PROMPT: The quality of Rice's academic life and the Residential College System are heavily influenced by the unique life experiences and cultural traditions each student brings. What perspective do you feel that you will contribute to life at Rice?
THANK YOU!
(i had some issues with verb-tense agreement, especially between the first and second paragraphs. Aside from the verb-tense agreement, any ideas on a transition between the two paragraphs?)
I am Taiwanese and Scots-Irish. I do not favor saying that I am half and half. I am just as much Taiwanese as I am Scots-Irish, and might I ask, how can anyone really be half of something? Are my values half as meaningful? Is there a line following my spine, so that I am red and navy with a white sun on the right, and green, white, orange, and blue, maybe with a hint of plaid and paisley, on the left?
Every time I went back to Taiwan, I could feel their eyes on me, staring at me. As little as I was, I can still remember them - the old man at the marketplace, those two girls on their way to school in their pink uniforms outside the grocery store, pointing at me, bending over to get a better look. "Ni kan," they would say, "Look." As if I couldn't understand them. I'd stare right back at them, and they would only stare more, because now I was only giving them a better look. I couldn't understand it. Yes, I was different, but I was still them in every sense of the word. Just with a little something extra.
When I was younger, I looked more like a Caucasian than I do now. With my little wisps of golden brown curls, bubbly hazel green eyes, and lashes like a giraffe's, I hardly resembled a Taiwanese. I understand now why they would stare, especially over a decade ago; a little girl walking the busy streets of Taipei with those looks was not something you would see everyday. Vendors would often ask if I was "hún xuè," mixed blood. As commonplace a term as it is, the question always disturbed my mother and me. I was not a mixture of anything , a lucky combination, perhaps. Then they would go on to comment how my Caucasian features and Asian cheekbones made me resemble a porcelain doll. "Hún xuè?" "Doll?" How mush less human could they make me feel? I would glance up and yell, "I'm not a doll, I'm REAL!" I disliked be looked upon with what I felt was a shallow interpretation of who I was. Emotions and naivety aside, "hún xuè" would always prompt me to imagine a milkshake, chocolate and vanilla swirled in a cup, forming a spiraling pattern of alternating dark and light tones. But this was not me. Perhaps it was mixed even more, so that it looked like an iced mocha. But now my components were unrecognizable. I'd think of the alternative, a milkshake, with half of the cup containing vanilla, and the other half containing chocolate, split right down the middle. This fragmentation was even farther than the me I thought myself to be. Finally, I imagined myself in two cups, one with chocolate, one with vanilla. I could see both of my hands full with something to hold, rather than holding one thing, in one hand.
When you are a diverse individual, be it by ethnicity, life experience, or personal beliefs, those components that make you diverse do not get diced up or placed in a blender to result in a piece of this, a piece of that, and a mixture of these. Those components are whole. I say this even if you are 1/26th Inuit and proud; the Inuit inside you is 26 twenty-sixths - one whole.
At a party of unfamiliar Taiwanese people it is common for them to switch from speaking Mandarin or Taiwanese to English when they are greeting me, and only me. I still get a little hyped up when they continue to do so even after I have responded in Mandarin. Sometimes I would like to say, "I am fluent in Mandarin just like you. I love to eat radish cakes just as much as you do. I love to argue about the difference in being Taiwanese and in being Chinese just as vehemently. And I know all about the Chinese, Dutch, Japanese, and Aboriginal influences that make Taiwan what it is today, and I have witnessed these influences in my family. On the other hand, I could know less than you and be allergic to radishes, and it still would not matter. Because my full heart is in it. All this is true, even though, biologically, I am 'less' Taiwanese than you."
I bring this perspective with me wherever I go, and I will bring it to Rice, as well. My passion for being recognized for whom I am and not how I am "made up" transfers to my interactions with others. When I meet someone, I have an utmost respect for their entire background. I strive to be as least ignorant as possible about people's cultures and life experiences. For someone to say that I am only half Asian, "so that doesn't count" in whatever argument, it causes my palm to go to my head - but only for a split second; It conjures a fulfilling spark in me to make others realize what I realize about diversity. That does not mean that I go on an angry rant about my identity. I see the importance of understanding each other. Imagine the state that our nation would be in if we had programs especially for studying the messages of the Quran and the traditions of the Afghani, Iraqi, and Iranian peoples? Imagine if it was then shared with our people. My point is not world peace. Rather, the changing of one's perspectives and one's sentiments through those of others' has the power to change the course of history. The possibilities are too precious to let them slip by. What is a Palestinian and an Israeli? Capitalist and Socialist? Viet and Hmong? Half of a Taiwanese? I will promote an atmosphere of understanding and mutual consideration at Rice, and who knows that such positive relationships can build?
So, as for me, what is a "hún xuè"? How can I be "hún xuè" when mixing Taiwan and Ulster is like mixing cotton candy and a lamp? ... What? ... Exactly! They are combined in me - not mixed; each one standing out in its own right. I could be one-quarter Tanzanian, one-half Sioux, and one-fourth Taiwanese, and the fractions would not matter. It is only when I tell someone that I am Taiwanese and they respond by saying "Oh, I love Thai food!" that I am not sure where to begin.
THANK YOU!
(i had some issues with verb-tense agreement, especially between the first and second paragraphs. Aside from the verb-tense agreement, any ideas on a transition between the two paragraphs?)
I am Taiwanese and Scots-Irish. I do not favor saying that I am half and half. I am just as much Taiwanese as I am Scots-Irish, and might I ask, how can anyone really be half of something? Are my values half as meaningful? Is there a line following my spine, so that I am red and navy with a white sun on the right, and green, white, orange, and blue, maybe with a hint of plaid and paisley, on the left?
Every time I went back to Taiwan, I could feel their eyes on me, staring at me. As little as I was, I can still remember them - the old man at the marketplace, those two girls on their way to school in their pink uniforms outside the grocery store, pointing at me, bending over to get a better look. "Ni kan," they would say, "Look." As if I couldn't understand them. I'd stare right back at them, and they would only stare more, because now I was only giving them a better look. I couldn't understand it. Yes, I was different, but I was still them in every sense of the word. Just with a little something extra.
When I was younger, I looked more like a Caucasian than I do now. With my little wisps of golden brown curls, bubbly hazel green eyes, and lashes like a giraffe's, I hardly resembled a Taiwanese. I understand now why they would stare, especially over a decade ago; a little girl walking the busy streets of Taipei with those looks was not something you would see everyday. Vendors would often ask if I was "hún xuè," mixed blood. As commonplace a term as it is, the question always disturbed my mother and me. I was not a mixture of anything , a lucky combination, perhaps. Then they would go on to comment how my Caucasian features and Asian cheekbones made me resemble a porcelain doll. "Hún xuè?" "Doll?" How mush less human could they make me feel? I would glance up and yell, "I'm not a doll, I'm REAL!" I disliked be looked upon with what I felt was a shallow interpretation of who I was. Emotions and naivety aside, "hún xuè" would always prompt me to imagine a milkshake, chocolate and vanilla swirled in a cup, forming a spiraling pattern of alternating dark and light tones. But this was not me. Perhaps it was mixed even more, so that it looked like an iced mocha. But now my components were unrecognizable. I'd think of the alternative, a milkshake, with half of the cup containing vanilla, and the other half containing chocolate, split right down the middle. This fragmentation was even farther than the me I thought myself to be. Finally, I imagined myself in two cups, one with chocolate, one with vanilla. I could see both of my hands full with something to hold, rather than holding one thing, in one hand.
When you are a diverse individual, be it by ethnicity, life experience, or personal beliefs, those components that make you diverse do not get diced up or placed in a blender to result in a piece of this, a piece of that, and a mixture of these. Those components are whole. I say this even if you are 1/26th Inuit and proud; the Inuit inside you is 26 twenty-sixths - one whole.
At a party of unfamiliar Taiwanese people it is common for them to switch from speaking Mandarin or Taiwanese to English when they are greeting me, and only me. I still get a little hyped up when they continue to do so even after I have responded in Mandarin. Sometimes I would like to say, "I am fluent in Mandarin just like you. I love to eat radish cakes just as much as you do. I love to argue about the difference in being Taiwanese and in being Chinese just as vehemently. And I know all about the Chinese, Dutch, Japanese, and Aboriginal influences that make Taiwan what it is today, and I have witnessed these influences in my family. On the other hand, I could know less than you and be allergic to radishes, and it still would not matter. Because my full heart is in it. All this is true, even though, biologically, I am 'less' Taiwanese than you."
I bring this perspective with me wherever I go, and I will bring it to Rice, as well. My passion for being recognized for whom I am and not how I am "made up" transfers to my interactions with others. When I meet someone, I have an utmost respect for their entire background. I strive to be as least ignorant as possible about people's cultures and life experiences. For someone to say that I am only half Asian, "so that doesn't count" in whatever argument, it causes my palm to go to my head - but only for a split second; It conjures a fulfilling spark in me to make others realize what I realize about diversity. That does not mean that I go on an angry rant about my identity. I see the importance of understanding each other. Imagine the state that our nation would be in if we had programs especially for studying the messages of the Quran and the traditions of the Afghani, Iraqi, and Iranian peoples? Imagine if it was then shared with our people. My point is not world peace. Rather, the changing of one's perspectives and one's sentiments through those of others' has the power to change the course of history. The possibilities are too precious to let them slip by. What is a Palestinian and an Israeli? Capitalist and Socialist? Viet and Hmong? Half of a Taiwanese? I will promote an atmosphere of understanding and mutual consideration at Rice, and who knows that such positive relationships can build?
So, as for me, what is a "hún xuè"? How can I be "hún xuè" when mixing Taiwan and Ulster is like mixing cotton candy and a lamp? ... What? ... Exactly! They are combined in me - not mixed; each one standing out in its own right. I could be one-quarter Tanzanian, one-half Sioux, and one-fourth Taiwanese, and the fractions would not matter. It is only when I tell someone that I am Taiwanese and they respond by saying "Oh, I love Thai food!" that I am not sure where to begin.