Here is my essay
Please be very harsh.
"Rocky Racoon"; a well known mantra from the latter lives of the musical sensation referred to as the Beatles. The song is a part of the Beatles' the White Album which combines aspects of almost every genre and type of music known to man at that time. At the first fateful instance that I heard these magical words, I was a lonely 7th grader getting a ride from someone on the way to school. Our parents had prearranged the event as if it was the inauguration of the latest president-everything was to happen this way at this time and in the fashion. There happened to be one simple kink in the original mandate: my friend's musical tastes differed ever so much from my traditional Indian persona, presenting just a small dilemma.
Let's start at the beginning. My parents arrived in this country three years before I was born with little more than a work visa, 1,000 dollars, and some Indian clothes. Eventually, they came to terms with the new world; yet, they still managed to keep the same Indian cultural hierarchy and practices that they had been accustomed to in India. This meant that I would eat Indian food, listen to Indian music, and keep my hair for my religion of Sikhism (Can you believe I've never been to Supercuts?) So when their little 11 year old came home singing a common "white people" song, my parents were taken aback with such shock as to ground me for a month.
Something in those lyrics planted a seed in my personality. This tree grew as I got older, and before I knew it, I had assimilated into this American culture. Much against my parent's wishes I learned the radical guitar styles of the Who, the Doors, and the Beatles instead of the serene harmonium, learned to watch bloody action movies staring Brad Pitt and Bruce Willis instead of Hindi films about love and family, and of course ate more hot dogs at Dodger's Stadium than those traditional yellow curries. The transformation was complete; I had become what my parents had hoped against: an American boy in Indian skin. I knew I had to keep my long hair, carry my family name, and live the life of a Sikh boy-why? This question plagued me various times when my friends went to get hair cuts as if it were a ritual gathering. While they enjoyed this phenomenon, I experienced one much the opposite: getting called a girl or a terrorist for having long hair and wearing a turban.
However, in 2006 (my eighth grade winter break), I went to India to perform a ritual called my Distar Bundhee which symbolized my transformation from a boy into a man. Basically I would trade my child's turban for one that resembled that of an older people in Indian society. Almost like all of the other Indian traditions until this point in my life, I had no power to divine the meaning of this one. I spent it with my grandparents who spoke little English and didn't know what Christmas was while my friends got to have fun in Europe. Ironically, the proud look of fervor in my grandpa's eyes was enough to change this horrible lonely feeling; for the first time in my life I felt as if this secretive cult (known as Indians) meant something; I was a part of something. The notion that I had to be either white or brown was shattered as I witnessed the qualities of this heritage. Melding these two cultures-one based on a what-seemed-like rigid, strict, and predicted future (Indian) vs. one based on living life in the moment-became less of a challenge and more of a privilege.
In my mind, being exposed to this culture shock created room for my own development-not a planned series of events. Instead of learning to live linearly, I've been able to create my own small little place in the world based on aspects of the ideal Indian archetype and the quintessential American experience. I've opened my window to the world, becoming passionate about everything I do because I understand the necessity in doing things you believe in. When I had no clue why I had long hair, it hurt when people would ridicule me as if I was an outsider. I felt different. With my ceremony in Eighth grade and subsequent conversations about my heritage with grandparents, I cherish this feeling because I know why I'm Sikh.
My background and surroundings have shown me the glory in trying new things. Had I not attempted to join the ranks of those thousand kids who listen to rock music, eat vegetarian food, and explore the world, I would not be the person I am today-a happy mix of two cultures. You see, what the world needs is people who are willing to try new things. If everyone keeps the same mindset-much like those who followed blindly in the wake of Hitler's wants, Castro's demands, or the 4th grade bully who called me a girl-then nothing will ever better itself in this world. Our own country (way to be cliché) began in the hands of those who were willing to fight the old and start with the new: Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and of course Ben Franklin.
That's why I love to learn. It opens my window to a world of interesting people-teachers, professors, and students-who share my same passion for learning as a means of exploring the various crevices of the world. So that tree that was planted still grows tall and strong, but instead of leaning towards one side of life, it spreads its numerous branches all over in hopes of becoming a truly well-rounded person and open minded person.
Against some questioning of their musical colleagues, The Beatles wrote "Rocky Racoon"-thrown into the midst of characters such as "Revolution # 9" and "Dear Prudence"-thus demonstrating their ability to combine aspects of rock-and-roll, psychedelic jams, acoustic melodies, Indian mantras, and of course some self inspired songs. Just like they chose to spread their branches into all parts of the world, I elect to do the same. I'm passionate about what I do because I know it is what I do that defines me, not what I look like-whatever that may be.
Please be very harsh.
"Rocky Racoon"; a well known mantra from the latter lives of the musical sensation referred to as the Beatles. The song is a part of the Beatles' the White Album which combines aspects of almost every genre and type of music known to man at that time. At the first fateful instance that I heard these magical words, I was a lonely 7th grader getting a ride from someone on the way to school. Our parents had prearranged the event as if it was the inauguration of the latest president-everything was to happen this way at this time and in the fashion. There happened to be one simple kink in the original mandate: my friend's musical tastes differed ever so much from my traditional Indian persona, presenting just a small dilemma.
Let's start at the beginning. My parents arrived in this country three years before I was born with little more than a work visa, 1,000 dollars, and some Indian clothes. Eventually, they came to terms with the new world; yet, they still managed to keep the same Indian cultural hierarchy and practices that they had been accustomed to in India. This meant that I would eat Indian food, listen to Indian music, and keep my hair for my religion of Sikhism (Can you believe I've never been to Supercuts?) So when their little 11 year old came home singing a common "white people" song, my parents were taken aback with such shock as to ground me for a month.
Something in those lyrics planted a seed in my personality. This tree grew as I got older, and before I knew it, I had assimilated into this American culture. Much against my parent's wishes I learned the radical guitar styles of the Who, the Doors, and the Beatles instead of the serene harmonium, learned to watch bloody action movies staring Brad Pitt and Bruce Willis instead of Hindi films about love and family, and of course ate more hot dogs at Dodger's Stadium than those traditional yellow curries. The transformation was complete; I had become what my parents had hoped against: an American boy in Indian skin. I knew I had to keep my long hair, carry my family name, and live the life of a Sikh boy-why? This question plagued me various times when my friends went to get hair cuts as if it were a ritual gathering. While they enjoyed this phenomenon, I experienced one much the opposite: getting called a girl or a terrorist for having long hair and wearing a turban.
However, in 2006 (my eighth grade winter break), I went to India to perform a ritual called my Distar Bundhee which symbolized my transformation from a boy into a man. Basically I would trade my child's turban for one that resembled that of an older people in Indian society. Almost like all of the other Indian traditions until this point in my life, I had no power to divine the meaning of this one. I spent it with my grandparents who spoke little English and didn't know what Christmas was while my friends got to have fun in Europe. Ironically, the proud look of fervor in my grandpa's eyes was enough to change this horrible lonely feeling; for the first time in my life I felt as if this secretive cult (known as Indians) meant something; I was a part of something. The notion that I had to be either white or brown was shattered as I witnessed the qualities of this heritage. Melding these two cultures-one based on a what-seemed-like rigid, strict, and predicted future (Indian) vs. one based on living life in the moment-became less of a challenge and more of a privilege.
In my mind, being exposed to this culture shock created room for my own development-not a planned series of events. Instead of learning to live linearly, I've been able to create my own small little place in the world based on aspects of the ideal Indian archetype and the quintessential American experience. I've opened my window to the world, becoming passionate about everything I do because I understand the necessity in doing things you believe in. When I had no clue why I had long hair, it hurt when people would ridicule me as if I was an outsider. I felt different. With my ceremony in Eighth grade and subsequent conversations about my heritage with grandparents, I cherish this feeling because I know why I'm Sikh.
My background and surroundings have shown me the glory in trying new things. Had I not attempted to join the ranks of those thousand kids who listen to rock music, eat vegetarian food, and explore the world, I would not be the person I am today-a happy mix of two cultures. You see, what the world needs is people who are willing to try new things. If everyone keeps the same mindset-much like those who followed blindly in the wake of Hitler's wants, Castro's demands, or the 4th grade bully who called me a girl-then nothing will ever better itself in this world. Our own country (way to be cliché) began in the hands of those who were willing to fight the old and start with the new: Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and of course Ben Franklin.
That's why I love to learn. It opens my window to a world of interesting people-teachers, professors, and students-who share my same passion for learning as a means of exploring the various crevices of the world. So that tree that was planted still grows tall and strong, but instead of leaning towards one side of life, it spreads its numerous branches all over in hopes of becoming a truly well-rounded person and open minded person.
Against some questioning of their musical colleagues, The Beatles wrote "Rocky Racoon"-thrown into the midst of characters such as "Revolution # 9" and "Dear Prudence"-thus demonstrating their ability to combine aspects of rock-and-roll, psychedelic jams, acoustic melodies, Indian mantras, and of course some self inspired songs. Just like they chose to spread their branches into all parts of the world, I elect to do the same. I'm passionate about what I do because I know it is what I do that defines me, not what I look like-whatever that may be.
