This is unfortunately a true story, and something I will never forget. Disclaimer: this was written for an English class where my teacher told me the original piece’s ending was “too pat” and resolved. So the ending is part of the edited part. And while in that moment I was feeling the way I did (referring to the last sentence), I in no way currently feel like that or wish that.

Sometimes, our thoughts are silenced, and as Sia puts it, we have to set ourselves free: Bird Set Free (sorry, I was sick when I recorded it so I may sound a little stuffed or pitchy)

Here is the original version: Sia – Bird Set Free

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I’m sitting next to the aisle toward the back of a Greyhound bus while my dad sits on the other side of the aisle. We’re on our way back to Latham from New York City. There’s 2% battery left on my phone. Crap. What am I gonna do without my music?

The driver makes an announcement in a slight, muffled accent, something about being considerate of other people and talking quietly while on the phone. I’m ready to settle in, knowing it’ll be a long ride.

The African-American woman sitting behind me is on the phone before we leave the station. She talks for fifteen…thirty…forty-five minutes. My dad then asks her to lower her voice because she’s been on the phone for so long and she’s being really loud. She snaps at him. “Mind your own business.”

My dad responds, “You’ve been on the phone for over half an hour and you’re being loud so it is my business” in his Indian accent. “You need to mind your own business my conversation is not your problem.” I stare straight ahead, praying there’s no explosion. My stomach turns. My dad begins to put his shoes on, saying how he’s planning on telling the driver. The lady smirks. “Yeah, go ahead, tattletale.” He sits back down.

I love my dad, but sometimes he doesn’t know how to handle people, and as the bus ride goes on, I get more and more nervous. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. She sucks but don’t say anything. I can’t relax. I am stiff in my seat. I can’t sleep through the ride, or listen to music and get away from the world. I am forced to sit and listen and pray.

Someone FaceTimes her, and now even I’m annoyed. She doesn’t have headphones, so I can hear the whole conversation. The Hispanic woman sitting next to me made a phone call at some point. I have no idea what she said.

The lady behind me makes another phone call, and here’s where I have to fight to control myself. “Some idiot’s been tellin’ me to shut up and I’m like mind your own damn business. He’s there on his iPad looking at Trump and I’m like Trump don’t even want y’all terrorists here. He’s trying to build a wall to keep you out.”

I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I want to punch her in the face. I want to scream at her to get her ethnicities right. I want to teach her a lesson. I want her to know that Muslims are not terrorists and that Mexicans are not bad people. I want her to know that my dad trades in the stock market, and Trump very much affects what happens there. I want her to know that what she’s doing to my family is something that has been done to her a million times, and there’s no justification for it..

My gaze is fixed straight ahead. A white woman turns around, looks back, shakes her head. But she doesn’t say anything. She sees my face. She feels bad. She turns back around.

I hear stories from my Muslim friend about how people sometimes call her a terrorist. I always felt bad, but I never empathized. That day on the quiet bus, with no one to stand up for my family, I empathized with my friend. I realized that I would stand up for my friend, even if it meant being stared at or judged. I couldn’t just watch like that woman did.

Why did she just stare? What is the point of turning around, shaking your head in disbelief, and letting the problem continue? Where were the people that were supposed to back me up, tell the lady to be quiet or inform the driver? Is everyone else deaf? Am I imagining the racism and accusations?

I’ve never faced racism. I am Indian, so stereotypically, I am smart, well-behaved, and respected. I don’t do drugs or get into trouble. I don’t fail classes and get called to the principal’s office. There has never been anything wrong with me until today. Today I am a problem because of my skin color. Today I am self-conscious about the way I look: the color of my skin, the clothes I wear, the height of my body. Today, I almost wish I was white.