Myah Jackson-Solomon and Yasmeen Jaaber were both awarded the highest honor in the 2021 Scholastic Awards: the Gold Medal Portfolio Award! Keep reading to learn more about them and to view some of their winning works.
Myah has been drawing for as long as she can remember. Over the years, she has found that drawing helps her communicate “the thoughts that I was never able to before.” Yasmeen focuses on writing about love in all its many forms. Her writing explores “[f]amilial love, platonic love, love that maybe is just lust, real meet-the-parents, picnic lunch, do you want kids? love, that takes hold of your life from the beginning until very well past the end” because, for Yasmeen, “it’s all important, it’s all valuable, and it deserves to be written about.”
Myah Jackson-Solomon
“The work I’ve made over the past year reflects a growth from less complex compositions and symbolism and more disconnected, individual narratives with each piece, to a more sustained style and sequential recording of a personal story of my mental health situation over time. In the beginning of my portfolio, I felt very disconnected from my artistic drive due to my mental state, and as a result, I turned to experimentation with a multitude of mediums and dramatic perspectives rather than building a sustained narrative or style.”
Yasmeen Jaaber
“In this portfolio, love is the driving force behind all of my pieces. Even in the ones where struggle is present, the conflict lies in love of self or others. When I talk about my experience as a Muslim-American, I am writing with my entire family and culture in mind. I don’t write with the intention of persuasion, I write with the intention of honesty.
“Something that’s apparent in my writing is repetition . . . Repetition is incredibly representative of the way my mind works and the way we all explore memory. Many times I find myself lost in the same moment of a memory and I will visit that moment every day for a month. For me, memory is never a one-time thing, in fact, it’s something that is always with us. It’s easier to portray a moment using repetition in my writing because it’s so similar to the way my mind works . . . This collection is not only made with love but for love. It screams some things and whispers others. Everything I have written for the past four years and everything I’ve experienced for the past eighteen, has led me to this moment. There have been success, failure, and the beautiful process of moving on. These pieces have all been written out of necessity for truth and self-expression.”
A Muslim Girl’s Guide to Life’s Big Changes
Yasmeen Jaaber, Personal Essay & Memoir. Grade 12, Appomattox Regional Governor’s School, Chesterfield, VA. Gold Medal Portfolio, The New York Times Writing Portfolio
1. Hijab (Hee-JAAb)
[What’s that called again?
Oh, Hijab!
or Khimar
you can just say Hijab though.
Hee-jawb?
Yeah, you got it.]
Everyone will pick apart the pieces of you that are hardly understood within your own head and heart. Pretend to know less than you do, and pretend that it’s too complicated for them to comprehend. Have them trip in your trap, it’s hardly their business anyhow.
[Do you have cancer? Marcus asks me, with his mohawk and his mucus voice. Fourth grade. I’m trying not to cry. He’s taller than me and I don’t like crying underneath people. The tears I’m holding back begin to boil. I do not have cancer, that’s really stupid to say. I stomp my boots into the dusty mulch. My friends back me up. God, Marcus, don’t be an idiot. Jeez, I didn’t know! What is it for if she doesn’t have cancer?]
Say: religious purposes. Fourth grade, you don’t really know what you’re wearing it for. But, it definitely means you’re Muslim. Religious purposes is the way to go. It’s to the point and leaves little room for questioning.
[Oh you’re like one of those mooz-lems? Do you have to wear that?]
They always know more than they let on. Don’t falter, walk away with your head high and your stomach hurting. Eventually, you’ll run out of the energy it takes to stand up for yourself.
2. Prayer
[Is there a space for Aliyah to pray?
She can go to a teacher with a planning block.
Is there any place she could be alone?
Let me ask.
Unfortunately, we don’t have a room for Aliyah to pray here.
Oh, okay. Thank you for asking.]
Pray during Ramadan to pass the time. Pray when your dad is in a bad mood and you want to see him happy. Pray when someone dies. Pray so that the ground shivers and the canyon between you and Islam fills up with a few tiny pebbles. At this rate, it will take an entire lifetime to close the gap and make your way across.
[I am crouching underneath the computer table, reading Maximum Ride fanfiction. In this one, written by chronicyouth.2003, Max has postponed sex with Fang because she’s gotten her period. I’m jealous of her, a fictionalized version of an already fictional character. She has an idealistic life to me, a bookish sixth-grader. ‘Sorry hot winged boyfriend, I can’t have sex with you, I’m on my period!’. Was that what life was like when you had your period?]
You forget how to make Wuḍū every time you decide to pray. But, you always remember that you’ve got to rinse your mouth and your feet. Close the door if you don’t think you can do it correctly, that way nobody can see if you’re doing it wrong. Stick your hand in warm flowing water, and splash it on your face. Rub your arms and your neck and breathe the water into your nose. If the droplets of water on your face are visible, nobody will know the difference.
[So I press my eyes tightly together, and clutch my Nexus tablet to my chest and pray in the way they do in movies. I never pray this way, knees bent and eyes closed and thinking only of myself. Please let me get my period. Please, please, please.]
You like the way the prayer rug smells. You push against the smooth layering of suede. Your dad is singing the call to prayer, and you echo it in your own head. I could do that, you think. How come he’s the only one who gets to call the Adhan.
[The next day, I am crying over my brown-stained underwear. It’s not glorious or sexy. I don’t feel any closer to a life of hot avian spouses. I’m not even completely sure that it’s my period, but I go into my suitcase from camp and grab a pad anyways. It’s not as comfortable as the panty-liners the nurse gave all the girls in fourth grade. It’s actually not comfortable at all. This sucks, I say to myself, why did I want this so badly?]
3. Faith
[Everyone in here is a believer of Allah
Takbīr
Allahu akbar
Takbīr
Allahu akbar
At least I hope we all are]
You are going to make friends that don’t want you to be who you are. You are going to decide you don’t want to be who you are either. Christians don’t have to cover up, you’ll think. Christians are allowed Santa Clause and pork-fat gummy bears. Christians wear short-shorts and crop tops and braid each other’s hair during class.
[I hate having something particular to say to someone. It sits in my belly and writhes around and I know it’s in there so what does it have to make such a ruckus about?]
You ask your newest friend if she believes in God. She laughs. The word atheist feels like a breath of fresh air. How freeing would that be? you’ll say to yourself. To have no responsibilities except to live and to die. Lean into your hidden desire and taste those new ideas of liberation. They will spread across your tongue and melt into tangy discomfort.
[I climb into the front seat and shut the door. It’s dark outside and all I’m thinking about is the fact that I’ve never been grocery shopping this late. My mom had asked me if I wanted to go and the creature in my stomach said yes. There was only one way to kill it.]
You’ll feel more disconnected from Islam than you’ve ever felt, you’ll feel repulsed by it. You’ll find yourself thinking “fuck God” and then you’ll find yourself ashamed of it. You will tell your friends you don’t believe in God. They laugh. Well then, if you don’t believe in God, what are you doing with that on? What’s that called again?
[In the aisle with the canned beans, I tell my mom I don’t believe in God. In the aisle with the canned beans, my mom looks at me with only fear. It’s quiet. There’s a book about prophet Muhammed on my desk the next morning. I don’t read it.]
You’ll want to be like everyone else because there is no value in who you are right now. There is no value in Islam. The ground rumbles this time and brings down red clouds and boulders and coyotes and tarantulas. You stand below it all, letting your whole life fall around you, sand cutting your lifted face.
As things move and crumble you have to stay strong and put your trust in Allah. Stop wanting so goddamn much, some things you just cannot have. Put your trust in Allah alayhi s-salām.
Featured image: Myah Jackson-Solomon, Calming Rhythm, Painting. Grade 12, George Washington Carver Center for Arts and Technology, Baltimore, MD. Gold Medal Portfolio, Roome Fund Art Portfolio
To see more Gold Medal Portfolio recipients, past and present, visit our Eyes on the Prize series.