies crying, and people yelling.

My cousin called and told my aunt that Armond had just gotten shot. He had gotten shot three times. Twice in the chest, and once in the heart. It was at eight o'clock at night. Armond was coming out of the store, and the man started to shoot.

He was my older cousin. He gave me anything I wanted. He liked anything that had to do with money. His voice was so loud. He was dark-skinned, with long eyebrows. His body was so fast when he walked. When he got mad, he would yell at you really loud. He was taller than me.

He went across the street, and this man had to take him to the hospital because he was losing too much blood. So they took him to the emergency room and they tried to take out the bullets, but they couldn't, because they were too deep. So they said that they had lost him.

Then my cousin, Carrie, called us a second time to tell us the bad news. The cell phone on the dresser stared to ring. So I picked up my auntie's phone.

"Hello," I said softly.

"Hello, who is this?" she asked.

"Da Da," I answered.

"Where's Pam?" she wondered.

"Downstairs," I answered lazily.

"Take the phone to her," my cousin demanded.

"Why? What happened?" I questioned.

"Armond got shot!" she cried.

My aunt started to bang her hands and feet. She was banging her hands because she was so mad. He was like her son. After my cousin called and said that he had got shot, my aunt started to bang her feet against the floor.

Then I started to cry, because that was my oldest cousin.

About the Author:
Hello, my name is Da'shonique Latrice Yvette Mims. I'm 13 years old. I live in San Francisco. And my birthday is December 29, 1992. In my free time, I like to write stories. I like to talk to my friends. I love to play with my dog, and her name is Mamas. She is so bad. My dog is white and brown, and she has spots on her back. She has different-colored eyes. I love to listen to R&B music. My dream is to have my own beauty salon with my sisters Da'jiana, Danaya and Kelah.

August 2006

2006-08-15T14:48:00.000-07:00

Bare With Me
by Jessica Nemerovski

This past summer, I took a trip to Japan for the World Children's Baseball
Fair. I was staying in a Japanese-style dorm on Mt. Fuji. There was a view of a big body of water. I'm not exactly sure what body of water it was, but it was beautiful. There was a blue sky and an outlook on the bay. There were a lot of pretty plants and a tiny lake. The air was warm and humid. Hot! Hot! Hot! I could smell the citrus scent in the air. I could taste the freshness. You could hear kids from around the world speaking their native languages but, other than that, it was silent.

Every country had a host and my host, the host for the United States of America, was a very mean lady. She was like a brick wall with no feelings. She definitely didn't care how I felt. She began her evil plan.

On the first day of my trip, I was told I had no option but to take a traditional Japanese shower with about 30 other girls. Before everybody arrived, many girls were told that they would be able to wear bathing suits into the shower if they felt uncomfortable. But when I brought this up, Gretchen told me it was out of the question. She also said I was insulting Japanese culture, part of which was bathing with many girls in a small room with tiny stools, short shower heads and an icky bathtub right in the center of the room. I was extremely insulted at this remark. I was not insulting another culture; I was just explaining and standing up for mine.

I kept repeating, over and over again, "In my country it's illegal to make someone get naked."

She immediately responded, "I don't care at all."

I was really frustrated, and really didn't want to do this. Seeing as how I was not very excited about this, I started brainstorming. I had to go to the bathroom. I really had to go to start with, but then I decided to hide out for a few hours. I was pretending that I didn't really have to go that much.

When I arrived back at the shower room, there were about two people in there, so I decided that nothing's perfect, and hesitantly got in. When I got out of the shower, it was about 9:20 p.m., and bedtime was 9:00 p.m. I rushed back to my dorm. When I got there, Gretchen was standing there waiting for me.

"What took you so long?" she whispered, because everyone was sound asleep.

In response, I quickly muttered, "I first used the bathroom. When I got back to the shower, it was full, so I waited. Then, I had to go to the bathroom again."

I started making up some somewhat logical explanations, but she soon interrupted me in her strange Slovenian accent.

"Stop talking, and go to bed now!" she said. "Tomorrow you are going to shower early with me, naked!"

I didn't say anything; I just tiptoed off to bed. I disobeyed her and did it again the next day.

After a few days, I decided to wear a bathing suit into the shower because my friends did as well. They were also going against the rules. When I came back, once again Gretchen was standing there. This time, she told me if I wore the bathing suit again, she would take it from me right there and throw it away.

The next day, I was really going to shower how I was supposed to, but it was really crowded. I had to keep coming in and leaving because there were no spots. This time, Gretchen claimed she was watching me come in and out of the shower room. She said that I was coming into the shower room over and over again just to look at all the naked people in the shower! Sick! That was really messed up! Who in their right mind would do that? Then, she started calling me a baby. She said that I was the only one who thought the showers were weird and that everyone else loved them. That was so off! Everyone hated them! All my friends thought they were really nasty!

When she was telling me this, we were in the changing room at the pool. She said, "You know you aren't wearing that bathing suit into the shower tonight, right?"

"Why is that?" I asked.

"You just aren't," she snapped.

"You aren't the boss of me," I snapped, acting brave when really my heart was jumping out of my throat.

"Yes, actually, I am. You will do what I say," she stated, just the response I thought I was going to get from this devil of a lady.

Jennie yelled out from her stall, "You're just a big baby!"

Now I really was annoyed and scared out of my wits.

"Yes, Jessica, you really are just a big baby," Gretchen quickly agreed with Jennie.

"So, what's your point?" I asked, not really caring.

"You know, you are probably the biggest baby here!" she sort of giggled.

"I really don't care what you think, FYI (For Your Information)." Oh no, that really just slipped out, even though it really didn't!

"What did you just say?" she asked, in utter disbelief that I actually stood up for myself. To tell the truth, I was probably in even more awe than she was!

"I said," I started again, "I don't care what you think! The only thing that matters to me is what I think!" and I stormed out of the room.

I needed an adult who agreed with me, and who was willing to stand up for my rights.

I went across the hallway to the Australian chaperone. She was so generous and caring. She also thought that Gretchen was a crazy witch. She told me that if I wanted to I could go with Jazzy, an Australian girl, Mandie, a Canadian girl and herself, into the shower wearing bathing suits. She also told me, if anyone gave me a hard time, to send them straight to her, Annie, the Australian chaperone.

Annie made an agreement with Gretchen. Then she told me I could wear a bathing suit into the bath if I wanted to. The problem was that she called both the shower and bath a "bath." At the time, I didn't realize this would be an issue.

So the next day, my friends and I went into the shower wearing our bathing suits. Since there were only a few other people in there, we went into the bathtub. As we came out, Gretchen was standing there waiting for me, which already creeped me out. The first thing that came out of her mouth was, "I am just about ready to f***ing hit you right now."

"What are you talking about?" I asked in a terrified voice.

"We had an agreement," she snapped.

"What?" I asked, as I was extremely confused.

She just walked away. I just stood there. My legs were shaking. My friends were staring in amazement. I ran upstairs. I couldn't hold it in. I started to sob. My friends came to my side and comforted me completely.

My friend Mandie sat next to me until I stopped crying. Mandie was my friend from the very first day. We actually became friends because two other girls were being obnoxious. Mandie is really kind to her friends. To pests, she is not too mean, but is just right. She has really curly red hair and tons of orange freckles on her lightly-toned face. She has a Canadian accent, seeing as she is Canadian. It's not really different from an American accent. She is about five foot three and is really skinny. She loves baseball and basketball, just like me. She also enjoys hockey and tennis (I think). She is a very talented athlete.

Mandie felt the same way in this dumb situation. She almost acted the same as I did. As I said before, she was very comforting.

A few minutes later, I realized how proud of myself I was. I had made a choice to stand up for myself on that whole trip. I didn't even realize it until that moment. I stopped crying and started smiling. That day, I not only got a lady deservingly fired, but I also learned that no matter what, I need to stand up for myself, even if the persecutor is totally intimidating.

About the Authour

My name is Jessica Nemerovski. I was born in San Francisco, California and have lived there my whole life. I'm eleven years old. I play baseball, basketball, football, volleyball and track. I really want to play hockey. I also take kung fu. I am an advanced brown belt, one away from a black belt. I take kung fu at the Tat Wong Kung Fu Academy. At the moment, I am reading and writing Hebrew, preparing for my bat mitzvah. I am always talking, because I always have something to say. I am a major health nut. I eat really healthy. I exercise about three times a day. I dream that, someday, all people will really have the same rights. I wish all the racist and sexist feelings would disappear, so everyone would have the chance to shine, not just a specific few.

July 2006

2006-07-17T14:26:00.000-07:00

Angel's Tear
Angel Anqi Chen

This is a true story. I didn't make this up.

Twenty years ago, my mom was an active girl. When she was 14 years old, she went out and played with lots of boys. Of course, they all liked to be friends with my mom.
When my mom was 14 years old, she was a pretty girl. Her skin was white and yellow. Her eyes were brown, and her hair was long. Her voice was a little loud when she was mad. If everything was okay, her voice was sweet. She liked to dance, so she always moved gracefully. My mom also liked to play basketball when she was a kid. She liked to sew, too.

Sometimes she felt happy, but not all the time. Sometimes she felt angry. When she went out to play with boys, she would worry because she knew that, when she came back home, her father might get mad at her (because she came back home late). People always felt that my mom was friendly, but they didn't know that my mom just wanted to be alone.

Two years later, my mom met my dad when my dad was 18 years old and my mom was 16 years old. At first, they were just friends, then they began dating. Then they got married. When I was born, my mom was 19 years old. They divorced when I was three.
Now my mom and I live in San Francisco, California and my dad is living in China! I was in China until I was ten years old. When I was in China, I had many friends in our school. In China, I was an active girl also. Now I am in San Francisco, California. I have many friends in San Francisco, too!

One day I was thinking. I questioned myself, did they care about my feelings? Why did they get divorced? Didn't they care how I would feel when I grew up? So I was not happy. I only liked to play and stay outside. I didn't want to go home early. So I went to the after-school program.

One day, the weather was cold and windy. I was going to the Chinese school in Chinatown. When the bell rang, my classmates and I all went to the playground/gym to play ball. Then we went down to our class. We could smell chicken. It smelled good. I was very hungry, so I asked Ms. Szeto, "Ms. Szeto, when is the lunch coming?"

Ms. Szeto said, "Angel, are you hungry?"

I answered, "Yep, I'm very hungry."

Ms. Szeto said, "Just wait five minutes. Did you smell it? I think it's chicken. It made me feel hungry, too."

Five minutes later, the lunch came. I ate a lot of things.

One day, my mom said to me that if I were a boy, she would give me to my dad. I didn't really understand what my mom meant by that, but I do know one thing--my dad wants me because he loves me, and he doesn't care if I am a boy or a girl! So I don't know if I was happy about that or not. I love my mom, and I love my dad, too. Why would they want to give me or push me to each other if I were a girl or a boy? I don't know. If I were a boy, would my mom really give me to my dad? I don't have an answer, because I'm a girl now.

Every time I think about this, my heart hurts like something is on my heart. It bites my tears out. I don't like feeling like this, but I can't forget that they are divorced.

One day, I said to my mom, "Would you want me if I were a boy?" I could hear nothing come out of my mom's mouth... I thought she didn't hear it, so I said it one more time, but this time I yelled, "Would you want me if I were a boy?"

"What do you want to eat for dinner?" Mom asked.

I was mad. I yelled, "If I were a boy, what would you want to do?"

I was sure that, when I finished my question, I could hear a sigh from my mom's mouth. Then she just told me, "I don't know!"

I felt sad and cried. I shouted, "I'm not hungry!"

I went to my room. I cried that night on my bed.

After I cried, I felt better, but I didn't want my mom to know I was crying, because she always thinks that I am brave. I don't know what my mom thought when I went to my room.

After that, each time I tried to ask my mom about it, I couldn't even say one word. Nothing!

Maybe it was because I wasn't brave enough to know the answer. I still have a long life ahead of me, but I still want my mom and my dad to hear what I believe and what I want. I want them to love each other again. I know if that dream would come true, I would feel happy and wouldn't worry so much. But now, I feel very tired of waiting for that dream to come true. Maybe my dream will never come true. But no matter how tired I am, I still want to wait for my dream to come true forever!

June 2006

2006-05-17T19:02:00.000-07:00

To Be or Not To Be
by Ioane Sao

When I started the fifth grade, I was scared to say my name, Ioane, to everybody. In my fifth-grade classroom, I could see a messy room with weird decorations. I could smell vinegar and yellow air coming in the window. The time was August 28, 2004, at 8:45 a.m. I was in a terrible mood, mixed with sickness because it was the first day of school. I could hear my mom talking to me in a goofy way. I could still taste the rooster that I had that morning for breakfast. I could also taste a cup full of soy sauce from a restaurant. It was very hot outside, and I was sweating. I could feel my bones in the wrong places.

I whispered, "I'm afraid to say my name."

Then a student asked me, "Why are you afraid to say your name?"

Another student said, "He's a Samoan."

Then my teacher asked me "What is your name?"

After the teacher said that, I blurted out with an angry tone, "My Samoan name is Ioane."

Ioane is a Samoan name. It is the Samoan way of saying "John" in English. So I had a choice: to choose my Samoan name, or use my English name. I remembered that my mom gave me this name. If I didn't choose my Samoan name, my mom would be ashamed of me.

My mom has curly short hair and eye contact glasses. Every time I think about my mom, I think about how she always likes to move around. She also talks in a very goofy way. My mom likes to annoy me by mimicking me every time I talk to her. She tells me that she feels confused when I talk to her, which is another annoying thing to me. She also loves to sing her favorite songs in her car, like hip-hop, jazz, rap and sometimes rock.

I thought that, if I used my Samoan name, people would laugh and make jokes about my name. The last thing I thought about was whether this was going to change my life if I picked my Samoan name. My time was up. The teacher called on me, and told me to stand up and say my name as loud as I could. So I made my decision and said out loud, "Ioane." Everybody looked at me in a crazy way, saying "Ugh." But I ended up feeling happy after school.