This is an essay I am considering to use for my common app--
please let me know how it is! honest opinions are welcomed, thank you :)
One day during the summer after my freshman year, I got a phone call from a few seniors telling me to meet them at a place in Apgujeong, a Seoul hotspot. Though a call from an upperclassman might be considered "cool" in America, I was terrified. Despite my fear, I had an obligation to go-an obligation that arose from the manipulation of the Korean tradition of honoring one's elders.
The word sunbae means "superior" in English, yet to Korean teenagers, sunbae connotes demands of extreme respect and superiority. As in many Asian cultures, the Korean tradition of respecting elders is paramount. Ironically, teenagers take this form of "respect" to an extreme degree, asserting superiority within their own social hierarchy. And on that day in 2009, I was at the bottom of the ranks.
When I arrived in Apgujeong, ten sunbae took me to an alley behind a restaurant. As the group gathered around me, the leader of the pack announced that my arrogant attitude was getting on their nerves. They said I was rude for not greeting them in school, annoying for dressing properly and thinking I was better than them, and spoiled for going out with my friends to the same restaurants where they ate.
Korea's racial homogeneity-especially within my school, where 99.9% of students are Koreans and more than half are from the country's most elite families-causes age-based, rather than racial or economic, tensions; regardless of whether I was three days or three years younger than these sunbae, tradition required that I greet them with a deep, respectful bow, never disagree with their questions, and certainly never attempt to undercut their authority by claiming my own point of view. Still, my commitment to tradition made me follow the sunbae's social codes strictly.
And so, on that day, I had no effective response. Although their accusations were absurd, I hesitated to defend myself. When I did, one of them slapped me and pushed me to the ground. I knew that reacting would only aggravate the situation, so once I got up from the asphalt, I stood there quietly, which brought even further mockery. After twenty minutes of physical and verbal abuse, they forced me to apologize for something I did not understand by begging on my knees.
At that moment, I vowed never to become such a belligerent sunbae. Two years later, I left Korea to study in the United States, and was able to keep this promise to myself. Although I missed elements of my home, I was thrilled to escape this antiquated form of bullying. Entering high school in New York, I discovered that my understanding of respect and my desire for change worked hand in hand to support a happy acclimation. Although I was initially hesitant to be myself in front of upperclassmen, eventually I freed myself from the old fears; today, I have friends of all ages, each of whom I appreciate for their uniquely authentic selves.
please let me know how it is! honest opinions are welcomed, thank you :)
One day during the summer after my freshman year, I got a phone call from a few seniors telling me to meet them at a place in Apgujeong, a Seoul hotspot. Though a call from an upperclassman might be considered "cool" in America, I was terrified. Despite my fear, I had an obligation to go-an obligation that arose from the manipulation of the Korean tradition of honoring one's elders.
The word sunbae means "superior" in English, yet to Korean teenagers, sunbae connotes demands of extreme respect and superiority. As in many Asian cultures, the Korean tradition of respecting elders is paramount. Ironically, teenagers take this form of "respect" to an extreme degree, asserting superiority within their own social hierarchy. And on that day in 2009, I was at the bottom of the ranks.
When I arrived in Apgujeong, ten sunbae took me to an alley behind a restaurant. As the group gathered around me, the leader of the pack announced that my arrogant attitude was getting on their nerves. They said I was rude for not greeting them in school, annoying for dressing properly and thinking I was better than them, and spoiled for going out with my friends to the same restaurants where they ate.
Korea's racial homogeneity-especially within my school, where 99.9% of students are Koreans and more than half are from the country's most elite families-causes age-based, rather than racial or economic, tensions; regardless of whether I was three days or three years younger than these sunbae, tradition required that I greet them with a deep, respectful bow, never disagree with their questions, and certainly never attempt to undercut their authority by claiming my own point of view. Still, my commitment to tradition made me follow the sunbae's social codes strictly.
And so, on that day, I had no effective response. Although their accusations were absurd, I hesitated to defend myself. When I did, one of them slapped me and pushed me to the ground. I knew that reacting would only aggravate the situation, so once I got up from the asphalt, I stood there quietly, which brought even further mockery. After twenty minutes of physical and verbal abuse, they forced me to apologize for something I did not understand by begging on my knees.
At that moment, I vowed never to become such a belligerent sunbae. Two years later, I left Korea to study in the United States, and was able to keep this promise to myself. Although I missed elements of my home, I was thrilled to escape this antiquated form of bullying. Entering high school in New York, I discovered that my understanding of respect and my desire for change worked hand in hand to support a happy acclimation. Although I was initially hesitant to be myself in front of upperclassmen, eventually I freed myself from the old fears; today, I have friends of all ages, each of whom I appreciate for their uniquely authentic selves.