Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.
I felt that it may not be too strong in the describing part. Any criticism would be appreciated. Maybe I should switch to my teacher who got me to switch majors from art to Engineering. What's your opinion on that?
A bedroom is meant to be a safe haven. Freshman year, a cacophony of knocks threatened to destroy it. That morning, I was awakened to the sound of my younger sister's voice as it competed with the deafening Cambodian music played over my father's extra-large surround sound system. She'd been convinced that I'd be accompanying her to the theatre this afternoon; however, I wasn't about to go that day. As she dashed out of the room, tears flowing, the door followed and slammed shut. A prompt violent knocking at the door following a cease of the loud Cambodian music startled me. "Let me in!" my dad commanded, "I know you hit her!" The knocking continued. Somehow, my sister's slamming of the door had locked it. Normally docile in nature, naturally, I didn't understand his accusations. I composed myself, tears running down my cheeks, and explained over the noise, but he wasn't convinced. "Just let me in," he confided, "I just want to talk." Somehow, the kicking and knocking at the door didn't persuade me. Acting against my better judgment, my shaky hands attempted to grasp the handle. It was jammed from the incessant bashing.
Several moments of silence later and the knocking picked up again, even more violent than before. He'd found a hammer. I, now in the closet, heart racing, eyes blistering, could only anticipate what would happen to me next. He was like a Khmer Rouge soldier as he charged into the room. It seemed hauntingly fitting that he'd come to attack my computer sitting there on the desk. How could it not be ironic that a man who'd escaped Cambodia in the early 1980s would be taking on the role of his oppressors in his own house? What's perhaps more ironic is the story about how he became as he is: I've always been told that he was the victim of a mugging somewhat like Haing S. Ngor in his early days in the US; however he was not killed. My mom's always rationalized it as the fact that he'd gotten someone else's blood in him from a transfusion that he'd undergone, but I'm fairly certain it was from a blow to the frontal lobe that did it.
While I do often feel sorry for my dad - to a point where I feel his actions are justifiable, I've found myself doubting that his steps in trying to spread his teachings onto me are effective rather than just traumatizing. As he brought his hammer down on the components of my computer, his methodology was clear and simple: technology corrupts, technology destroys (ironically). His crusade against technology has forced me to analyze his thoughts on the issue and form my own conclusions. I've found is that this methodology of his is often counterintuitive and a gruesome parallel to the events that occurred back in Cambodia in the 1970s. As I look towards the future, I'll imagine new ways in which technology may assist us rather than hinder our advancement.