Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you
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My brown hands tightly grip the dainty yet heavy ceramic teapot. I've convinced myself that I won't screw up--I can't afford to drop the scalding teapot and shame myself in front of these elders that I've met for the first time. Carefully, I fill up each small cup a proper amount.
When I'm done, I quickly glance around to see if anyone has seen my success. I see fifteen uncles, grandparents, second cousins, and great-aunts clustered around a small wooden table, sharing homemade benches with nails sticking out, crouching on small stools better described as footrests, and precariously perched on toy plastic chairs. A single lightbulb dangles from the cracked ceiling, casting harsh, leering shadows onto the bare concrete floor, but the atmosphere is warm and merry because our smiles light up the room.
The food, however, is anything but modest. A feast lies upon the table: pots of slow-cooked pork and bowls of seafood cover the stained, frayed tablecloth, and plates of duck are stacked on the corners.
"Dong Dong, try some river shrimp!" my Biao-Jie commands.
Before I have a chance to reach over the table and pinch a crawfish, my relatives have assembled a fire brigade and collectively pass along the entire plate. I politely take two of the little armored beasties.
Hardly ten seconds pass without the same scene repeating itself. Within minutes, I'm stuffed as can be, but there is no shortage of people encouraging to try another dish that they themselves cooked. I'm convinced that I'm the center of a elaborate masquerade, selected to be the entertainment for the night.
"Gan Bei!" a woozy uncle shouts, staggering to his feet. Everyone leans in to clink their glasses of rice wine (or tea in my case). I'm surprised to see my mom down hers in one gulp. My dad boisterously gives a short speech.
My parents have surprised me with their transformation in China. Our return seems to have made them fifteen years younger--to a time before I was born. To be honest, it's uncomfortable and a bit irritating to see them as strangers. I feel like a kid whose parents just had a baby. Their attention has been stolen away from me.
Yet I lack for no attention at this dinner. My relatives are constantly urging me to eat more, including me in toasts, and generally trying in their way to make me comfortable. I feel like the prodigal son returning home.
The prodigal son's excess reminds me of how much more I have than my relatives, who live in tiny houses the size of my living room. They don't have cars, and they almost worship my dad's iPhone. But they seem happy, and on a night like this, I can see why.
They have each other, which is something that I didn't realize I was missing until tonight. In America, I have my laptop and my phone and my friends. But, as an only child, I have no other family than my parents, the first and only of their friends and family to arrive.
On this night in Shanghai, I am a part of something tight-knit which I have never experienced before. The exuberance and elation of my relatives confused me at first, but I realize that it's their unconditional affection that is showing itself. Some part of my obnoxious little self cried a bit, grew a bit, and opened up a bit that day.
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That was my rough draft, please be nice! My conclusion is a bit weak and I need help on it. Thank you!
---------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ----
My brown hands tightly grip the dainty yet heavy ceramic teapot. I've convinced myself that I won't screw up--I can't afford to drop the scalding teapot and shame myself in front of these elders that I've met for the first time. Carefully, I fill up each small cup a proper amount.
When I'm done, I quickly glance around to see if anyone has seen my success. I see fifteen uncles, grandparents, second cousins, and great-aunts clustered around a small wooden table, sharing homemade benches with nails sticking out, crouching on small stools better described as footrests, and precariously perched on toy plastic chairs. A single lightbulb dangles from the cracked ceiling, casting harsh, leering shadows onto the bare concrete floor, but the atmosphere is warm and merry because our smiles light up the room.
The food, however, is anything but modest. A feast lies upon the table: pots of slow-cooked pork and bowls of seafood cover the stained, frayed tablecloth, and plates of duck are stacked on the corners.
"Dong Dong, try some river shrimp!" my Biao-Jie commands.
Before I have a chance to reach over the table and pinch a crawfish, my relatives have assembled a fire brigade and collectively pass along the entire plate. I politely take two of the little armored beasties.
Hardly ten seconds pass without the same scene repeating itself. Within minutes, I'm stuffed as can be, but there is no shortage of people encouraging to try another dish that they themselves cooked. I'm convinced that I'm the center of a elaborate masquerade, selected to be the entertainment for the night.
"Gan Bei!" a woozy uncle shouts, staggering to his feet. Everyone leans in to clink their glasses of rice wine (or tea in my case). I'm surprised to see my mom down hers in one gulp. My dad boisterously gives a short speech.
My parents have surprised me with their transformation in China. Our return seems to have made them fifteen years younger--to a time before I was born. To be honest, it's uncomfortable and a bit irritating to see them as strangers. I feel like a kid whose parents just had a baby. Their attention has been stolen away from me.
Yet I lack for no attention at this dinner. My relatives are constantly urging me to eat more, including me in toasts, and generally trying in their way to make me comfortable. I feel like the prodigal son returning home.
The prodigal son's excess reminds me of how much more I have than my relatives, who live in tiny houses the size of my living room. They don't have cars, and they almost worship my dad's iPhone. But they seem happy, and on a night like this, I can see why.
They have each other, which is something that I didn't realize I was missing until tonight. In America, I have my laptop and my phone and my friends. But, as an only child, I have no other family than my parents, the first and only of their friends and family to arrive.
On this night in Shanghai, I am a part of something tight-knit which I have never experienced before. The exuberance and elation of my relatives confused me at first, but I realize that it's their unconditional affection that is showing itself. Some part of my obnoxious little self cried a bit, grew a bit, and opened up a bit that day.
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That was my rough draft, please be nice! My conclusion is a bit weak and I need help on it. Thank you!
