calvincruz
Dec 1, 2015
Undergraduate / 'the smell of arroz con pollo and freshly made lumpia' - Different Experiences Essay [3]
Please help me make it better, I'm not really sure how to end it either.
Describe a setting in which you have collaborated or interacted with people whose experiences and/or beliefs differ from yours. Address your initial feelings, and how those feelings were or were not changed by this experience
Between the smell of arroz con pollo and freshly made lumpia, I would not have been able to differentiate the two equally distinct cultures behind each dish as a child. If it wasn't the sour scent of vinegar and steaming rice, or the delicious taste of my mother's traditional Filipino cooking, it was her hospitality and eagerness to let all in her home to dine together around the table, talk about the day, and share each other's presence. Growing up as a Filipino American in a largely Hispanic community, I knew that from a young age I was different; seeing my friends eating Spanish arroz, while mine was plain white, or listening to mariachi bands play when instead my mother would sing soft lullabies in Tagalog.
But it wasn't until I'd first entered public school in the third grade that I realized just how strikingly different I was from the rest of the other kids around me. I couldn't understand why they didn't know what pancit was, or why they couldn't easily speak English and Tagalog as interchangeably as I, or why Manny Pacquiao wasn't their favourite boxer. They didn't even know what the Philippines was, much less find it on a map! It would be more than once that my mother received the phone call from school concerning my very "peculiar" eating habits; apparently here eating using only one's hands was considered bad table manners. I liked tortillas and rodeos just as much as any other kid in my class, and yet I knew that something made me utterly different, and I began to wonder if my culture, my heritage- these things my mother told me to always be proud of- were more burden than blessing.
I couldn't bear the thought of abandoning that which made me who I was, of giving up my dinuguan and tsinelas (flip flops) in exchange for carne guisada and square cut boots, of having to become something I'm not just to fit in. So, instead of living two separate identities, Filipino and Hispanic, I adapted, assimilated, took in the South Texas culture and made it my own, and I quickly discovered that though I may be different than the rest of those around me, there were similarities that bridged the gap between the Pacific Ocean and Gulf of Mexico.
Instead of being embarrassed, I embraced my differences, so that when the other kids at school asked me about the red, white, yellow, and blue striped kamiseta, with pride I'd tell them all about what each colour of the Filipino flag symbolized, and I represented my culture with honor. I found that it was easier to have both barbacoa and tocino, or caldo de res and sinigang baboy, to wear both blue jeans and chanclas, to listen to both Tejano music and my mother's vernacular songs, than to hide in shame for fearing being shunned, and I reveled at the thought of sharing with everybody the many Filipino customs that I loved. People didn't laugh at me, they didn't make faces in disgust at what they didn't understand, nor did they spurn me away when I told them all the cool things they learned about that archipelago of islands, the Philippines- no, in fact, they craved more. I was happy to indulge in their interest, just as they were to satisfy my curiosity with their Mexican traditions.
Please help me make it better, I'm not really sure how to end it either.
Describe a setting in which you have collaborated or interacted with people whose experiences and/or beliefs differ from yours. Address your initial feelings, and how those feelings were or were not changed by this experience
Between the smell of arroz con pollo and freshly made lumpia, I would not have been able to differentiate the two equally distinct cultures behind each dish as a child. If it wasn't the sour scent of vinegar and steaming rice, or the delicious taste of my mother's traditional Filipino cooking, it was her hospitality and eagerness to let all in her home to dine together around the table, talk about the day, and share each other's presence. Growing up as a Filipino American in a largely Hispanic community, I knew that from a young age I was different; seeing my friends eating Spanish arroz, while mine was plain white, or listening to mariachi bands play when instead my mother would sing soft lullabies in Tagalog.
But it wasn't until I'd first entered public school in the third grade that I realized just how strikingly different I was from the rest of the other kids around me. I couldn't understand why they didn't know what pancit was, or why they couldn't easily speak English and Tagalog as interchangeably as I, or why Manny Pacquiao wasn't their favourite boxer. They didn't even know what the Philippines was, much less find it on a map! It would be more than once that my mother received the phone call from school concerning my very "peculiar" eating habits; apparently here eating using only one's hands was considered bad table manners. I liked tortillas and rodeos just as much as any other kid in my class, and yet I knew that something made me utterly different, and I began to wonder if my culture, my heritage- these things my mother told me to always be proud of- were more burden than blessing.
I couldn't bear the thought of abandoning that which made me who I was, of giving up my dinuguan and tsinelas (flip flops) in exchange for carne guisada and square cut boots, of having to become something I'm not just to fit in. So, instead of living two separate identities, Filipino and Hispanic, I adapted, assimilated, took in the South Texas culture and made it my own, and I quickly discovered that though I may be different than the rest of those around me, there were similarities that bridged the gap between the Pacific Ocean and Gulf of Mexico.
Instead of being embarrassed, I embraced my differences, so that when the other kids at school asked me about the red, white, yellow, and blue striped kamiseta, with pride I'd tell them all about what each colour of the Filipino flag symbolized, and I represented my culture with honor. I found that it was easier to have both barbacoa and tocino, or caldo de res and sinigang baboy, to wear both blue jeans and chanclas, to listen to both Tejano music and my mother's vernacular songs, than to hide in shame for fearing being shunned, and I reveled at the thought of sharing with everybody the many Filipino customs that I loved. People didn't laugh at me, they didn't make faces in disgust at what they didn't understand, nor did they spurn me away when I told them all the cool things they learned about that archipelago of islands, the Philippines- no, in fact, they craved more. I was happy to indulge in their interest, just as they were to satisfy my curiosity with their Mexican traditions.
