Asian american college essay
No Asian is like any other Asian. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation — in our house, snake is snack.
Asian american college essay
At the start of junior year, however, I stopped being so sure. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly — yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly. As a result, monolingual Asian American seniors are constantly experiencing multiple barriers in society, because of the disenfranchisement of people of color. As the minutes crawled by, I debated whether I should make a run for it. I was an outsider even in diversity. It feels like that in less than an hour, I felt like I already knew more about these strangers than my friends at school. While being biracial has kept me constantly aware of both my ethnicities, the college admissions process has sparked an identity crisis. Racial stereotypes box us in. However, these stories are heavily nuanced depending on the generational perspective.
Since birth, I had been explaining my heritage to confused faces with pride, and my unpracticed attempt in hiding it only left me feeling ashamed. The SAT transformed into a desperate idol and the numbers became the defining factor of my identity. Ramen and spaghetti.
I was Indian-American and I had no problem with that. Some play violin like maestros.
My college essay
The Legend of Miss Sasagawara is a narrative of tragedy. Being Asian felt like a curse, and I hated being burdened by the expectations to be smart, the bullying of ignorant children, and constantly being misidentified as Chinese. I was so grateful and proud of my heritage. But my story is different. I grew up explaining that I was in a French school because my family and I value humanities and languages, not just math and sciences. Blindfolded or not, I am Asian and American. It was then that I decided to no longer bite my tongue. Since birth, I had been explaining my heritage to confused faces with pride, and my unpracticed attempt in hiding it only left me feeling ashamed. Through Misidentific[Asian], a photo campaign I started to encourage students to share how their identity has affected their lives, and Humans of Green Hope, I interview and learn from people from all walks of life, sharing their stories and lending my voice to those who too often remain ignored. My poem told my story, beginning with rosy-cheeked five-year-old me landing in America on a snowy night and rubbing my eyes in awe of the whiteness covering the new world. But then what? Where I was once content with personal devotion and honest ambition, I became concerned with college success by whatever means necessary.
Apparently, the culture I loved and lived with was unappreciated and disdained. My mother and her culture had, throughout my life, encouraged me to work hard, study hard and pursue what I love. I refuse for my identity to be replaced by a caricature of cultural stereotypes, because there are two sides to my story: Forks and chopsticks.
As the minutes crawled by, I debated whether I should make a run for it.
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