Gold Prize Winner: Aashika Pari (India)
Write about a time when you experienced your difference becoming a strength. What can we learn about others and ourselves from this?
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For most kids, the only number that would matter to them is how many marks they’ve scored in an exam. But for me, the only number that matters is my platelet. Every week, my life is measured in numbers from a blood test.
I remember the first time my mom forced me to go to the clinic with her because I was having excessive hair fall. If I had known that trip to the dermatologist would change my life, maybe I wouldn’t have gone at all. The doctor told me, “Oh, she looks a little pale. Maybe you should take her for a blood test.” My mom instantly worried, took me to the nearby blood bank, and made me take a blood test. And just like that, the course of my story shifted.
I live with Immune Thrombocytopenia, or ITP, a rare blood disorder that makes my platelets dangerously low. The immune system, which is supposed to protect my body, mistakenly attacks my own platelets—the cells that help my blood clot. This makes me prone to bruising, bleeding, and low platelet counts.
Every Tuesday, I am forced to sit in the hospital chair, my arms outstretched, ready for the pin to prick me. Three years later, I was so used to it that everyone around me was surprised when I showed no sign of pain while the needle was inserted. I became used to a lot of things.
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I was forced to give up many things because of my condition. I had to stop playing my favourite sport because I could not risk being injured. I had to miss exams when I was hospitalized. Most importantly, my life was filled with uncertainty. I could never be sure of anything or make plans for the future, because each day was a challenge and every day was unpredictable.
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Yet the most disappointing day of all was my parents’ 25th anniversary. A day that was supposed to be filled with joy, laughter, and love became a day of trips back and forth to the hospital. The night before, I was perfectly normal, but suddenly my platelet count dropped, and I was forced to spend the day undergoing a platelet transfusion. But that’s the thing about ITP—it comes without any warning or apparent trigger. My platelet count can drop sharply, leading to serious medical emergencies.
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I am just like any other student—going to school every day, laughing with friends, and making memories. Most people would never guess that beneath this normalcy lies a challenge.
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ITP doesn’t just affect the blood; it also affects learning. Many patients, especially children, experience cognitive difficulties such as brain fog, memory lapses, reduced concentration, and fatigue, which make learning harder. Students with ITP often miss classes, struggle to keep up with peers, and are sometimes misjudged as careless or unmotivated. In addition, the side effects of treatments like steroids can cause mood swings, disrupted sleep, and difficulties with executive function, including planning, organization, and time management. These overlapping challenges mean that a student with ITP may need learning accommodations similar to those offered to students with ADHD, dyslexia, or other learning disabilities.
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I always believed my condition made me weaker—different from others. But I soon realized it was only making me stronger. Living with ITP taught me to be patient with myself and to stay strong when things didn’t go my way. It taught me resilience and showed me that something bigger waits for me every time I am forced to give up something because of my condition. Most importantly, it taught me to look at the people around me with a new perspective and to realize that everyone is silently fighting battles we can’t see. It taught me empathy and compassion.
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Living with ITP has taught me that struggles aren’t always visible. The sudden drops in my platelet count, the missed games, and the times I couldn’t focus in class made life unpredictable, but they also taught me resilience, patience, and the importance of speaking up for myself. My difference became my strength, and in sharing it, I hope others see that their differences, too, can become bridges—not barriers.