Any advice on structure, clarity, or any other descrpencies is really appreciated. I want to add more about me in the second to last paragraph, but I'm not sure how to incorporate it in relation to the essay.
A few days ago began what I refer to as a new era of personal recognition.
"What race is TJ..." a student murmured from across the room.
It was the last period of the day and from across the room I heard someone comment on my ethnicity, a topic that, like a black hole consuming stars, rarely ceases to swallow the attention of everyone. This was a common occurrence amongst my peers; they have always, for lack of a better word, misunderstood my background and heritage. I sat hoping this time, unlike the rest, this discussion would be overlooked. To my dismay, my teacher and my classmates spent what felt like years analyzing my ...
....
Another version, anyone have any input at all?
A few days ago began what I refer to as a new era of personal recognition.
"What exactly is TJ-" a student murmured from across the room.
I leaned over to reach into my backpack and shuffled through papers hoping that on my ascent, I'd catch a glimpse of the inquirer. We locked eyes for a split second, and she quickly veered her attention to the blank cork pin-up board in embarrassment. I knew she was referring to my ethnicity; it's a topic that, like a black hole consuming stars, rarely ceases to capture the attention of everyone present. This was a common occurrence amongst my peers; they have always, for lack of a better word, "misunderstood" my background and heritage. I sat, hoping that this time, unlike the rest, a discussion would be not ensue. To my dismay, my teacher and my classmates overheard the question and spent what felt like years analyzing my facial structure, my skin tone, my eyes, and even my hair texture. Though others in a similair circumstance may have lashed out, I have never been one to be offended, and I accepted that they didn't know any better than to treat me as a Picasso painting that needed to be deciphered.
Later that evening with the school day having ended, I began surveying my television presets. To my delight, I was presented with the BBC documentary, "Life."
For as long as my memory serves me, I have been intrigued, to say the least, by animals and their disparity to humans. What I find even more captivating are the striking similarities we share in skill sets. Sitting comfortably in a worn satin-leather chair with my eyes glued to the television, I was fascinated as I observed dolphins working in synchrony to capture prey, monkeys utilizing stones as tools, and chameleons using camouflage to avoid predators. Yet, it was the irregularity of the Vogelkop Bowerbird that really caught my eye. Unlike other animals that tend to act like those within their species, the male Vogelkop Bowerbird decorates his nest with one goal in mind-to create individuality in a world where everyone else seems the same. It is here that I see parallelism between my life and the Vogelkop Bowerbird. More than anything else, like the Vogelkop Bowerbird, I desire a sense of individuality.
Growing up in Queens, New York, I frequently strolled along the beaten-down streets with numerous others. I recall that on every block, in every corner store, and at every bus stop, with just a turn of my head, I could pinpoint descendents of a variety of heritages. With exposure to such diversity, it was second nature to see people through a lens of racial classification. I watched as others indulged themselves in their unique culture and ethnic heritage, and it fostered the idea that I didn't belong. Pestering comments like, "You don't look Chinese!" and, "I thought you were Hawaiian!" certainly didn't help. While many sought to void themselves from racial identification, I craved it. I desired others to see me as a single uncomplicated race rather than a subject of confusion-a longing that my combination of English, Irish, and Chinese could not facilitate. It is conundrums like the one in the classroom that continue to repeat themselves-that continue to remind me that perhaps I am perceived by others as a jumbled Picasso painting.
Nonetheless, I am proud to be the product of such a blend, especially one that bridges a gap between many culturally diverse characteristics. The result is a distinctive persona illuminating the variety in my life. While the softest of blue spring skies are spent enduring strenuous lacrosse and rugby practices like those of my English and Irish ancestors; bitter wintery nights are spent conversing in Chinese and disciplining technique in the elegant art of calligraphy. It is the embracing of each culture from which I come, in addition to the almond-shaped hazel eyes, lustrous brown hair, and light olive complexion that have distanced me from being classified as one particular race in the eyes of my peers. If only people would appreciate the whole picture-the individual-rather than try to pick it apart and decipher it.
Perhaps my lack of a racial identity is not to be something of concern. Instead, it is a blessing-a gateway to explore a variety of perspectives that few can bring to this world. It is my individuality; it is my nest. The beginning of this new era of personal recognition is my acceptance that I am a break in the trend of racial identification. I am a concoction that embraces all cultures from which I come, even if I may forever be a puzzle to others.
A few days ago began what I refer to as a new era of personal recognition.
"What race is TJ..." a student murmured from across the room.
It was the last period of the day and from across the room I heard someone comment on my ethnicity, a topic that, like a black hole consuming stars, rarely ceases to swallow the attention of everyone. This was a common occurrence amongst my peers; they have always, for lack of a better word, misunderstood my background and heritage. I sat hoping this time, unlike the rest, this discussion would be overlooked. To my dismay, my teacher and my classmates spent what felt like years analyzing my ...
....
Another version, anyone have any input at all?
A few days ago began what I refer to as a new era of personal recognition.
"What exactly is TJ-" a student murmured from across the room.
I leaned over to reach into my backpack and shuffled through papers hoping that on my ascent, I'd catch a glimpse of the inquirer. We locked eyes for a split second, and she quickly veered her attention to the blank cork pin-up board in embarrassment. I knew she was referring to my ethnicity; it's a topic that, like a black hole consuming stars, rarely ceases to capture the attention of everyone present. This was a common occurrence amongst my peers; they have always, for lack of a better word, "misunderstood" my background and heritage. I sat, hoping that this time, unlike the rest, a discussion would be not ensue. To my dismay, my teacher and my classmates overheard the question and spent what felt like years analyzing my facial structure, my skin tone, my eyes, and even my hair texture. Though others in a similair circumstance may have lashed out, I have never been one to be offended, and I accepted that they didn't know any better than to treat me as a Picasso painting that needed to be deciphered.
Later that evening with the school day having ended, I began surveying my television presets. To my delight, I was presented with the BBC documentary, "Life."
For as long as my memory serves me, I have been intrigued, to say the least, by animals and their disparity to humans. What I find even more captivating are the striking similarities we share in skill sets. Sitting comfortably in a worn satin-leather chair with my eyes glued to the television, I was fascinated as I observed dolphins working in synchrony to capture prey, monkeys utilizing stones as tools, and chameleons using camouflage to avoid predators. Yet, it was the irregularity of the Vogelkop Bowerbird that really caught my eye. Unlike other animals that tend to act like those within their species, the male Vogelkop Bowerbird decorates his nest with one goal in mind-to create individuality in a world where everyone else seems the same. It is here that I see parallelism between my life and the Vogelkop Bowerbird. More than anything else, like the Vogelkop Bowerbird, I desire a sense of individuality.
Growing up in Queens, New York, I frequently strolled along the beaten-down streets with numerous others. I recall that on every block, in every corner store, and at every bus stop, with just a turn of my head, I could pinpoint descendents of a variety of heritages. With exposure to such diversity, it was second nature to see people through a lens of racial classification. I watched as others indulged themselves in their unique culture and ethnic heritage, and it fostered the idea that I didn't belong. Pestering comments like, "You don't look Chinese!" and, "I thought you were Hawaiian!" certainly didn't help. While many sought to void themselves from racial identification, I craved it. I desired others to see me as a single uncomplicated race rather than a subject of confusion-a longing that my combination of English, Irish, and Chinese could not facilitate. It is conundrums like the one in the classroom that continue to repeat themselves-that continue to remind me that perhaps I am perceived by others as a jumbled Picasso painting.
Nonetheless, I am proud to be the product of such a blend, especially one that bridges a gap between many culturally diverse characteristics. The result is a distinctive persona illuminating the variety in my life. While the softest of blue spring skies are spent enduring strenuous lacrosse and rugby practices like those of my English and Irish ancestors; bitter wintery nights are spent conversing in Chinese and disciplining technique in the elegant art of calligraphy. It is the embracing of each culture from which I come, in addition to the almond-shaped hazel eyes, lustrous brown hair, and light olive complexion that have distanced me from being classified as one particular race in the eyes of my peers. If only people would appreciate the whole picture-the individual-rather than try to pick it apart and decipher it.
Perhaps my lack of a racial identity is not to be something of concern. Instead, it is a blessing-a gateway to explore a variety of perspectives that few can bring to this world. It is my individuality; it is my nest. The beginning of this new era of personal recognition is my acceptance that I am a break in the trend of racial identification. I am a concoction that embraces all cultures from which I come, even if I may forever be a puzzle to others.