Hello everyone! Can someone please help me edit my essay? I need any critique possible!
Thanks in advance!
"We want justice!" "Khalistan zindabad!" "Save humanity!" I looked around, feeling accomplished. We were protesting for the Sikh genocide. It was pouring and everyone was tired. But we held on.
I began to truly embrace my Punjabi culture at the age of 12. My dad, fearing that I may lose my culture, began teaching me to write in Punjabi. I was ecstatic. Growing up, I had always envied anyone who was literate in their native tongue. Merely speaking the language was not enough for me. I admired every curve of each Punjabi character. I especially took pleasure in the fact that each character is bonded by a single line on top, to show unity, which in return creates words.
At the age of thirteen, I began to attend Punjabi school, a place for children like me who wanted a better understanding of the Sikh religion. Through this school, I was taught how to read and write in Punjabi. I became active in kabadi (wrestling), basketball and volleyball. I became skilled at playing the harmonium. I was even trained in the basic form of sword fighting, although we used sticks instead of actual swords. It was also through this school that I grasped what the Sikh religion actually means to me. It is the element that gives people a sense of togetherness across many lands. It gives meaning to a life that would otherwise be hopeless. Sikhism became my strength and my value.
It was in Punjabi School that I learned of the 1984 Sikh Genocide. It hurt knowing that the Sikh religion was not accepted in its own country. And the jarring pictures of my fellow people, murdered and tortured, caused much pain. However, not only did the families of those dead loved ones not get any compensation but many Sikhs are still in prisons under false accusations. Yet nothing was being done.
Appalled by this ongoing atrocity, a couple of friends and I began a proposal that we should protest for those in India. I felt that even if we were not physically in India, we could still do our part overseas. Upon research, we found out that there is a yearly protest done in Manhattan. We grew eager and began chatting about what we could do. Kiran, one of the girls, stopped us and pointed at the date. Our expressions darkened. The protest was in two days.
Immediately, some of us began to shelve any idea of actually going. I looked around and saw faces of defeat before the war even started. Before long, many of the girls began bickering with each other. I stared out the window. I could not let this happen. I wanted to support the protest at any cost. I got up from my seat and went to the front of the room. I picked a piece of chalk up and turned around. Everyone had grown quiet, all eyes were on me.
"Does anyone have ideas for some slogans we can use?" I glanced at everyone's faces. "We can incorporate human rights," replied Jitender. Silently thanking her, I turned around and jotted the idea. Twenty minutes later we had completely filled the board with ideas.
Since we had a lot of things to do on the agenda, we distributed roles and got right to work. After receiving the consent from our principal, we began making posters and permission slips for the other youths at the school. Kiran and I set off to create pamphlets.
The day of the protest it rained. However, our purpose was sincere. I looked around; everyone had indescribable joy on their faces. I was glad that I was determined to keep us together because tenacity is an asset. I realized that hard work and team work usually pays off, no matter how hopeless things may get. The whole parade we were all humans on the same side. We chanted the same words over and over. Waheguru Ji ka Khalsa. Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh. God is one. Victory to God.
Thanks in advance!
"We want justice!" "Khalistan zindabad!" "Save humanity!" I looked around, feeling accomplished. We were protesting for the Sikh genocide. It was pouring and everyone was tired. But we held on.
I began to truly embrace my Punjabi culture at the age of 12. My dad, fearing that I may lose my culture, began teaching me to write in Punjabi. I was ecstatic. Growing up, I had always envied anyone who was literate in their native tongue. Merely speaking the language was not enough for me. I admired every curve of each Punjabi character. I especially took pleasure in the fact that each character is bonded by a single line on top, to show unity, which in return creates words.
At the age of thirteen, I began to attend Punjabi school, a place for children like me who wanted a better understanding of the Sikh religion. Through this school, I was taught how to read and write in Punjabi. I became active in kabadi (wrestling), basketball and volleyball. I became skilled at playing the harmonium. I was even trained in the basic form of sword fighting, although we used sticks instead of actual swords. It was also through this school that I grasped what the Sikh religion actually means to me. It is the element that gives people a sense of togetherness across many lands. It gives meaning to a life that would otherwise be hopeless. Sikhism became my strength and my value.
It was in Punjabi School that I learned of the 1984 Sikh Genocide. It hurt knowing that the Sikh religion was not accepted in its own country. And the jarring pictures of my fellow people, murdered and tortured, caused much pain. However, not only did the families of those dead loved ones not get any compensation but many Sikhs are still in prisons under false accusations. Yet nothing was being done.
Appalled by this ongoing atrocity, a couple of friends and I began a proposal that we should protest for those in India. I felt that even if we were not physically in India, we could still do our part overseas. Upon research, we found out that there is a yearly protest done in Manhattan. We grew eager and began chatting about what we could do. Kiran, one of the girls, stopped us and pointed at the date. Our expressions darkened. The protest was in two days.
Immediately, some of us began to shelve any idea of actually going. I looked around and saw faces of defeat before the war even started. Before long, many of the girls began bickering with each other. I stared out the window. I could not let this happen. I wanted to support the protest at any cost. I got up from my seat and went to the front of the room. I picked a piece of chalk up and turned around. Everyone had grown quiet, all eyes were on me.
"Does anyone have ideas for some slogans we can use?" I glanced at everyone's faces. "We can incorporate human rights," replied Jitender. Silently thanking her, I turned around and jotted the idea. Twenty minutes later we had completely filled the board with ideas.
Since we had a lot of things to do on the agenda, we distributed roles and got right to work. After receiving the consent from our principal, we began making posters and permission slips for the other youths at the school. Kiran and I set off to create pamphlets.
The day of the protest it rained. However, our purpose was sincere. I looked around; everyone had indescribable joy on their faces. I was glad that I was determined to keep us together because tenacity is an asset. I realized that hard work and team work usually pays off, no matter how hopeless things may get. The whole parade we were all humans on the same side. We chanted the same words over and over. Waheguru Ji ka Khalsa. Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh. God is one. Victory to God.