I presumed it was easier for the world to see the bubblier side of Aklima and always apologized for anything weird a person of color committed
Ever since the sixth grade I had been turning the idea of identity in my head like a revolving door. I often reflected on what it meant to be a Pakistani-American Muslim.
My memories from Bangladesh are filled with bitter-sweet moments of happiness and the urge to scream for change
I have to be honest. I was not always the feminist I am today.
When our stories are transcribed in books and tales will they tell of how we came together to fight for what was right?
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