This I Believe Illinois: Recent Episodes
Beatrice Bonner
This I Believe Illinois is NPR Illinois' annual essay program for Illinois high school seniors. An expression of where their minds are as they prepare to enter the adult world.Thank you to all who participated in this year's program! Listen to the 10 selected essays below.Writing Guidelines
Kate Downing of Glenwood High School is a 2025 This I Believe essayist with, “Embracing the Inner Couch Potato.”
Brooke Braasch of Litchfield High School shares her 2025 selected essay, I Believe in Two Homes."
Dajah Dean of Southeast High School shares her 2025 selected essay, "This I Believe: Me and My Brother."
Ace O'Malley of Southeast High School shares her 2025 selected essay This I Believe: The Freedom of Holding My Brush Looser.
Tori Zobus of Williamsville High School shares her 2025 selected essay This I Believe: In Giving Hong Bao.
Milla Anderson of Hillsboro High School shares her 2025 selected essay This I Believe: Kitchen Counters.
Program to celebrate the 10 selected essayists of the This I Believe Essay Program 2023.
This I Believe Illinois is NPR Illinois' annual essay program for Illinois high school seniors. During the Meet the Authors event we watch the chosen essayists share their statements of beliefs.
Aurelie Granito TIB October 2022 Essayist "This I Believe: I Believe In Getting a Taste of Diverse Cultures"
Amber Ehrlich TIB October 2022 Essayist "Unicorns, Rainbows, Teddy Bears, and Marshmallows"
This year, to celebrate the chosen essayists, we produced a virtual culminating event. During the event the 10 chosen authors read their essays. A panel discussion was also held with previous chosen essayist Gabe Knott and Dr. Stacy McDermott mother of previous chosen essayist Mackenzie McDermott.
I believe in car stereos. The stereo may be seen as a flashy accessory for an otherwise necessary means of transportation. But I believe a car stereo is the most important feature of the car. It is the heart of all socialization. Whether a touch-screen or good old-fashioned buttons, this modern music box is something of a magic trick.
Chocolate chip. Pizzelle. Oatmeal raisin. Jan hagel. Shortbread. Camachile. Gingerbread. Stroopwafel. Coconut. Peanut butter. Nearly everyone likes a cookie, regardless of background, identity, or politics; thus, cookies can help bridge the gaps we’ve created in our communities. I believe cookies can bring us together.
I believe in doing the right thing, even when no one is watching. Most people do what is right when they are being watched by their peers or someone of authority, but fewer do so when no one is there that can hold you accountable. This was made clear when I went to basic training during the summer.
There are those who find comfort in surrounding themselves with people who are similar to them. Others would rather be around people who have different perspectives because it helps them to learn more about their world and themselves. On a trip to New York City over Easter weekend when I was 15, I discovered which type of person I am.
When my grandmother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, it completely changed her life. She lived in fear of when she may forget who she was, but more importantly, who she loved. In 2016, my grandfather had a stroke, which sped up the time frame of my grandma’s memory loss.
A small, fragile piece of thread is what I believe. A piece of thread that is often overlooked. I believe in a piece of thread that has been intertwined in my life for a multitude of years. From using it in my kindergarten art class to using it to hang a German project my sophomore year of high school. From stitching on my very first merit badge on my sash to stitching my Eagle Scout badge on my scout uniform, I deeply understand the importance of a simple, thin piece of thread in my life. It was not until recently that I understood the importance of thread in my life.
For over four years, I have walked away from Compass for Kids, where I volunteer weekly, with a warm-hearted feeling truly inexplicable. Throughout this time, I have built unbreakable bonds with many of my students, and thus have gained access to the most intimate aspects of their personalities. Different from other elementary students, in the short amount of time the Compass Kids have been alive, food insecurity, physical/mental abuse, and many other situations that most adults will never face have monopolized their lives.
If there’s anything I’ve learned in the 17 years I’ve been alive, it’s that the Brown community loves spice. I’m not just talking about the cardamom in your plate of biriyani or the cumin in your chicken tikka masala. I’m talking about the kind of spice you can get by eavesdropping on the aunties after the Friday prayer, chatting about whose daughter was wearing what or that they spotted someone’s son alone with a girl at the movies. The kind of spice you could fill volumes of tabloid magazines with.
Imagine you’re 11 years old and back in middle school. You’re walking down the hallway when a boy says to you “Dang. You’re darker than me.” He says it in a condescending way, but you don’t understand why it’s such a bad thing. You don’t understand why your whole life, people have told you that you were “too dark.”
I cross the train tracks on the Stanford Avenue extension, and suddenly, I'm transported. For many in my town, the train tracks symbolize a wholly different world. I've been told the boundary set by these train tracks is going to negatively impact my education and high school experience. When you go to school on this side of the train tracks, everybody on the other side has a preconceived idea of what the future has in store for you. Some think it's wise to file for a transfer to another school on the other side, but I found it wiser to not listen.
Hannah laughs and eats her strawberries out of the pink container that matches her pink lunch-box that her mom packs every night. I laugh along with everyone and their problems, sitting silently thinking about mine. “My mom got mad at me last night because I didn’t finish cleaning the third floor” Lilly complains to people at my seventh-grade lunch table. ?You have a third floor. “Oh my gosh my dad and mom last night wouldn’t let me go into the living room because they were working with a client.” Sammy shares. ?Imagine your parents living together?.
My truthfulness could have cost us a trip to the Illinois State Tournament. Golf is a game of integrity. In tournaments, players track their own scores, as verified by their opponent playing partners. Golfers typically play in groups of four with all four players from different competing schools.
I believe that there’s nothing wrong with big ideas. When I was young, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Essentially, my brain is extremely energetic. I have a lot of thoughts cycling through my head at any given time. With nothing to distract it, my brain can fall down rabbit holes of thought rather easily.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Superman flying over Metropolis to bring a stop to the actions of villains of the city and peace to the minds of its citizens. At a young age, I believed that when I was in trouble, some type of hero would swoop in and save the day. While it may seem silly to think that there are heroes hiding in the shadows —ready to come to the aid of civilization at a moment's notice — I know that there are people in my life with extraordinary abilities that only a true superhero could possess.
I’ve never been fond of science, and I don’t think I ever will be. On my first day of sophomore year of high school, I was dreading chemistry. On day one, our teacher greeted us at the classroom door. He wore a periodic table t-shirt and a leg brace that didn’t slow him down a bit as he hopped around the classroom learning our names, showing us lab equipment, and promising us that we would have a great year. I remained skeptical, to say the least.
The first few years of my life, I never knew the world could be so cruel. I was just a little girl, always smiling and happy, oblivious to the hatred surrounding me. Reality hit me hard when I first teased about my dark skin at seven years old. The phrases, ‘ugly gorilla’ and ‘burnt food’ were branded into my mind; I never thought I’d heal from the pain those words caused me.
I see a timid, shaky-kneed freshman, eyes wide with fear for being on the court during the varsity game. She is the most open player to receive a pass. With a flick of my wrists, the ball zooms into her possession.