'60 Chinese students summoned' - Dartmouth Main Essay

Hi everyone,

Thank you for taking time reading this. I really appreciate your efforts!

I'm recently struggling between two essays I wrote for Dartmouth, both of which present my personal identity struggle of being a Chinese in America. I came to this country at the age of 16, and I speak English with barely discernable accent. I tried my best to blend in America. However, as time goes by, I grow increasingly ashamed that I feel subtly un-Chinese.

The first essay is "Black Powders". Mildly, it accounts for my experience going through security check when I came back to the States the end of this summer. I was afraid that the nutrition powders -- the black powders -- my mother prepared for me would me mistaken as illegal drugs. So when the officer asked if I eat it like protein shake with cold milk, to avoid further tangle, I said yes. However, if given a second chance, I would rather be brave and tell him, Nope, you should drink it with very hot water.

"Black Powers" -- Main Essay for Dartmouth

The second essay is more radical. Please note that I come from a school where out of over 600 hundred kids, 80 of us are Chinese. However, many of them are not sufficient in English.

Please criticize!
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That shameful shame struck me on a morning when all 60 Chinese students in my school were summoned to the front foyer. Trying to memorize the difference of Romantic and Neo-Classic art for my first-period Art Appreciation quiz, I was frozen for a second. Slowly I packed my notecards, picked up my backpack and walked out of the library as quietly as I could. Anyhow, trying to stay in the back yet only ended up in the very front due to my earliness, in the front foyer there I stood. I waited, and I watched my fellow Chinese students walking towards to school gate in their usual silence with their sleepy eyes half-lid; their heavy steps beat softly against the ceramic tile floor, like angry needles piercing through cotton. Meanwhile, I watched my American classmates walked into the gate with their faces beaming with the brightness of sun. I could also see their laughter of crystal shattered - they must be shocked to see the gradually aggregating crowd of us Asians, who had a reputation of being taciturn and uninvolved. I could see their steps of spring deer slowed, curiously wondering what had happened to these infamously naughty children most of who, rumor had it that, slept in class, in library and in cafeteria and never had their work finished... "Yes." My heart trembled and murmured: "We are those Chinese kids who live a life isolated."

It was the feeling of besieged. It is the flood that numbed me, bit me and suffocated me. As I stood and watched the presentation of Ms. Wu, who was newly appointed to coordinate between Chinese students and the school, I couldn't help but feel ironic: we go to school in America, and yet we were deemed a group that couldn't even communicate our need. It was the same Ms. Wu who once marveled at how I speak English with the minimum accent. Should I even be proud? I remember so vividly that when I first came here, I was so, very pride. My yellow skin bestowed me an eye to catch the nuance, a voice to raise the question and sometimes even the ability to make the change. Yet I also knew on that very morning, I lost my pride. In fact, I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I was so subtly, un-Chinese.

I decided to care for my shame in the way a mother cared for her grumpy child. I questioned myself: who was I to be ashamed? I was the one who thought she could get away with cultural conflict only by acing difficult classes and acting like she didn't care. But deep down my heart, I knew that I did. Because I am one of them, I am one of those Chinese who are being either praised or despised which didn't really matter. It was because of those supposedly happy yet indeed upset faces of my fellow countrymen that I dare to question: 3000 miles away from home at the age of 18, we were the brave ones, yet why weren't we proud of who we were?

That morning I ended up walking to class with my chin up. Hey friend, I'm from China, and I make my voice heard.
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That shameful shamefeeling struck me on the morning when all 60 Chinese students in my school were summoned to the front foyer.

Trying to memorize the difference of Romantic and Neo-Classic art for my first-period Art Appreciation quiz, I was frozen for a second.
You could say it like this: "I froze for a second, breaking my concentration on memorizing the difference of Romantic and Neo-Classic art for my first-period Art Appreciation quiz."

As I waited, and I watchedobserved my fellow Chinese students walking towards the school gate.in their usualThey were silent,with their sleepy eyed,half-lid;and their heavy steps beatsoftlytapped against the ceramic tile floor, like angry needles piercing through cotton.

Thank you, Jennyflower81!

But ultimately, which essay do you think is for suitable? I'm really torned...

In my humble opinion, I really like the black powders subject for an essay. I love it because of the nature of your writing, the way you narrated your thoughts, it shows that you have good writing skills. It explains a bit about where you came from, and displays your personality. Both essays are well done, but if I had to choose- black powders is gonna attract the eyes of admissions officials because it is unique and really interesting. Good luck in school my friend! :)

I like how you analyze personal struggle and the way you go from embarrassment to pride. But one thing I hope you fully understand is that your school is anything but unique, so you should probably proceed with caution if that is the route you are taking.

On a different note, I like this essay much more than your black powder essay. I feel as though this essay communicates concrete thoughts much more powerfully created examples. The black powder essay only focuses on one idea of yours, and only reaches that idea at the very end (the buildup, unfortunately, isn't as great as it seems?). Colleges want to know who you are, and this essay describes that thought much more powerfully.