Any feedback would be appreciated. To be honest, I don't really like it but don't really know how to improve it. Please tear it apart.
Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
My name was Zhe Qin (pronounced like "joo-uh" - "chin"). It was the name I grew up with, and for much of my life, the name I shared with society.
At age three, I moved to the United States. Interacting with this new world, I became confused when those around me could not properly pronounce "Zhe." Overwhelmed by mispronunciation after mispronunciation, I grew self-conscious about my name. Luckily, my unease eventually disappeared. My name, I realized, conferred upon me a feeling of uniqueness. I had drawn my name into my identity and needed not worry about those who could not pronounce it - I knew I was Zhe.
Last year, my parents suggested legally changing my name to Jason. For a few years I had used "Jason" as a nickname, for the convenience of friends and teachers who enjoyed a more pronounceable name. Although comfortable as Zhe, I understood that others would prefer to know me by Jason in the future. Yet, as the court date for my name change hearing approached, I began having second thoughts. I worried that I should start identifying myself as "Jason" to everyone, including myself. My sense of identity, of which my name was an integral part, became blurred.
Hours dragged into days, days into weeks. Nagging anxiety consumed me; my mind raced and my heart pounded as I pondered who I was. Lost and confused, I was trapped in an intricate maze, each well-worn path leading to dead ends, to only simple memories or attributes I tied to my name; none led to the exit, to the answer to the question "Am I Zhe?"
When I heard "Zhe," I was reminded of my identity and my past. I thought of my best qualities: cheerfulness, dedication. I recalled memories and emotions, for instance my feeling of belonging when friends or family pronounced my name correctly - something as simple as "Hey, Zhe!" - telling me I was with people who cared about me. Now, I wondered, "If I am no longer Zhe, who am I?" I was paralyzed by fear and apprehension that I would lose myself and all I had become.
Gradually, however, as I struggled through my identity crisis and endeavored to complete my maze, I began seeing myself anew. I had associated each dead end, each aspect of my identity, to my distinctive name, but realized that those features also exist independent of the single word "Zhe." I still have the same memories, ideals, friends, and interests. With this in mind, I finally, and readily, became Jason.
I remain the same individual I was before. Now, though, having persevered through my maze, I understand that an identity is multifaceted, that my name alone, while important, is not essential in determining who I am. Most importantly, as I finally left this arduous labyrinth, I found at the exit myself, Jason Zhe Qin, the coalescence of a lifetime of memories and values. Although I am no longer the child named Zhe, we are still the same person.
Prompt: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
My name was Zhe Qin (pronounced like "joo-uh" - "chin"). It was the name I grew up with, and for much of my life, the name I shared with society.
At age three, I moved to the United States. Interacting with this new world, I became confused when those around me could not properly pronounce "Zhe." Overwhelmed by mispronunciation after mispronunciation, I grew self-conscious about my name. Luckily, my unease eventually disappeared. My name, I realized, conferred upon me a feeling of uniqueness. I had drawn my name into my identity and needed not worry about those who could not pronounce it - I knew I was Zhe.
Last year, my parents suggested legally changing my name to Jason. For a few years I had used "Jason" as a nickname, for the convenience of friends and teachers who enjoyed a more pronounceable name. Although comfortable as Zhe, I understood that others would prefer to know me by Jason in the future. Yet, as the court date for my name change hearing approached, I began having second thoughts. I worried that I should start identifying myself as "Jason" to everyone, including myself. My sense of identity, of which my name was an integral part, became blurred.
Hours dragged into days, days into weeks. Nagging anxiety consumed me; my mind raced and my heart pounded as I pondered who I was. Lost and confused, I was trapped in an intricate maze, each well-worn path leading to dead ends, to only simple memories or attributes I tied to my name; none led to the exit, to the answer to the question "Am I Zhe?"
When I heard "Zhe," I was reminded of my identity and my past. I thought of my best qualities: cheerfulness, dedication. I recalled memories and emotions, for instance my feeling of belonging when friends or family pronounced my name correctly - something as simple as "Hey, Zhe!" - telling me I was with people who cared about me. Now, I wondered, "If I am no longer Zhe, who am I?" I was paralyzed by fear and apprehension that I would lose myself and all I had become.
Gradually, however, as I struggled through my identity crisis and endeavored to complete my maze, I began seeing myself anew. I had associated each dead end, each aspect of my identity, to my distinctive name, but realized that those features also exist independent of the single word "Zhe." I still have the same memories, ideals, friends, and interests. With this in mind, I finally, and readily, became Jason.
I remain the same individual I was before. Now, though, having persevered through my maze, I understand that an identity is multifaceted, that my name alone, while important, is not essential in determining who I am. Most importantly, as I finally left this arduous labyrinth, I found at the exit myself, Jason Zhe Qin, the coalescence of a lifetime of memories and values. Although I am no longer the child named Zhe, we are still the same person.
