Research Papers / Chinese tradition of eating moon cakes during the Mid Autumn Festival every Fall; playing the cello [7]

Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

Mooncakes and barriers - COMMON APP PROMPT #1

Prompt: Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

I grew up celebrating the Chinese tradition of eating Mooncakes during the Mid Autumn Festival. Like Nutella, or apples, the dense, delicious, pastries filled with sumptuous lotus paste and a large, savory, egg yolk were a favorite childhood snack for me. In 4th grade, I brought the cakes to homeroom, eager to share some of my culture with my classmates.

When I offered samples around, everyone eyed them with wary curiosity, none daring to eat a piece except for one boy who dramatically snatched a sliver and made a show of putting it in his mouth. I distinctly remember his face puckering, as he spat it out and uttered condescendingly,

"Like, what is this?"

My classmates quickly backed away from the box of cakes that had suddenly become a taboo, despite my futile attempts to defend them. I felt indignant yet vulnerable and exposed, unable to find the right response. I was sure they were good. I knew they were. But one opinion had toppled everyone's interest as the Mooncakes were soon forgotten; the class moved on to the next distraction. Being Asian American, this was only one of many moments in my life where I felt the presence of a seemingly insurmountable cultural barrier between me and my peers.

In the past, I struggled internally to find my place, wanting to fit in and prevent myself from being labeled as "that asian girl." I didn't know how, without completely erasing who I was. Ascertaining that conformity was the most obvious answer to avoiding this stereotype, I tried it out.

Succumbing to superficial standards of sameness, I highlighted my hair and muted my passions to avoid seeming overly bookish. Not truly happy, I faded away, becoming a caricature. When I started playing the cello in 7th grade, I was afraid of what my so-called "friends" would say; sure enough, as soon as they learned of my new hobby, they joked, "You would play the cello."

What was to them a harmless quip, natural in the course of conversation, was more than that to me: What more did I have to do? I had played the part of conformity. I had followed its rules. Yet the cultural barrier, unrelenting, was still there. Though I knew that the cello wouldn't exactly reap me any cool points, making an exception, I played it anyways; my friends had somehow linked my passion back to my race. In my attempts at conformity, it seemed I was only fooling myself.

Encountering similar moments, I determined that sameness was a ludicrous, contrived concept that I wasted time chasing because my race was irrevocably a part of me. I was trying so hard to conceal something that wasn't even a blemish. How was I supposed to gain any substantial respect by participating in this transparent facade?

Asking myself this question, I decidedly stopped trying to climb the barrier. In doing so, I had more energy to concentrate on my other pursuits. For example, I discovered my passion for baking and eventually found friends who shared this passion too; we still bake today, getting together on weekends for an unrestrained, cathartic and most importantly, genuine time. With this new attitude, the cultural disconnect was less stark and in-my-face. Embraced by more open-minded individuals, I saw the positive light of being able to juggle two different cultures. My gradual appreciation of my shared identity has resulted in friends, the ones who count, appreciating it too.

This "barrier," no longer looming, doesn't have to be an obstacle. Instead, I can turn it into an invitation to share another part of me that others at first don't necessarily understand. My best friends now know Chinese swear words and love Dim Sum, things which I've gladly introduced. Ultimately, my identity is what I make of it - I've found the equanimity, and that's what matters, right?