With less than 30 days of high school left, a part of me feels itching to get out. And if you've talked to me this whole year, you might have noticed how many times I've mentioned that I'm so ready to graduate and leave.
But hold that thought.
4 years of life at Walnut High School... 4 years of walking to classes, lunch with the group, club meetings, of 12-hour school days, sunrise to sunset. Can I really just take all that and walk away? Of course I'm not idealizing my 4 years of high school. There was much uncomfortable fitting in, embarrassing moments, hard work, and wanting to give up. But yesterday during lunch, I was reminded of how much I have taken for granted. It was a truly enjoyable lunch, with friends I've known for 4 years, and laughter and jokes. I was comfortable and happy with where I was. There was no more bitterness, resentment at coming to Walnut (and not my old school), frustration at myself and my environment. And even as I walk around campus, I don't even see how everyone complains about it being so ugly. It's not that ugly, when the weather is perfect and the flowers are in bloom. And all the people I've met the past 4 years... the people who make me smile with their silly quirks, are all going to part. Of course I can meet up with them again after I graduate but it's never the same.
and no...I realize, I don't want to graduate so fast.
Part of it is because I've been involved in activities that's been very dear to me. Only two school activities really dominated my senior year: MORE Club and Astronomy Club. Last week was my last MORE club trip to Vejar and my last time seeing my 3rd grade buddy, Katelyn, whom I had for the past 2 years. MORE Club was always strikingly different from my other mundane school activities that I forced myself to do... every Wednesday I'd be excited after school when the bus reached Vejar Elementary and my buddy and all those kids would be there waiting. I'd forget everything else and just be so happy to be with kids. a breath of fresh air. And for the last MORE club, I just played with Katelyn and tried to be happy. I didn't want to press on her that this was the last time I would probably see her. So as I watched her walk away from school for the last time, I felt sad but I thought... it's all worth it. I was so grateful to be in MORE Club because it made my whole high school career so much more meaningful. To know that I've had a lasting impact on another child...and that the memories will always be there.
Tonight was another monthly star party for Astronomy Club. The sky wasn't too clear because of smog and light pollution. But Charissa, a Philipinno girl with a round face, is always faithful in showing up. She is always off to the side and not talked to often. But she tells me that she is reminded about the majesty of God when she looks up at the stars. She tells me that she's learned a lot from her two years at Astronomy Club... and now has the habit of looking up when she steps outside, just as I have. And at this moment, I know that it is all worth it... being president of Astronomy Club, organizing star parties, and getting to know Charissa. It's worth it if all it did was to touch one person with the awe of the universe, the presence of the all-powerful God. For one individual to find her place in the cosmos and be at peace with herself.
These are the moments that make up life.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
How personal is your UC application essay?
I have written a lot this school year, though I admit not much of it is for this blog. As gross as it may seem, I spent a good amount of my time this year writing for college applications, scholarships, and TOK. Many were very personal.
Prompt 1 for my UC application, for example. I wrote about my persectives on my dad, and while I was doing this I realized... if my parents don't even know I feel this way, why am I sharing so much about myself with total strangers-- those people in some admissions office far off? How strange that I am willing to show my true feelings to total strangers and not to my own parents. Enough said, it is time to share some of my thoughts with you and to challenge myself to share this to my own parents, though to them, it would not be through these words but through my actions.
******************
It was a typical Sunday night and my family was eating out at another Chinese restaurant. I was dragged out of the house, because my mom didn’t cook on weekends. The meal passed by in silence and I ate sullenly. I would have much rather been at home, chatting to my friends and finishing the weekend homework. I don’t have what you would call a perfect family. Everyone is so consumed with his or her own affairs that we barely talk to each other. It’s like we live four separate lives all under the same roof. The meal went on in silence, and I tried to think of something to say to Dad but could find nothing. This troubled me deeply. Why couldn’t I even talk to my own dad? I glanced at my Dad’s face and began to study the wrinkles around his eyes, and suddenly the whole situation changed. For the first time I saw the world through my dad’s eyes. He had grown up in communist China and was sent to work in a factory during the Cultural Revolution. But he still studied hard on his own to make up for the high school education that he had missed, passed the college entrance exam, and entered the University of Shanghai. He then moved to the United States for a better life, even though he knew no English. There he helped form a small computer company and soon became a successful man who was able to raise his children in a two-story house in the suburbs. His life was one of hard work and perseverance, but to me my dad seemed old-fashioned and absurd in his habits. That night, however, I saw a my dad as a man who went through much hardships and came all the way to America just to raise an ungrateful daughter who couldn’t understand him, who even scorned him because she grew up in comfort he had never dreamed of and was immersed in a foreign culture he knew nothing about.
On the car ride home, I cried silently in the dark. I finally realized how narrow my mind had been. I thought of all the times I grew frustrated when my Dad tried to speak English. I even resented him because he held so strongly to his Chinese beliefs and could never seem to assimilate to American culture. My dad loved me so much yet I was trapped in my ungratefulness and didn’t take the time to really understand his point of view. When I got home that night I felt a burning desire to write. So I put pen on paper and scribbled down all my thoughts in my journal, a habit I’ve kept for the past ten years. Writing has always been a therapeutic device for me to make sense of my own thoughts and the world around me.
Through my writing I began to understand that the truth of things had many sides. That ordinary night changed how I view my world, especially how I view my family. Whereas before I resented my family, now my whole mindset has changed. Though my family is still not perfect, I can at least change my attitude and appreciate them fully. And this, a subtle recognition on an ordinary night, has made all the difference.
Prompt 1 for my UC application, for example. I wrote about my persectives on my dad, and while I was doing this I realized... if my parents don't even know I feel this way, why am I sharing so much about myself with total strangers-- those people in some admissions office far off? How strange that I am willing to show my true feelings to total strangers and not to my own parents. Enough said, it is time to share some of my thoughts with you and to challenge myself to share this to my own parents, though to them, it would not be through these words but through my actions.
******************
It was a typical Sunday night and my family was eating out at another Chinese restaurant. I was dragged out of the house, because my mom didn’t cook on weekends. The meal passed by in silence and I ate sullenly. I would have much rather been at home, chatting to my friends and finishing the weekend homework. I don’t have what you would call a perfect family. Everyone is so consumed with his or her own affairs that we barely talk to each other. It’s like we live four separate lives all under the same roof. The meal went on in silence, and I tried to think of something to say to Dad but could find nothing. This troubled me deeply. Why couldn’t I even talk to my own dad? I glanced at my Dad’s face and began to study the wrinkles around his eyes, and suddenly the whole situation changed. For the first time I saw the world through my dad’s eyes. He had grown up in communist China and was sent to work in a factory during the Cultural Revolution. But he still studied hard on his own to make up for the high school education that he had missed, passed the college entrance exam, and entered the University of Shanghai. He then moved to the United States for a better life, even though he knew no English. There he helped form a small computer company and soon became a successful man who was able to raise his children in a two-story house in the suburbs. His life was one of hard work and perseverance, but to me my dad seemed old-fashioned and absurd in his habits. That night, however, I saw a my dad as a man who went through much hardships and came all the way to America just to raise an ungrateful daughter who couldn’t understand him, who even scorned him because she grew up in comfort he had never dreamed of and was immersed in a foreign culture he knew nothing about.
On the car ride home, I cried silently in the dark. I finally realized how narrow my mind had been. I thought of all the times I grew frustrated when my Dad tried to speak English. I even resented him because he held so strongly to his Chinese beliefs and could never seem to assimilate to American culture. My dad loved me so much yet I was trapped in my ungratefulness and didn’t take the time to really understand his point of view. When I got home that night I felt a burning desire to write. So I put pen on paper and scribbled down all my thoughts in my journal, a habit I’ve kept for the past ten years. Writing has always been a therapeutic device for me to make sense of my own thoughts and the world around me.
Through my writing I began to understand that the truth of things had many sides. That ordinary night changed how I view my world, especially how I view my family. Whereas before I resented my family, now my whole mindset has changed. Though my family is still not perfect, I can at least change my attitude and appreciate them fully. And this, a subtle recognition on an ordinary night, has made all the difference.
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