Our Essence
Five women share their personal experiences - tales of change and growth. Each personal struggle demonstrates a different aspect of life: faith, love, success and failure, apprehension, and self-worth. They step into the past in order to reflect on the reality and importance of change. Learn from our stories as you dive into the works of Céleste Lopez, Calie Lopez, Madison Trasler, Asha Kline and Sadaf Shahab.
Our Tales
Céleste Lopez
Life is but a succession of unknown events. For this reason, you’ll never get bored. There are always unpredictable events happening. For the worst or for the best. For the best? Because you can look forward to that situation you know only bits and pieces to it. It is an exciting quest you have to embark on to fit all the pieces together. This was the case when I was told about that one cat I could adopt. I knew she was a cat. One that enjoyed human presence: despite being a stray cat, running across wheat fields all day, she always came back home to receive some food and cuddles. But what did she look like? What was the color of her eyes? What was her personality? I had yet to find out about these elements. I wanted to have a cat so badly, so advancing towards this quest was exciting. The outcome could only be exciting and fun. When you’re a child, the world feels like a lively and carefree playground. As you grow older, you start to notice all the dark corners of anxiety scattered here and there. Living in an unpredictable world becomes the worst. What will happen? Have I made the right choice? These are some of the questions that filled my mind, during my first night in Montréal. I was lying in bed in my hotel room. University classes would start in a week. The unknown of this situation was certainly more frightening than exciting this time. Would the outcome be positive? I can easily be impressed by a situation in which I find myself for the first time. Let’s take the example of my first driving lesson. I found myself at a place I never found myself before: in front of the steering wheel. That was already scary in itself. Imagine my state when we pulled out of the parking lot. I, a totally unexperimented driver, joined the rest of the traffic. I’m clenching the steering wheel and I start inverting my right and left, which usually never happens to me. And it was not a total disaster, but I wonder “will I ever be able to master this skill?”. I continued my lessons, and I am still learning but I can clearly see my progress. I’m still stressed at times. But I manage to not hold the steering wheel like my life depended on it. I am now in charge of both steering wheel and pedals. I have turned the novelty into something familiar. One day, I will be able to look back on it and wonder why did I ever worry I would not make it?. Just like with my decision to study Liberal Arts abroad in Montréal. Unknown can be very intimidating, but there’s one thing I'm sure of: the feeling of pride and tenderness you feel when you look back on your past self, and all the progress you’ve made since then, makes it all worthwhile.
Calie Lopez
Young 10-year-old Charlotte looks at the oven, wishing the timer would go off soon. She just prepared a cake all by herself, for the first time. When the timer finally rings, she jumps out of her chair and runs excitedly to call her older sister, Tauri, to help her take the cake out of the oven. However, as Tauri puts it on the table, Charlotte starts to cry: her cake does not look like the picture of the recipe. She followed all the instructions to the letter, so why her cake does not look as good, and is burnt on top? Her sister immediately hugs her and explains to her that when we make something for the first time, it is normal for things not to be perfect: “You know, even if your cake is not very presentable, that does not mean it is not good. It reminds me of the first time I helped a friend make a pièce montée. My friend, who loves to bake, wanted to challenge herself by trying to make a pièce montée, a cake that is difficult to make. We spent a lot of time making the recipe and not all the steps were easy to follow. However, the end result was not very presentable; the choux did not really form a pyramid. But it did not matter, because in the end the choux à la crème were very good, and we had a lot of fun making this cake.” After listening to this story, Charlotte thinks that maybe her cake is not so bad after all. She has to taste it to at least know whether it is good or not. The two sisters eat a piece of the cake and realize that it is actually very good. Charlotte smiles: “I understand, it is not possible to get everything right the first time, and the most important thing is to learn from my mistakes”. “Exactly”, says Tauri, “the most important thing is to make progress, not to get it right the first time. It is like going to one of your training sessions for synchronized swimming”. Charlotte agrees: “When I go to my training sessions, I make a little more progress each time, so that the ballet I will perform with the other swimmers at the end-of-year competition is the best it can be. It is true that the first time I do the ballet it is not perfect at all, but that does not matter because I will be working on it all year.” “In the end”, says Tauri, “I know you will succeed in everything you undertake, and you will always make me proud”. That brings back the memory of the birth of her little sister. When Tauri saw Charlotte for the first time, she told herself that she would always be there to accompany her and help her succeed in whatever she did.
Madison Trasler
I always found that fantasizing about the different routes my life could take was easier than taking certain actions to make those possibilities come true. In high school, this made me very quiet, especially with people whom I liked, and wished to be closer to. In my second year, there was a girl named Farah in my religious studies class. Unlike me, she was in the International Baccalaureate program, which meant we would not be in many classes together throughout high school, and we were in completely social circles. I didn’t think there was much I could do to get her attention, but that didn’t stop me from pining silently at a distance. It was a stupid, temporary crush until it persisted after one year, then two. We would speak sometimes on a technicality, maybe to ask a question about homework, and even at these opportunities I wouldn’t say more than a few words. How could I, when I’d made this girl larger than life in my mind? When I’d enlarged the idea of us, and how exactly we’d fit together in another life, and what intimate things we’d share — how could I make small talk with that same person? When I entered cegep, I thought I was done being passive. I was ready to experience something, with the personality I had at the current time, not an idealized version of myself I had made up in my mind. I saw the same boy in a few of my classes, and based on the few interactions we had, I was sure he liked me. But that knowledge came with a new kind of pressure, a pressure that made me stumble over my words and avoid approaching him, a pressure that made me retreat again, without even knowing. I still had hope, that it would take us more time, but the more it dragged, the more I saw another girl come into the picture. He hadn’t waited. Maybe he hadn’t even known about what I conjured up in my head. In university, I had come to terms mostly with how my insecurity had gotten in the way of any potential relationship, or friendship, I could have had. So, in my creative fiction class, I decided to write about it. I produced the most vulnerable version of myself on the page. I hypothesized a realistic situation with Farah, where it would have been so easy, almost obligatory, to talk to her, and I still don’t. In a class of people I hadn’t met before, I didn’t expect anyone to realize who the main character was, so I wasn’t so bothered when they didn’t understand her. “But I don’t get why she doesn’t comfort Farah, maybe she’s really shy…?”, a classmate trailed off awkwardly during my workshop. Then, towards the end, the teacher asks if this work was based on real events. I was stunned. “Well the— the events aren’t real but…” I said, as I saw the teacher waiting impatiently, so I stammered abruptly with “yeah, this is roughly based on memories I had from high school… yeah,” I finished with an uncomfortable grimace. Even then, when I had the chance to explain everything I was keeping in, I didn’t take it. Thinking about these instances now, apart from feeling slightly embarrassed, I do laugh. Even though it’s taken me a long time to build the confidence I have now, and even though there’s a lot more to be improved, I know that the greatest value can only be made in real-life interactions, even if I’m imperfect in them. Nothing, in the long term, is worse than being silent.
Asha Kline
When you are a child, you don’t have the knowledge or reasoning you develop when you grow up. Every situation feels like a mountain; it’s new and unexpected, and you don’t know what to do. My whole life I have struggled with a deep need to please others. I constantly sought to make other people happy even if it meant that I couldn’t be. So, when I was little, and I didn't know what to do, my only instinct was to protect the feelings of others before I protected my own. Looking back, I can see that this did nothing but hurt me and make each situation worse. One night, when I was nine, my older brother Q told me that he wanted me to stay outside and play with him. My parents had called us in and I never wanted to make them unhappy so I told him “no”. Q got angry. He told me that I didn’t love him or care about him. He told me that he would run away if I didn’t stay. My heart sank like a stone. I tried to reason with him, but he didn’t listen. Instead, he turned and ran. He ran fast and far, too far for me to chase him. I sat in the snow and cried until my legs were numb and my nose stung from the cold. I was stuck, halfway between my parents and my brother. If I had simply gone inside that night, I would not have given Q any attention. Without that attention, it’s likely he would never have run away. When I was eleven, I had two best friends: Claire and Hannah. They loved me but hated each other. One day, at school, they decided they could no longer be friends. Hannah told me that if I wanted to be her friend, I couldn’t talk to Claire anymore. Claire told me that if I talked to Hannah, it would be the biggest of betrayals. I did not return to school for a week after that. I was sick; I threw up 5 times a day, my body desperately trying to rid itself of the stress inflicted by this dispute. Secretly, I was happier at home being sick and miserable than having to make a choice that would hurt one of my friends. The friendship I had with both of them was stronger than the hatred they had for each other. If I had simply told Hannah and Claire that I would not choose between them, they would have been forced to resolve their fight. Starting when I was twelve, I would dread going to my Oma’s (grandma’s) house because my step-grandpa was not a nice man to me. When I was sixteen, one of those dreaded days came around, and off I went to Oma’s. That day, my step-grandpa took it farther than he ever had before. I knew I couldn’t hide it any longer; I had to seek help. I had dreaded that day for so long. I had kept this secret for so long. I was worried that the truth would bring unhappiness to my family; I was worried it would tear us apart. My Oma’s house was a communal hangout for not only my close relatives but also my extended family. I knew that once I told someone, everything would change. That night, I did finally tell my parents, and, as I had suspected, everything changed. Looking back, I don’t regret telling my parents what my step-grandpa did, no matter the consequences. Even if things changed, I know that it was caused solely by my step-grandpa's actions. It was no fault of mine. I am proud to have had the courage to stand up for myself一 to protect myself. Although these are not happy stories, they are my stories. They helped shape me into the person I am now. They helped me realize that I can save myself a lot of pain, sadness, and fear if I just put myself first.
Sadaf Shahab
Very few are aware of this side of India unless they dare to listen to the minority, like the Indigenous people of Canada, and to Palestinians of the Middle East. So, we know India is a land of diversity - colors, languages, faiths, and traditions blend to create a unique fabric of culture. Yet, being a Muslim and, on top of that, a woman often means standing at the crossroads of acceptance and resistance in my homeland. In a country where identity should be a personal choice, it sometimes becomes a battleground. These are moments from my life where my identity was questioned, but I chose to shield it. 1. The School Uniform Dilemma I attended a convent missionary school where the principal, referred to as "Father," warned me not to wear my hijab on campus. I was the only one defying the rule, and it felt like a betrayal when a man who called himself a priest prohibited me from covering myself. I refused to obey, and one day, my class teacher told me not to wear the hijab from the next day, citing equality and further disciplinary action would be taken against me to prevent me from entering the 10th-grade examination hall. As I walked back to my bench, I noticed a Sikh boy passing through the verandah with his turban intact, and I realized the hypocrisy of the situation. I decided to leave the school. However, since it was the best school in the city, my parents would never allow me to leave unless I had a better option. So, I focused on preparing for the entrance exam of Jamia Millia Islamia, one of the top public universities and schools in India. Three years later, the same institution that banned the hijab on campus presented a clip of me- now their alumna - wearing my hijab as an "honor" during their 50th-anniversary celebrations. It was strange to see the very people who had once threatened me now showcasing my journey as an inspiration to thousands of parents. I knew that the tables would turn eventually, and I believe that, sooner or later, a time will come when Muslim girls can wear their hijabs with dignity in that very institution. Emotion at the time Confusion, anger, and a sense of injustice. I felt torn between my identity and the expectations of those around me. Emotion now A firm resolve. I am prepared to challenge them legally if they continue their discriminatory policies. I am grateful for the person I have become through this cold exposure, and I thank the Almighty for the strength He granted me to stand up for my beliefs. Faith has been my guiding force, and I trust that justice will prevail, allowing others to express their beliefs freely. 2. The Last Spot on the List I had poured my heart into preparing for the entrance exam for JMI. My teachers mocked my effort, calling it pointless, as many students who attempted such exams often returned disappointed. The first two selection lists were released, and my name was nowhere to be found - only the district topper had made it. I begged Allah in the quiet hours of the night, asking for a miracle. And then, just when I had almost lost hope, my father received a call. I thought it was a mistake, but then I checked the final list. My name was there - Number 101 - when only 100 seats were supposed to be filled. Emotion at the time Shock, overwhelming relief, and a deep realization that Allah’s plans unfold in ways beyond human logic. Emotion now Unshakable faith. Whenever I doubt, I remember that moment and remind myself - when the Almighty Allah wills, even the impossible bends to His command. 3. The Night of Riots I was in Delhi, studying for my 11th-grade final exams when the infamous North Delhi Riots against minorities erupted in 2019. That morning, I sat for my physics test while bullets and screams echoed in the streets. Then came the night when I ran to the terrace and saw them—angry mobs targeting my neighborhood. My home was at the very entrance of the street. I held my breath, waiting for the horror to reach my doorstep, as flashes of victims' testimonies filled my mind. But then, miraculously, the mob turned back. Emotion at the time Sheer terror, helplessness - the kind that freezes your body while your heart races with prayers. Emotion now Resilience. I walked away from that night changed forever, carrying lessons most people will never learn in a lifetime. 4, The Government Office Showdown [ AN EXTRA] While completing my medical examination for my Canadian study visa at a government office in Delhi, I encountered blatant discrimination. When my turn came for photo verification, the clerk sneered at my hijab. I had already seen him force the Muslim women before me to remove their hijabs, taunting them with threats that their visas would be rejected. Now, it was my turn. "What is this thing? Remove it," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "I won’t." My hands trembled, but my voice did not. He repeated the threat, expecting me to surrender. Instead, I demanded to speak to the head of the office. He refused, but an assistant overheard and called the chief doctor—the one assigned to conduct my medical checkup. I showed the doctor my passport, where I was wearing my hijab. "Child, if your passport has it, then there’s no need to remove it," he said. "I’ll make sure my colleague does not bother you about it." At that moment, the entire atmosphere shifted. The same women who had been forced to uncover in front of hundreds of strangers stared at me. After that day, not a single Muslim woman was asked to remove her hijab in that office. My hands were still shaking, but I remembered my father’s words from a few days earlier: "Either roar like a lion in moments like these or never blame anyone for your humiliation." That day, I roared. Emotion at the time Nervous but resolute. Fear lingered in my bones, but so did determination. Emotion now Empowerment. I realized that one firm stance could change the course for others who came after me.