GSA Senior Writing Award 2025: Longlist Featured Piece from Zaynab

By Zaynab, student at Bedford Girls’ School

The following is one of a number of standout entries submitted for the GSA Senior Writing Award, showcased here to celebrate the voices and creativity of our students.

As a child, I thrived: I did what I wanted, when I wanted, where I wanted. When I was nine, I wore a hijab for the first time, not as a symbol of oppression but as an act of self-expression. Little did I know, others would see it as a mark of my victimhood.

Growing up, I was unaware of what the world thought, of stereotypes, of projection. I was raised believing girls were a blessing upon their parents and just as intelligent, remarkable and resilient as any boy, challenging the common misconception that all Asian families are misogynistic and do not value women. Some may, others may not. The big problem here, is that with the evolution of technology, stories from around the globe became more accessible, revealing the struggles many face. However, this also gave rise to a dangerous side effect: projection. It’s easy to assume that everyone who looks a certain way has the same experiences.

Picture this: you read an article in which a young girl, maybe 10 or 11 years old, shares how her family have demeaned her and forced her to cover her hair, indoctrinating her with the idea that God has created her with a lower identity and telling her she must cover herself up and keep away from outsiders with evil intent. You would empathise with her, no? Call for change. Recognise that this situation is wrong.

Now, you see a ‘similar’ girl in your hometown, 9 years, and wearing a hijab. You immediately associate her with the girl in the article. But why? Why does a person draw assumptions on someone based on their resemblance to another. You do not know her background, her family, her story but you have the self-righteous instinct to immediately determine that she is oppressed. After all, she cannot possibly have decided that she wants to cover her hair. Nope. That’s out of the question.

Projection is a scary thing. Based on a totally different person’s situation, one can develop a hero complex and swoop in, doing all the wrong things for all the right reasons. However, when this approach is taken to young people, it can completely affect how they view themselves.

In primary school, I would always marvel at the clothes my mother would wear, including her hijab. When I was 9, I decided my school uniform was incomplete. I remember asking my mother if I could wear a hijab, and the stunning smile that lit up her face only served to encourage my desire. The next day I sauntered into class, bursting with excitement at my new look. Some of my friends cheered me on while others barely noticed the difference, calling me to play – after all I remained the same person, just wearing an extra article of clothing. My class teacher asked who had picked my hijab, to which I arrogantly answered that I had selected the sparkly silver pull-on, an exclamation that elicited an amused chuckle.

But not everyone was supportive. I remember one of my classmates innocently inquiring why I wore a scarf when I ‘looked better without it.’ One teacher pulled me aside and asked if I had been ‘forced’ to wear it. Puzzled, I assured her it was my choice and hurried back to class. A few days later, the same teacher questioned whether it was ‘really necessary’ for me to wear it. I was stunned – in her eyes, I was just another girl trapped by her culture. My choice, my voice, seemed irrelevant to her.

Children are easily intimidated. I could have caved, abandoned my hijab to fit in. Instead, I argued with this adult who should’ve encouraged me to feel confident as a religious child of colour. Did she not understand how her questions, though well-intentioned, made me uncomfortable? The injustice sparked something in me – I told her, ‘I can wear what I want. My parents never forced me, and neither will you.’ It was the first time I consciously stood up for my beliefs against someone who didn’t understand them.

I have not wavered since that day.

At 11, I transitioned to another school. Although I’d still hear comments on occasion about my hijab, I refused to let it influence me. I’d learned my actions would hit harder than my words could ever reach. We live in a world full of assumptions. The kind that leads people to project their own narrative onto others – without truly understanding their story. For years, I’ve battled people’s misguided perceptions of who I am, simply because I wear a hijab. Now, as a GCSE student, I am fortunate to be surrounded by people who are open-minded and accepting of each other’s differences. As for the others, I don’t waste brain cells thinking, ‘How can I change their mind?’ It’s not my issue, it’s theirs and they will have to reconcile themselves. The only thing I can do is live as my authentic self, because, in the end, these projections don’t define me. They define the people who make them.