Arina Stetsiuk, age 14, Ukraine

Jawad Maayah


Lying dormant,
Sitting still.
Doing what I have to,
With lots of time to kill.
How nice it is to be free.
“There is no rush,” I say,
The clouds pass by me,
While I get heavy where I stay.

But the horizon grows turbulent.
The clouds shift to a melancholy gray.
My heart sinks at a sight so violent.
“Is this my Hurricane”

Thinking of the stories I’ve heard, I flee,
Taking whatever I can with me.
I take a moment of rest ,
Believing that I have avoided the raging tempest.

I can feel it talking to me,
“You can’t run forever” it says.
But with everything I’ve ever known threatened.
I run anyway.

An epiphany strikes me like a kick to the stomach,
“Prepare yourself, you can’t lose any more time.”
With a new sense of determination
I make the decision.
Leaving everything behind,
I march against the howling gales.

“What is pushing me forward” I think,
I feel scared, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Is it ignorance? No, that line is clear.

Through, wind, rain and hail I walk,
The journey is treacherous.
But with patience, there it is,
My Hurricane

As I get lifted off the ground
I don’t know what to do.
I close my eyes as I go in spirals.
It keeps getting more and more intense.
Until I open my eyes.

“Is this real?” I ask,
“Am I really above the clouds?”
This is what freedom is.
This is the land from the stories.


Poetry

In a KidSpirit poem, teen writer Jawad Maayah shares his thoughts on the power of stories.

My Hurricane

Jaden Flach

I’ll always remember groggily opening my eyes, confused why I was being woken up at three in the morning on New Year's Eve.


I’ll always remember groggily opening my eyes, confused why I was being woken up at three in the morning on New Year’s Eve, 2022. 

These moments are the times when we’re supposed to show strength right? The bad guy attacks a harmless woman and the brave daughter shows no fear and becomes a hero. Well that’s how I thought I would react: like a hero. But courage isn’t easy to harness. 

Movies and tv shows trick us into thinking that courage is built within us all. Either that, or we need a Norse god and genius billionaire to form the avengers and save the world. Courage is portrayed as something that can simply be harnessed when it needs to. And if you can’t? Well, those who let fear get the best of them and don’t become the hero are shown to be weak. Dare I say… a coward. Well, by those standards, I guess I’m a coward too. 

The truth is, I held myself to an impossible standard in that moment; believing that if I didn't do anything to help, I had failed my mom. What I learned in that moment was that fear is a powerful thing. In fact, it’s one of the most powerful things in our brain. If we are truly afraid of something, our body will hold onto that feeling forever. We can be classically conditioned to avoid that same stimulus. It’s a survival tactic. So does the line between a hero and a coward rest in the fate of fight or flight? Sometimes “flying away”  is the best way to save yourself and others. Why should that make you a coward? 

Maybe if we stopped shaming people into thinking that you can only be a hero, people would be more comfortable with fear. I know that I was ashamed of the way I froze up when I needed to show up for my mom, even though I knew the woman had left the house. Fear is that powerful. And I’m still ashamed of the fact that I still feel the same fear I had then anytime I find myself alone or at night in the dark. Simple things I could have handled as an elementary schooler. But learning to accept the fear for what it is, knowing that it doesn’t make me weak, might just be the thing that will allow me to have courage in the future. 

If what happened to my mom wasn’t enough of a powerful motivator to build courage for me, then will I ever be able to show courage? For months after the attack I asked myself this question. For a while, I decided that I was just courageless. Destined forever to cower in fear. But maybe that’s not the case. Maybe courage is like a learning curve. After feeling the weight of terror when I saw an unrecognizable mom before me, I became stronger. Surviving through that time in my life could be like armor. With each life experience I gained a little more. Maybe next time (hopefully there’s never a next time) I'll be a little less afraid and more prepared to recognize fear. And beat it. 

Part of dealing with the assault this year was putting my experience into perspective. I needed to validate all the other aspects of my life that required courage and not just the big scary one looming over my head like a storm cloud. What I experienced was a specific type of fear that not many people will experience. So what about the challenges that we all face everyday? Do the obstacles I face in high school build courage? Or is the courage it takes to put in real work built in? 

I am a senior in highschool. We all know what that means: college. This year is one of the hardest years to get into college in all of history. Rejection seems to be everywhere and for everyone no matter your accomplishments. We have all heard my story. I took the ACT and SAT combined four times with over a year of preparation just to only submit my scores to less than half of colleges. I applied to 19 schools and got rejected from almost all my top choices. Today this isn't a sob story, it's a reality. As school gets more and more competitive, being a student takes real guts. 

In December, when most early application decisions were released I had no idea what was coming. After each deferral or rejection I was crushed. I felt as if my self-worth was being drained away with each application status update. But something changed after that experience. I gained armor. In March when the regular decision came out there were just as many rejections. But after the crush of early decision, I learned to not take each regular decision to heart. I faced it with the courage that had been built from rejection. I knew that it wasn’t a reflection of me but a reflection of covid, competition, and money. 

High schoolers today are a different breed. They are truly fighters and survivors. Maybe it didn’t take courage before, but now it certainly does. This year has been the hardest year of my life. There was a time where I viewed everything that has happened to me as pain. But now I see times when I have built courage. And when I couldn’t harness it, I learned from it. Courage is hard, it isn’t built from the first few times you need it. I've learned It’s a lifelong skill, and I’ve just begun.


In a KidSpirit Big Question article, teen writer Jaden Flach explores the question: can we build courage through motivation or does it just exist within?

Can We Build Courage Through Motivation or Does It Just Exist Within?

Yana Slavinska

What does the word courage mean? The first thing people think about is the quality that allows a person, without considering the risk to their own life, to rush to help or protect someone or something. 

The first thing people think about is the quality that allows a person, without considering the risk to their own life, to rush to help or protect someone or something. I used to think that only people who can give you safety no matter what could show courage. I had only an idea of this word until February 24th, 2022.

At 5am on February 24th, I jumped out of bed in Kherson because of strange sounds  which I had never heard and my father’s words: "Wake up, war.” There were explosions. Sounds of metal structures falling on the ground that could take someone’s life in one second, sparing no one: from small children to elderly people. Everyone became defenseless against these weapons. I will remember this day, and all the further days that I spent in occupation forever. Forever!

The same day we went to the grocery shop, as usual, for products. The shelves were almost empty. People took everything, but so far, supplies had not been a problem. Days went by. Russian troops captured our city. Products were not imported, and shops sold what remained. Everyone was afraid to go out because there were murderers who destroyed everything on their way. It took courage to go outside. The evening came. Explosions. I heard a bunch of rifles outside the window. It took courage to go to bed. We sent messages to friends – there were no answers. It took courage to reassure ourselves.

The door to the kitchen was closed in order to at least somehow stop the glass of the explosion nearby, just to be on the safe side. It took courage to open the door and take something to eat.

        	The blackout. The darkness. My father said that it was necessary, because if you switched on a light, it was possible to lose everything. Courage was required to wait for the next day, which would give us sunlight.

My relatives live in a region far away from Kherson, and unfortunately, close to Crimea. They were occupied first. The Russians brought special devices that blocked telephonic communication, which is why we had no opportunity to hear the voice of my grandmother and to see the smile of my granddad. Courage was required not to lose emotional strength and to stay morally strong; to save the special power inside us and believe that someday we will hug each other again.

One day, the connection reappeared, but then all telephone lines were attacked by Russians. They were listening to dialogues. Courage was needed to call and talk. Talk. Just imagine that! To turn a blind eye, as if everything was okay, and communicate as usual, so as not to say a “wrong word,” for which you could be taken to prison. The word became courage. Only then I understood the importance of it. Letters, formed in one whole – a word. Everything that we considered to be a normal daily routine – to speak, to sleep, to eat, to walk, became for me, my relatives, and for thousands of Ukrainians, the embodiment of the word “courage.” To live required courage.

Russians destroyed the department store “Fabrika,” there was a petting zoo there, and fortunately, some of the animals survived. People gave them a helping hand. News about llamas, donkeys, and mini-pigs appeared on social media. Our citizens picked them up and took them to their houses. This was courage. To save the lives of animals, to give shelter and to feed them, to share your own meal because there was no place where you could buy appropriate food. To buy a few more loaves of bread in order to help others. To share, finding diapers somewhere, which for a long time were a rarity in pharmacies. There were no diapers in the twenty-first century. The maternity hospital was moved into a basement. Courage. Our doctors, nurses, and orderlies – the identity of courage. To help is to have courage. No matter what was going on outside they gave birth to new life, our future.

Every house was filled with courage. Everyone could stay or leave the city. Even to think about leaving took courage. Everyday people tried to save their family from occupation. My family made this decision too. Two bags with winter clothes. Our cat in the carrier. Our dog in my arms. Our car. Nervous looks at each other. Eyes full of fear. We knew that a lot of people who went out, as well as many who remained on the roads, were killed. We went. After a few days all the roads were closed so we were in the queue with the same families who wanted to survive. Hours went by, days passed. Courage – to not give up. To fight to the end.

Our car became our savior. Queues. Kilometer-long lines of the same rescue cars and each combining courage and the word with capital letters "CHILDREN.” Russians came and said to leave all cars and to stand in one row. Everyone came out. A kilometer queue of people and everyone was full of fear and courage. They went. People who took lives, our lives. I saw the childhood and happiness of the children who stood there next to me, and didn’t understand why a man with a weapon was there. The men continued on their way with weapons pointed at us, human beings. We had courage and no fear. We stood bravely, one next to the other, with hope in our eyes. It was a startlingly powerful hope. We promised that everything would be fine. I heard it as if it was directed to me. Courage – to stand nearby and keep quiet, holding a hand.

One morning we tried to leave again. But there were no queues. We were alone. We decided to go another way. We saw several cars. We went with them. We passed two posts successfully. But the third was a shock! We saw a white car destroyed with a lot of shots. There was only one thing in my mind: "There were people!" Courage – to close your eyes and believe that everything will be good with your family.

It was raining. We were still on our way. One more post appeared again. They ordered us to show the trunk. Mum said to father, "If they want to take anything – give it.” Courage – to consciously stay with nothing when there is an unknown future.

They didn’t let anyone go. Their words were that the war was going on, and there was a battlefield. We ran out of petrol and the other cars too. That was the time to make a decision once again. Soldiers said that they weren’t responsible for our life. The decision was made – to go on. Once again, there were destroyed cars of peaceful people, ruined houses and exploded automobiles with letters "V" and "Z.” We were lost. There was an unknown village. People went outside from their houses and, fortunately, brought the map and began to show the road. Courage is to give a helping hand while you are in need.

        	We went ahead. I fell asleep. Some minutes passed, and I woke up and saw a soldier in front of me. He was inspecting our car. Fear. And again, defenselessness. Trembling. But I understood that you need to keep yourself together and not be scared, even if it seems impossible.

We were on our way, when in one moment we saw our flag. A flag of freedom. Soldiers. At first glance I realized – they were our men. There were smiling men, real men! Their smiles will always be in my heart. Courage is to smile, despite anything, and not to lose spirit.

We were safe and free. We managed to do that. And at that moment we felt like a bird released from the cage. A turned page. Another one is waiting for us. However, these memories are always with me, and they will never be forgotten. They are full of the courage of each member of my family. They are filled with the courage of people who surrounded me.

The journey was divided into two parts. The first part was frightening and full of fear. It was before we saw our flag. The next part started precisely there. It seemed unreal to me. The road looked like it was shining with bright lights. We turned on our music, which we hadn’t listened to in months. We embraced each other and continued moving ahead. Long columns of cars were honking as they passed by our courageous soldiers. Courage: now I understand that it looks like the road on the way to freedom.


In KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Yana Slavinska shares her firsthand experience during the war in Ukraine.

The Courage to Be Free

Finnegan Kelly


When I first started reading “As Long As the Lemon Trees Grow” by Zoulfa Katouh, I did not expect to experience such an emotionally draining book. 

The innocence of the title masks its dark and complex themes.

The book starts with a vivid and beautifully illustrated description of the main character Salama’s trip from the supermarket to her home. There, her sister-in-law, Layla, heavy in her pregnancy, waits for her. The trip is riddled with crumbling roads, half-destroyed buildings, and the threat of death, imprisonment, and bombing looming over her head. The scenes unfold during the latter part of the Arab Spring. 

The Arab Spring was a series of political revolutions that took place during the early 2010s, which initiated the collapse of many authoritarian regimes in the countries of Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt. During this time, Syria found itself in a civil war against their authoritarian dictator, Bashar Al-Assad. Due to this political turmoil, the terrorist group Isis was able to spread like a cancer throughout Syria. While some places like Damascus enjoyed relative stability and safety, not all Syrians were so lucky. The Assad government committed unspeakable acts of cruelty against the civilian population. The book takes us to the siege of Homs, a city two hours from the Syrian city of Damascus.

Our character Salama is one of the unlucky ones living in a war-torn area. Although she is a psychiatrist, she has to step in as a surgeon after the other doctors at her hospital are murdered. Even members of the custodial staff step in to become nurses to help run the hospital. Every resource is limited, including the most basic necessities such as bandages. To make matters worse, the bombing is near constant, and the threat of utter annihilation hovers over their heads daily. After Salama’s own home is destroyed in a bombing attack, she is forced to live with Layla in a relatively untouched area — apart from the numerous bullet holes in most buildings. Being six months pregnant, Layla is a target for snipers, and needs to stay inside all day for her own protection. Layla wants to leave for Germany, but Salama feels guilty about leaving a community that desperately needs her.

A figment of Salama’s imagination, Khawf, haunts her daily. Khawf urges her to heed the promise she made to her brother before he died to keep their mother and sister safe, and Salama is tormented by the reality that she could not protect her family in the face of the bombing. As I read, I noticed that the author did not describe Salama’s subconscious manifestation of Khawf in as much detail as other characters. I believe this was intentional, as a way to let our minds complete the picture with our own horrifying visions of Khawf as a harrowing monster. 

The main themes of the book include tough decisions and guilt. Salama is pressured by her sister, her own subconscious, and the promise she made to her deceased brother, to leave Syria as fast as possible. But there is no money to leave, and Salama feels a pull to help her struggling community who are left in the destruction and despair of the war.

The setting of the book, in an impoverished, war-torn place, is something I have never known, yet the struggle of persevering in the face of unthinkable odds struck a chord with me. While it would be grotesque to compare my hardships with the characters in this book, I do know the feeling of being overwhelmed with a sense of imminent doom as deadlines creep closer and closer, and finding myself tempted by the prospect of letting them pass and give up. Clearly, this is not like the impending dread of a bomb dropping on my home, but there is a small, humble commonality. Salama’s refusal to give up is a theme we can apply to our daily lives, and her perseverance and courage in the face of unfathomable odds is an inspiration.

Overall, I would recommend this book to anyone who is interested in the under-reported, war-torn countries of the world, with Syria taking center stage. The book serves as a document, but it also serves as an excellent work of fiction, since the storyline between Khawf and Salama’s own freewill is engaging and fierce. The book describes the unseen battle in Salama’s mind as she struggles with her own guilt and shame, the promises she has made to those who have perished, and the overriding desire to help the community around her. I would give this book a 4.5 out of 5, because this book goes into immense depth by covering all aspects of life during an active, and quite brutal, war. One reason why I did not rate this work a full 5 out of 5 is because much of it can be emotionally intense, and may not be suitable for those who cannot, or do not wish to, handle such a harrowing story.

In a KidSpirit Media Review, teen writer Finnegan Kelly explores themes of courage and resilience in a novel set during the Arab Spring.

As Long As the Lemon Trees Grow: Finding the Courage to Persevere

Lily Wang


A raging summer sun pressed down on the single-story shops and eateries, each storefront faded in colour, forever fighting for the attention of passers-by. 

Heat swelled from the pan-stained pavement. I was reminded of my home – an ocean away – not because of any similarities, but because of its utter contrast to suburban Melbourne. The class stood in the plaza, craning our necks to hear our instructor’s voice over the sounds of morning bustle. This was Jackson Heights, Queens, the most diverse neighbourhood in New York, “if not the world,” my instructor beamed.

I clutched my notepad and pen as determination ceded to nervousness. Our activity was simple. We were to interview the residents of Jackson Heights, collate snippets of their lives, and piece together their story. It was a test of skill and perseverance. 20 students, hopeful would-be journalists, tasked with the rawest practice of the craft. The class ranged in ability. Many were experienced interviewers who were at-ease and confident. On the other end of the spectrum, there were those, like me, frantically scanning the blur of faces, unsure of where to begin, who to approach.

As the group dispersed, I settled on a man who was people-watching by himself. My heart pounded as I neared him. 

 “Hi! I’m a summer student from The School of The New York Times. Do you have a moment for some questions?” My voice was too cheery. My eyes did not meet his.

The man looked up and paused. Was he annoyed? Confused? Perhaps he didn’t hear what I said over the sound of the traffic. Should I repeat myself? Wait for his response? He’s just taking his time to answer, right? An eternity later, he nodded reluctantly. I looked down on my notepad. The question stumbled in my mouth. He started to talk. I tried to jot down his reply in scrambled handwriting. I was hiding behind my notepad, too closed-off for him to feel comfortable talking to me. Before I could ask my second question, he waved me away.

This happened again and again. At midday, I flipped through my pitiful page of notes. I felt dejected, exhausted. In that moment, it was so easy to surrender to that feeling. I could give in and let the wave of disappointment wash me astray. I do not have the skills to be a journalist. I must accept that as the reality.

But I shouldn’t accept that as my future. I may be defined by my past and present, but my future is defined by myself, my determination and passion. Things change, people change. It is up to me to decide which path to choose. Fight or flight. Improve or give up. If I choose the former, and give it my all, I will be one step closer to my aspiration. This was easier said than done. In my state of desperation, I did not know how to fight, how to improve. Luckily, I did not have to struggle alone. Courage can be found in the support of others. And with a newfound determination, I told my instructor of my predicament. 

‘Why are you nervous about interviewing them?’ He asked. 

I considered his question. It was the fear of the unknown. The fear of rejection. I have no idea what thoughts course behind a stranger’s eyes. But ultimately, it was the fear of failure. I overthink and doubt my judgement because I try, in vain, to anticipate every possible scenario as I conduct an interview. I scribble frantic notes because I worry that there will not be enough to write about. I don’t want to fail the task, but by becoming so rigid and uptight, I was working against myself. 

Courage is embracing this fear. I decided to ditch my notepad. No notes from now on. This meant that in essence, I had already ‘failed’ the task, which went against everything I had intended. Yet it filled me with a great sense of freedom and autonomy. With the notepad locked securely in my bag, I gazed at the people around me. Each of them went about their day. Their lives separate, unique, equally vibrant, intertwined. I wanted to uncover their stories.

There was an elderly lady sitting on a bench, watching a group of kids playing ball. As I approached her, my hands felt empty, but my mind was clear. I sat beside her and asked her questions. Not because I had to, but because I could.

“We come here every day,” she said. “My grandson over there wants to be a soccer champion when he grows up.”

I was reminded of how, years ago, my grandmother would bring me to play outside. She would watch absently, on a bench in the same way. In this stranger’s smile, I could see the same wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. And I listened intently.


In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Lily Wang shares a transformative experience practicing journalism on the streets of New York.

To Uncover a Story

Mahnoor Ali Pervaiz


Courage is standing at the platform alone, knowing the train you got off has departed and the next one may never come. 

Courage is closing the door without any certainty of where you will sleep at night; it is taking a step forward even when you know there only is a cliff ahead. It is an internal battle, a war against yourself: ego versus soul.

To me, courage is not necessarily something grand. Although, jumping out of an airplane 20,000 feet high up in the sky to experience a rush of adrenaline may be considered brave, it is not a direct example of courage. For example, if you have a fear of heights, conquering your fear is courageous, not the act you perform to do it. Pushing yourself beyond your limits, testing yourself, and being willing to give everything up for momentary happiness: that is courage. Doing everything you can in the moment to avoid having any regrets in the future. Putting your morals first in a world where everyone wants to outrun each other. Being kind. 

This is why sharing a single account of a time I’ve been courageous is difficult. Courage is subjective. It isn’t a definitive act, and it cannot be defined or shown. It is found within at a time when all hope is lost. When there is no light at the end of the tunnel, when moving forward is no longer an option, courage is turning around and going back to square one, re-evaluating every move you made to ensure you don’t make the same mistake again. 

I remember being in elementary school, just seven years old, and I lacked the confidence to speak up against someone I knew was a bully. For me, the fear of becoming another one of her victims stood in the way of justice. My hesitation could have been because I had already been bullied two years prior, and I had cried myself to sleep every night. The thought of having to go through that again made my spine shiver. I had suffered enough, and that was reason enough for me to want to protect myself first. However, the guilt that came with doing nothing, even at age seven, empowered me to take a stand for someone suffering the same way I had years before. Helping my class community at that young age took courage beyond measure. It not only pushed me to face my fear of going back into the state of anxiety that came with being bullied, but also to possibly risk not being heard or believed. It was a battle against myself to put someone else before me, because staying quiet in the face of adversity is easy but it takes strength to risk it all only to possibly gain nothing back in return. 

Fortunately, when I told the figure of authority in our classroom what had been going on, she took swift action to address the situation. After that, there were regular ‘anti-bullying’ seminars conducted with all grades and any other cases were dealt with in a similar way.

In that situation, the example of courage is not me going and speaking to my teacher, but rather, it is the immense vigor it took for me to let go of the need to protect myself in case things went south. It was the willingness, even at a young age, to let go of my own future happiness to ensure my suffering classmate never shed another tear again. Courage can better a whole community, regardless of how small or large it may be. The act itself might be invisible, but it can go a long way in ensuring others do not suffer the same way you have.

Courage is getting off the train of silence in the face of disaster and standing still for as long as it takes to make a difference. It is letting time pass and holding yourself accountable to bring change, regardless of how small it may be. 

However, courage is also personal. Courage is difficult to talk about because often the story behind it entails great personal trauma; it includes feelings of distress, worry, and even shame. Telling tales of courage is easy when they are not your own story, because speaking of your own experiences takes even more courage. It forces you to travel back into a web of your own design, and makes you experience everything again: all the hurt, the loneliness, the aching. 

Courage is doing something bigger than you, even if it doesn’t seem like it. 

To conclude, courage does not always have to serve a purpose. It does not always have to help someone else. Sometimes, it can just be to help yourself. When the battle against your ego becomes too tough, courage is the willingness to lose everything to be happy and let your higher-self win. Courage is closing the door on the twenty-first century need to succeed and feeling content standing in the darkness with a candle.


In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Mahnoor Ali Pervaiz shares how acts of courage can stem from moments in everyday life.

Moving Towards a Cliff

Pragya Natarajan


For many years, I collected Amar Chitra Kathas. 

As an Indian-American, the cultural traditions of India seep into my life and the way I view the world through fantastical stories. Stories passed through thousands of years to fill my mind with a myriad of tales and lessons. From Jataka tales to Bala Vihar and more, India’s traditions have so many thousands of years of texts and interpretations. Most of my knowledge of Indian folktales, stories, myths, and more are from Amar Chitra Kathas. Comic writer Ananth Pai decided to publish comics of Indian folktales, myths, legends, visionaries and more in English so that children across India would be able to access these stories and to read stories of their own heritage rather than just the British novels they’re taught at school.

Karma, the idea that every deed will come back to affect you in your next lives, is a concept that has been perpetuated heavily in the media. However, just as important as Karma, is the concept of Dharma.

Dharma is the idea that one must protect one’s honor and do one’s duty. The action of disrespecting someone is violating their Dharma. Among Amar Chitra Kathas, stories of valor such as the Mahabharatha were among my favorites. The Mahabharata is a literary epic, a religious text of sorts filled with the life story of all the Pandavas from the story of how they were conceived from gods, to the war strategies and formations used on either side. War epics and stories of courage and valor are exalted in Indian tradition and culture.

In the Mahabharata, Shakuni, the trickster, helps Duryodhana and the Kaurava Princes trick Yudhishthira and the Pandava Princes into betting all they own in gambling, succeeding in taking the kingdom that rightfully belonged to the Pandavas from them. The Kauravas consider the wife of the Pandavas, Draupadi, as a possession and attempt to humiliate her to destroy the honor of the Pandavas. After this incident, the Pandavas beg for a rematch and instead take exile into the forest over losing their wife. With the violation of their Dharma and the loss of their kingdom, the god Krishna helps them gain an army and the standing they need to earn back their kingdom.

Before they set off for battle, the Pandava brother Arjuna is hesitant to fight the Kauravas because they are his cousins. He doesn’t want to fight his kin and spill his own family’s blood. However, Krishna talks to Arjuna and reminds him that he must have the courage to fight for himself, and the courage to protect his dharma and fight for what rightfully belongs to him. A real-life example of this ideal is Jhansi Ki Rani (Queen of Jhansi), who fought to her very last breath to keep the British from taking over her kingdom and died an honorable death, fighting with courage for as long as she could.

On one hand, courage is the ability to fight against obstacles. On the other hand, courage is the ability to seize opportunities. Amar Chitra Kathas also include stories of humor, such as Tenali Rama. In this story, Raman of Tenali starts off as a lazy young man who wants wealth. But, he has the courage to seize opportunities even in the face of authority. He asks a 10-headed goddess how she would manage if all her noses started running at the same time, and makes her laugh so much that she allows him to take both gifts of wealth and knowledge from her, rather than choosing just one. What I admire about Tenali Rama is that he has the courage to make the most of opportunities while having fun.

Most importantly, Tenali Rama has the courage to question what people believe to be right, which is what gained him renown as the Court Jester. Once, there was a renowned scholar who came to the kingdom and asked for anyone to tell him something he did not know. No one in the kingdom had the courage to step up, but Rama volunteered to speak with the scholar. Rama brought bundles in a bag, used sanskrit terms to describe them, and asked the scholar if he knew what was in the bag based on the terms used to describe them. The scholar panicked when he couldn’t answer, and was dumbfounded when Rama opened the bag to show bundles of grass tied with the rope used to tie cows, and respectfully thanked Rama for reminding him of the value of simple things. Rama is courageous enough to question people and their beliefs, and humbled the scholar who was glad for such a debate.

The Mahabharatha, Jhansi ki Rani, and Tenali Rama are among many stories that taught me how important courage is to seize opportunities. Whether it’s the courage to fight for your Dharma, or the courage to question the world around you, courage is needed to take that step forward to shape your future. Courage is necessary to decide how you will proceed to shape your world, and to decide how the surrounding world will shape you.

All these years of learning about courage have led me to the first big decision in my life: choosing a college. After years of hard work I applied to many universities to major in Political Science, and I had to make a decision between a good college closer to home and George Washington University, in Washington DC, the city I’d always dreamed of living and working in. GW is so far away from everything I’ve known. My parents, my friends, teachers, and community. It would be my first time really living in a city, and in practicality it would make sense to choose the closer school. However, I knew I would regret it if I did not take that leap of faith, and I seized the opportunity I felt might never come again. This fall I will be attending The George Washington University in Washington DC as a Political Science Major in the Columbian College of Arts and Sciences, and I will also become an adult. And I know that this leap of courage won't go to waste.


In a KidSpirit Interfaith Connections article, teen writer Pragya Natarajan shares stories from the Amar Chitra Kathas. 

Leap of Faith

Clio Leung


It takes one leap of faith. Just one leap of faith to let go of whatever is holding you back and move forward. 

At least that’s what Amy’s father had told her. Amy was never an extrovert. She was always reserved and often kept to herself. Amy was often perceived as a wallflower–never liked to draw attention to herself the way her brothers did and she was content with that. Often she had to carry the responsibilities and burdens that came with being an older sister with no mother and a secret she couldn’t bring herself to tell her siblings. 

Amy’s father had recently been diagnosed with cancer. He had always been her rock and protector, the one who encouraged her to pursue whatever it was she had in mind despite any struggles she might be facing. A week before the summer began, Amy’s father sat her down in his office and told her the news. She was left speechless–wracked with agony and pain. How she never noticed her father’s demeanor, his tiredness, and the concealed pain he had been hiding so well is all that went through her head. Frankly, Amy couldn’t think. She refused to think and come to terms with what her father had just told her. Her father had also bestowed the responsibility of telling her siblings the news as her father was due in the hospital in a couple of hours and he did not want to startle his children. 

That same night, Amy’s siblings, Eric and Sam, questioned where their father had gone. Eric and Sam were twins, both 10 years old with a bright future ahead of them. Pacing back and forth, Amy’s mind was overwhelmed. No amount of courage could have prepared her for this moment. It took one leap of faith to have a hard conversation such as this with her siblings, but another to accept the terms and keep her head forward for her father. 

Reluctantly, Amy asked her brothers to take a seat on the couch and listen attentively to what she had to say. “I’m not sure how to properly tell you this. I’m not sure if I’m even doing it the right way. I don’t know anything at all.” Amy bit her lip and stared at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with her brothers.

“Dad is sick. He- he has cancer.” There was a long silence. Not a single sound was made. “The doctors requested that he stay in the hospital until he has fully recovered — and I am unsure about how long that will be.” Amy wiped a tear away and looked up. Eric and Sam were completely still, their brows beginning to furrow with worry and concern.

Amy’s heart felt heavy, like the room was getting smaller and smaller and she had no control over it. Each breath was getting heavier with every inhale and exhale. It was the first time she had verbally acknowledged her father’s illness. She clutched her hand to her chest trying to get a grasp of herself, yet all she wished for was to make sure her brothers were going to be okay. To her surprise, Eric and Sam slowly walked toward her and hugged her. “Will he be okay? He’s going to recover right?” Sam asked. 

Amy’s heavy breathing stopped. She looked into Sam and Eric’s eyes, contemplating the things she would have to start doing to hold their family together as their father recovered in the hospital. “I’ll always be here. I’m never leaving”. 

It wasn’t easy being a 17-year-old who was only supposed to be thinking about which college she wanted to go to. Regardless, Amy did everything she could to keep her family together. 

Her brothers didn’t fully understand the concept of cancer and how life-threatening it was, but it was okay with Amy because as long as she was there to protect them, she knew everything would be fine as her father slowly recovered in the hospital.

Day after day, Amy went home to her brothers with a smile on her face, clenching her teeth to fight her tears back at the dinner table, then letting it all out once she got to the bathroom. It was terrifying. She didn’t have anyone to hold onto. People at her school didn’t understand her, so oftentimes she felt lonely.

Before school, Amy always woke up 15 minutes earlier than normal to prepare breakfast for her siblings and get them ready for school. Sometimes she would skip her after-school curriculums to make trips to the hospital to visit her father. And oftentimes those trips included Sam and Eric who were willing to see their father as well. On the seventh day of the ninth month, Amy, Eric, and Sam all took yet another trip to the hospital. As they opened the door to the room, all three of them saw their father, weak, yet filled with a smile nevertheless. 

Amy never complained. She loved her siblings and her father, and she knew that taking care of them was the most important thing she could do. It wasn’t always like this though. There were plenty of days when the stress would take a toll on her. Days where she would be exhausted, days where she felt like she was at her breaking point. But the support she received from her teachers, a few of her peers she never expected to talk to, and most importantly, her brothers, was more than enough for her to keep going. To her, it was touching seeing the number of people reaching out to her, expressing their admiration for her courage in taking on what she had to for her family. Juggling different aspects of her life throughout the day was something she learned to become good at. This included everything from maintaining her good grades, to making sure the mental and physical state of her siblings was healthy. 

It was these simple acts of bravery that led Eric, Amy, and Sam to where they were now. Amy never faked anything with her brothers. She didn’t want to. But at the same time, it brought a sharp pain in her heart seeing that Eric and Sam were growing up fast without their father being present all the time. However, somewhere in between all the trips to the hospital was good news. The doctors said that the chemotherapy was working and that it would just take patience and time. Amy was ecstatic. She was joyful and the feeling felt miraculous. She went home and shared the news with her brothers, who also reacted the same way. Amy felt like she could breathe a little easier, and that night she knew that although her father was getting better, she just had to continue being strong for her siblings. 

It had been a couple of years now, and things were easier to live with. Amy’s father, for one, had been released from the hospital and was working from home. He tried his best to take back the moments he had missed with Eric and Sam, and Amy too. He still had a long road to recovery, but there was an unspoken pride her father had for Amy. His daughter had held onto herself and her brothers without failure, and Amy’s father had never admired anyone more in his life. As Amy grew older and older, she also began to realize that she was more than capable of anything that landed in front of her. Amy looked back at being that same 17-year-old girl who had just found out that her father had cancer. Now, at 19 years old, sitting at the dinner table with no chairs empty, Amy could not help but shed a tear for how far she had come. Now, she was ready to take on whatever challenges lay ahead of her, knowing that she had the strength and courage to do so.


In a KidSpirit fiction piece, teen writer Clio Leung shares a story of courage in the face of illness.

Simple Acts of Bravery

Iryna Tsisaruk


You know I won't miss you anymore 
Or wait for your return 
I don't want to hear any of your sweet lies.
You made my heart cry,
You broke it and trampled it.
However, this will come to an end!
I want to be strong... Even if you are gone.
I'm not afraid of loneliness anymore. 
I will go boldly by myself.
I will find a solution to the problems,
I will support myself and my friends,
I will achieve everything I dream of!
You will become a shadow of the past
Because I have found enough courage to change!

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Iryna Tsisaruk shares the courage it takes to move on after the end of a relationship.

Find Your Courage

Anya Sadozai

The stars twinkled in the sky, the wind whispered through the trees. I sat under the shelter of a cave, hiding from the rest of the fae. 

I had waited all morning for the sun to go down and give way to the full moon, waiting for the fae to emerge. Slowly, their soft glow had begun to creep out from behind the mountain tops, lighting up the trees, as I waited for my friend to find me at our usual spot. I saw her in the distance, and waved to catch her attention. 

A loud bang echoed through the woods, bringing the fae to a halt. The knights had found them. Nets were launched, catching a bunch of fae. I ran out of the cave, trying to catch as many nets as I could, protecting my friend. I roared as loud as I could and started thumping my feet, shaking the ground. I ran at them. Some shot their nets at me but they weren’t big enough for a giant. I led them away from her, but I could see more of them were starting to arrive, so I started to leave. I dove to hide behind a boulder, satisfied that she had managed to escape. 

The knights had been determined to enslave the fae for decades now, capturing as many of them as they could. It was wrong and brutal, but I couldn’t bring myself to fight. They had these weapons that could hunt giants. The humans posed a threat regardless of their small size. I was one of the last ones left of my kind. We had been friends with the fae for centuries, and had protected them from the humans, but the humans began making bigger, more dangerous weapons. As we started to die out, we began to hide from the humans, and stopped protecting the fae. But I had enough. For years I lived in fear and shame, and I had enough.

A week had passed since then. At the last full moon, I told my friend of my plan to help her release all the fae captured already. She was the princess, so the humans wanted to capture her the most, as it would give them full control of the fae.

I saw the full moon peek out from behind a few clouds, followed by a soft glow floating towards the window, and launching towards me in a hug. She was smaller than my chin, but held on as tightly as she could.

“I’m sorry, I should have done this much sooner.”

She smiled warmly at me and shook her head.

“It’s alright, this isn’t an easy step to take, I understand.”

A group of her best soldiers followed after her, and I handed them the keys to the cages.

We left for the village of the humans. I watched them mount their horses, light their torches, gather their weapons, and set off.

As they left, we went towards the metal cages they had built, holding thousands of fairies inside. The princess flew to their doors, but they were locked. The fae could hear their princess from inside as she told them to stay away from the sides. I smashed my hands into them, breaking apart the metal, yet careful not to hurt the fae.

A blinding light burst out from beneath my hands, followed by a huge gust of wind from the fae’s wings as they all flew out into the air, rejoicing in their freedom. The princess led them into the trees, through the thick forest.

“Just past the mountain peaks should be enough, as long as the humans don’t find us.”

Before I left, I found every weapon they had lying around. I grabbed a large rock and smashed them to pieces, destroying each and every one. Satisfied, I followed after the fae.

Clearing the way for them, we reached the foothills of the snow-capped mountains, and the fae started flying upwards trying to cross over. Grabbing on to the rocks, I began to ascend the mountain, climbing as fast as I could. I sat atop the peak, having climbed the fastest, and looked down, waiting for the fae to reach me. But then a loud roar echoed through the air. 

“They’ve found us! We need to hurry!”

The humans were heading towards us. They must have heard the sound of the destruction and headed back. The princess urged the fae to fly faster up the mountains, but the fae were losing their strength. They were getting slower, and some were stopping to rest. The humans were slow, but the fae were slower than them. I stood up, trying to push down as much snow and rocks as I could, hoping to stop the humans, but I was only stopping the fae instead.

“You have to hurry, they’re getting closer,” I shouted to the Princess.

I could see them bringing out their weapons. My heart thumped with fear. But if they weren’t stopped they would hunt all of us. Taking a few deep breaths, I steadied myself, bent over, and I began to cry.

I cried for everyone I had lost, for all I had suffered, and how disloyal I had been to the fae. Big gallons of tears began falling down the mountain. The humans were very slow to climb, giving me enough time to cry. As I cried and cried, the fae were able to fly around my tears, and they started to pool around the foothills, gathering around the humans. For hours I kept crying, and the water kept gathering around them, getting deeper and deeper, until it had begun to reach their necks. The fae neared the top, and flew past me to their freedom. But I kept crying, determined to end this for good.

All the human troops had joined to help the soldiers, but without their weapons, they were helpless. A lake began to form, filling the trench at the bottom of the mountain and drowning the humans. The sun rose behind me, shining its light on the glistening lake, and I stopped. I turned towards the sun, sat down, and grabbed my knees. Breathing a sigh of relief, I watched the other giants slowly wake up and come out of their caves, shocked at the soft glow of the fairies returning to the trees, and the bushes, and the plants. Peace had finally returned to our land.

In a KidSpirit fiction piece, teen writer Anya Sadozai weaves a magical story of friendship and hope. 

Lake of Tears

Om Kakkad

Courage is a fire that burns within,
A strength that helps us to begin,
To face our fears and stand up tall,
And rise above when we might fall.
It gives us the power to face the unknown,
To venture out into the world alone,
To take a chance and chase our dreams,
No matter how impossible it seems.
Courage to help others is an even greater act of strength,
To offer hope and lend a hand at any length,
To act selflessly, without needing a cry for help,
Is a true sign of the courage of a heart that truly excels.
Courage is not the absence of fear,
It’s the strength to face it, loud and clear.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Om Kakkad explores the power of courage.

Courage is a Fire that Burns Within

Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer


Wet clumpy sand crumbles on my feet,
Sharp rocks bite my toes,
Salty cold water numbs my body.

Then a rough wave hits my back,
Pulling me under for a long split second,
Before I can free myself from its embrace.

Hot sun reflects off the sparkling water,
Blinding me and burning my face as I float
And the calmer waves push me to shore.

I turn my gaze to the sky and notice 
A rusty airplane flying across the ocean,
Marking the end of a summer day.

In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer transports her reader to a day at the beach.

Pleasant Beach

Dhruvika Parikh


Whenever we hear the word courage, the first thing that comes to mind are the martyrs who gave up their lives for their countries, or the soldiers fighting at the border. 

But have we truly paused and reflected to ask ourselves: what does courage mean outside of this definition? Courage doesn’t need to mean speaking against someone or facing your fears, rather, courage can be as simple as owning up to yourself and learning how to problem-solve in a difficult situation.

Courage is something that everyone has access to, but very few utilize it to its optimum potential. It helps you realize the abilities you possess, and helps you step out of your comfort zone. I realized this quite recently.

My first experience with inspirational courage was a profound journey. In The Riverside School, where I learn about the world and myself, Grade Six got a Client Project that would help us learn field skills and professionalism. Our class was fortunate to have our Client Project alongside the Citizenship Program with the Prabhat Education Foundation, which is an NGO with the vision to have all children and adults with disabilities lead a dignified life in society.

With the need for more inclusivity in mind, our grade partnered up with Prabhat to enhance our perspective. We hosted the founder of Prabhat at our school and asked questions about the center. The founder spoke about the pre-vocational skills they teach that are required to get a job that provides food, shelter, protection and happiness for families. At the time, their main focus was to teach the Prabhat youth how to cook and serve at a café or restaurant.

The first thought that came to our minds was: how can we add to this legacy already created by the Prabhat youth? The client shared his needs with us and we became excited to lend a hand to this cause. We thought that we would be the change makers, without realizing how it would change us.

Before designing a café for our Prahat youth buddies, we wanted to interact so we could understand how it felt to be in their shoes, which would broaden our chances of elevating one another.

Our first interaction was not easy, and was rather awkward. Neither group wanted to break the ice first, and all of us were quite taken aback by the sudden meeting. Even though some said they were okay, most of us felt quite uncomfortable.

When it was time to go home, we did a reflection on our first interaction, and a lot of us didn’t say our honest thoughts. We concluded that to understand their perspective we would need to step into their shoes to have an experience where we could understand and empathize with their various special needs.

Our Client Project took seven months to complete, and we learned a lot in the process. To culminate this program, we wanted to involve our parents to engage with our buddies. We invited them to join in several activities planned for the parents and buddies. Observing our parents as they got to know the buddies reminded us of ourselves in our first interaction—nervous, scared, clueless, and frozen.

It was my duty to energize the two parties. Since it was the festival of Holi, we enjoyed smearing colors on everyone, and we were able to close our year with this special memory. Words are too limited to describe the feeling and ambience of this moment. It was something to be treasured in our box of memories forever. The joy we felt with each other was more important than all the other emotions and thoughts we had. There was no fatigue, sadness, or melancholy, just epiphany and the euphoria of togetherness. 

But how is this courage? Isn’t the dictionary definition of courage the ability to control fear in a situation that may be dangerous, or is it about stepping out of your comfort zone?

The four types of courage are: intellectual, moral, disciplined and empathetic. So the fact that our buddies, parents, and teachers did things out of their comfort zone to support us and push us was courageous. More than that, the courage that our Prabhat buddies show on a daily basis to fight against society and make names for themselves is a struggle. But their courage is a never-ending waterfall and we got a spring of courage from them.

My favorite quote about courage is by Ryan Holiday: “Courage calls each of us differently, at different times, in different forms. But in every case it is, as they say, coming from inside the house.” So let life throw its obstacles and flow its way, just continue sailing through it on your boat of courage.

In a KidSpirit Helping Hands article, teen writer Dhruvika Parikh shares her discoveries of different kinds of courage.

Courage Can Change Us

Fifi Wang


Suddenly I'm twelve again standing in front of my mother's bathroom mirror trying to slip bloated eyes under double eyelids. Like thank God I have these white-washed corneas, a clean slate and an opaque one does not remind me that I had been foreign to the human language before I was anything else. I hold her wrists and let our breaths fog up the same glass and guide her fingers until we write out: to be brave is to forgive each other for not killing the monster in our closet. If I braid your hair the right way this time, would you promise me to stomach the courage it takes to call elsewhere a home?


In a KidSpirit poem, teen poet Fifi Wang explores bravery and forgiveness.

Twelve Again

Sybille Nkunzimana

For this collaborative project, pairs of youth contributors from different locations around the world interviewed each other about their personal “hero’s journey,” and then wrote about their partner’s experience.

We all have dreams. Some of us dream of ending world hunger or sailing the seven seas. 

Others have simpler dreams of frolicking in green pastures or sitting on their porches listening to the birds. Some dream specifically of acing next week’s math test.

But what if in the middle of the night, the lights came on and you were startled awake. What if, without warming, all your classes were canceled, all oceans dried out, and the green pastures you once dreamt of turned into arid planes littered with the dust of what was once your apartment building? What if, suddenly, birdsong was drowned out by gunfire, and the light streaming in through the window was not from the sun, but from flames? What would you do if everything you ever knew fell away before your very eyes?

Yana had dreams. She dreamt of learning new languages and leaving home to study abroad. She dreamt of going to Scotland and seeing the Highlands; of attending the University of Edinburgh, and of broadening her horizons and meeting new people. “I’m not dead yet but I feel as though I have died a thousand times already” Yana tells me. For the longest time, all she wanted to do was leave Ukraine. Now, all she wants to do is go home.

After months of watching her home being destroyed and falling asleep to the sound of warfare so loud, it drowned out her tears, Yana began to shut down. Poetry, with its vivid imagery and endless ambiguity became her catharsis, allowing her to spend much of her time floating from sentence to sentence, carefully selecting each word, baring her heart into every verse.

Exchanging stories with Yana about Ukraine on her part, and Haiti on mine, it became clear that our lives in our respective homelands are not dissimilar. Though on opposite sides of the world, in different time zones, with different languages and cultures, they are alike in that they are steeped in violence. Mounting political tension has resulted in gang warfare across the capital city of Haiti and too many children have had to watch their dreams vaporize with every gunshot and every scream much like the children of Ukraine.

“You never truly know how something feels until you have experienced it for yourself” Yana adds, explaining how her entire outlook on life has been irreversibly impacted by the war in her country.

Courage is defined as a person’s ability to do something that scares them. But having gone through something traumatic and living with that weight on your shoulders, courage can exist in even the smallest, most insignificant aspects of life. Courage can be in finding the strength to wake up every morning, dry your tears, and start your day. Courage can be in taking control of your trajectory despite the hardships you have faced. Yana has taught me that courage cannot exist without great effort. Courage does not always have to be about saving the day; courage can also be about finding the strength within yourself to reclaim what you have lost.


Sybille is beautiful and it’s not only about her appearance. Her beauty is courageous. 

At first glance, she seems to me an ordinary teenager who is interested in literature. However, Sybille is much more. This girl is from one of the most dangerous territories of the world – Haiti. Formerly the richest colony in the Americas, Haiti has become the poorest country in the western hemisphere. The country's development was hampered by external intervention and debt, political instability and natural disasters. Sybille told me about a WhatsApp group in which people send photos of those who were killed. I know how complicated it is to look at such horrible shots as I encounter them every day in Ukraine. She described to me other criminal acts such as kidnapping. It's another thing that unites our stories. Russian troops kidnap Ukrainians in occupied territories from the 24th of February. Strangely enough, we are two girls from different corners of the Earth, but we both suffer from the same – terrorism.

Sybille shared with me one situation that happened at her home in Haiti. It was at night. Her family members were sleeping; suddenly she heard loud sounds of gunshots outside the window. I’m confident, no parent wants their kid to wake up from gunfire. Therefore, she was forced to leave her hometown and parents. Nowadays, she lives hundreds kilometers from home. What’s going on around us? Ukraine, Haiti and many other territories are being destroyed at this moment. People die every minute. Humanity suffers from humanity. It sounds unreal, but unfortunately, it’s our reality.

I saw myself in Sybille’s personality. She can’t ignore this terrorism, she wants to speak. Highlight this issue by writing. She said, “It’s hard to know that every second something terrible happens in my hometown. But the most torturous thing is to know that you can do nothing.” I understand what she feels. Sybille hasn’t had a chance to walk on the street on which she used to play games when was a child and I haven’t either. I can’t wake up in my bed and Sybille can’t either. We both are far away from home, because we aren’t safe there.

Sybille and I are two girls. From the first sight, you can say that we are completely different. However, our souls have the same pain. These are running sores, which hurt us more and more every single day. Nevertheless, we aren’t teenagers who are only suffering. Both of us are women who struggle for a better future. People who will stand for freedom and happiness of millions of human beings. We are girls who were affected by terrorists, but it didn’t break us. Instead, it has turned us into powerful women. Individuals who will do all in order to stop terrorism. It was an honor to meet Sybille Nkunzimana. A person, who gave me an understanding that courage is to have a ruined soul, but strength to move on.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teens interview each other about their heroic journeys. 

Sharing the Hero's Journey: Part I

What does it mean to have courage? Can we become courageous? Does being brave look the same for everyone? In this empowering issue of KidSpirit, young writers and artists explore these questions and share stories of courage in all its forms.

My Hurricane

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