Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
So here's my essay. My biggest problem with this is whether it actually answers the prompt, or if it's too overused/risky. (Overused in that I'm talking about my Asian background, risky in that I'm talking about makeup and becoming a little artsy with it).
I've been getting mixed reviews about this one. Should I even continue working on it? Please be harsh. Thank you!
My culture is disappearing. The significance of my mother, and her mother is disappearing beneath the significance of tall, thin, and Caucasian. Westernization is at its max, and it's beauty standards are unstated but heard loud. The environment I live in says I should line my eyes with black to straighten the slant of my eyes, and wear foundation to offset the yellow undertones of my natural face. My nose is not as tall as those of my classmates, so media suggests that a line of pale down the bridge will distract eyes away from the shadow my forehead casts over its weak slope. My lips are thin, some say too thin, so a shade of red, any shade, will do. I could look into the mirror with my eyes opened wide and be a caricature of western beauty, a personification of a cultural clash. I could be this type of Asian-American, more like Asian-please-let-me-be-American, for I am a product of this generation.
But my true ethnic makeup holds strong against these 'should-haves' and 'could-bes'. The girls of my family are also products of this generation. Yet these products can play snakeskin violins and gourd flutes. These products can sit in trains and see in a blur a landscape of rice patties and yellow rivers. They know how to be strong, and they have taught me that to become only a product is to lose everything that is truly beautiful about us, our music, our foods, our ideals. The world I come from may try to shoot me down, but this has only made me more determined to emerge forth and share the type of beauty that I see.
My culture is disappearing. The significance of my father, and his father is disappearing beneath the mass production of internal inferiority. But I do not let it slip away. I line my eyes with almond, to match the shape I was given. I do not wear the foundation that these manufacturers are selling with their tall, thin, and white models, but instead the foundation that is my ethnicity. My nose is not as tall as those of my classmates, but I do need not to draw a line of pale down the bridge because my nose is already up high, prideful of my cultural background. My lips may be thin, but they are delicate and unforgiving, for when one sees the thin lips of this girl, and hears the strong words from her mouth, her story will be louder than ever. When I look into the mirror, I see that I am Asian-American, Asian as my ethnicity, American as my nationality, but no "Please let me" or "Why this". I have broken out of this manufactured role of inferiority, shed off of my cocoon of racial imbalance, and like a butterfly I have bloomed, for I am not only a product of this generation, but also a product of my mother's generation, my father's generation, and the generations before them.
So here's my essay. My biggest problem with this is whether it actually answers the prompt, or if it's too overused/risky. (Overused in that I'm talking about my Asian background, risky in that I'm talking about makeup and becoming a little artsy with it).
I've been getting mixed reviews about this one. Should I even continue working on it? Please be harsh. Thank you!
My culture is disappearing. The significance of my mother, and her mother is disappearing beneath the significance of tall, thin, and Caucasian. Westernization is at its max, and it's beauty standards are unstated but heard loud. The environment I live in says I should line my eyes with black to straighten the slant of my eyes, and wear foundation to offset the yellow undertones of my natural face. My nose is not as tall as those of my classmates, so media suggests that a line of pale down the bridge will distract eyes away from the shadow my forehead casts over its weak slope. My lips are thin, some say too thin, so a shade of red, any shade, will do. I could look into the mirror with my eyes opened wide and be a caricature of western beauty, a personification of a cultural clash. I could be this type of Asian-American, more like Asian-please-let-me-be-American, for I am a product of this generation.
But my true ethnic makeup holds strong against these 'should-haves' and 'could-bes'. The girls of my family are also products of this generation. Yet these products can play snakeskin violins and gourd flutes. These products can sit in trains and see in a blur a landscape of rice patties and yellow rivers. They know how to be strong, and they have taught me that to become only a product is to lose everything that is truly beautiful about us, our music, our foods, our ideals. The world I come from may try to shoot me down, but this has only made me more determined to emerge forth and share the type of beauty that I see.
My culture is disappearing. The significance of my father, and his father is disappearing beneath the mass production of internal inferiority. But I do not let it slip away. I line my eyes with almond, to match the shape I was given. I do not wear the foundation that these manufacturers are selling with their tall, thin, and white models, but instead the foundation that is my ethnicity. My nose is not as tall as those of my classmates, but I do need not to draw a line of pale down the bridge because my nose is already up high, prideful of my cultural background. My lips may be thin, but they are delicate and unforgiving, for when one sees the thin lips of this girl, and hears the strong words from her mouth, her story will be louder than ever. When I look into the mirror, I see that I am Asian-American, Asian as my ethnicity, American as my nationality, but no "Please let me" or "Why this". I have broken out of this manufactured role of inferiority, shed off of my cocoon of racial imbalance, and like a butterfly I have bloomed, for I am not only a product of this generation, but also a product of my mother's generation, my father's generation, and the generations before them.