As a perplexed five year-old in the confines of a new nation, I discovered a plethora of previously unknown and inexplicably different wonders in this country that many called "America" (including the wonder that North and South America were not countries above and below this nation). However, in spite of my thriving new perspective, my sense of familiarity and comfort began to subconsciously dwindle, and unforeseen struggles were oftentimes uncovered. Well, to be honest, "struggles" at age five is quite an exaggeration; I simply could not fathom why corn broth was not served at McDonald's or how the words "ear" and "year" differed in pronunciation... or meaning.
However, as years flew by, I no longer hesitated to order a hefty cheeseburger from the nearest fast food chain. As an added bonus, I could also lucidly describe the difference between the organ of hearing and the period of twelve months. Also to my discovery, my newly acquired American tastes were well complemented with a substantial amount of Asian flair, for I was enveloped in a multicultural and accepting community for several years. Quite complacent with my metamorphosis into a young lady of Taiwanese heritage and Western upbringings, I accepted this defining dichotomy in my life quite efficaciously.
Unfortunately, my confidence in identity was put to the test when I relocated to the upper-middle class suburb of Mansfield, Texas. It was very much what I pictured after hearing the name: a mildly-populated, unassimilated, and rural town. After discovering the lack of diversity in the area, I figured that traveling the extra twenty-something miles for delectable Kung Pao Chicken would be well worth the drive, and my uniqueness of character would not alter immensely.
I would be lying if I said I were right. The drastic changes in my friend circles, clothing choices, and even my Chinese accent became evident. Was I ashamed? Disappointed? Displeased? My feelings were an amalgamation of uncertainties similar to the tangled web that defined my identity. Shame dug a path to my emotional bank, and its shackles held me back from my heritage, my previous life, my cultured self.
However, I adapted. Familiar with these unexpected alterations that seem to occur periodically in my life, I have discovered that what I make of myself is entirely dependent on my two hands. In spite of the potency of my surroundings, my mind will ultimately make the final call.
Now, at age seventeen, I can honestly say that I am a prideful young lady, one who openly celebrates Lunar New Year, who also enjoys the festivities of Christmas Day, who fills cultural voids rather than neglects them. My numerous experiences with differing environments that exploited my once easily-manipulated persona have engendered a well-rounded and fuller individual that takes pride in her quirks. Furthermore, the beauty of diversity and its many forms readily runs through my veins and acts as a pleasant reminder that society is held together by cultural bonds that are strengthened by the interactions between various distinct individuals who possess unique characters as well. No shame should run across the minds of any human being for being perfectly different, for that is the potent substance that lies behind perfection.
The essay reads well. You've told me all these great things. However, the essay is asking me to take your word for what you did, and how you feel. A great essay is going to show me. The reader wants help visualizing what you're saying. Otherwise, in my opinion it loses its voice. Depict how that first fast food burger tasted, or how the air of Mansfield, Texas smelled when you got off the plane, or unboarded the train.
Also watch out for the use of thesaurus words like "dichotomy", "amalgamation", and "effaciously". Those aren't words used in everyday vocab, and can be uncomfortable for the reader. You have to assume your audience isn't going to have been an english major :)
Otherwise good.
