#1

Hum The A string vibrates as I tune the pitch by ear. I swiftly raise my arm as the hours of practice are now put to test. The formerly strident, chattering noise of lifes turmoil has hushed to a pin-drop silence. The complexity of tunes arranges themselves as I recollect each day. I press hard, flustered by the darkness in my household. I melodically play light tunes as I recall the days happiness. I have let go of my consciousnessmy body now merged with the pulsating rhythms. Rest. I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and begin to play deeply resonating climax of the art piece. My fingers firmly grasp the bow as I purposefully brush into the stringsimages flashing in a slideshow across my mind. Frantic, staccato, sweatthe images blur and I am lost in the pure joy of music. For me, the cello is my best friend; its strings snap with the weight of severance suspended in the act of serenity. All is silent as the last vibration resonates within the roomI am free.#2Of all places, I came to realize the flaw in the concept of America as a melting pot during a meeting of our schools cooking club. As we considered countless dishes of various cultures, I couldnt help but notice the obvious segregation among our members; in one corner were Asians, in another Caucasians, while yet another African-Americans, and so on. I first learned in AP US History that America was known as a melting pot because many nationalities with differing cultures were all able to fuse as one. However, as I looked upon my divided schoolmates, we seemed more like a Japanese bento box, with all the foods separated into divided compartments, than a mixed pot. Though we all called ourselves Americans, our differing cultures seemed to act as barriers. I couldnt help but think: did diversity in our club cause segregation to be inevitable? Couldnt our cultural differences be used to strengthen community rather than divide it? I tested this by organizing our members into desegregated teams to compete in a contest to see which group could create the most original, tasty dish. The result was edifying. Not only did everyone swarm together in both fun and seriousness to contribute their ideas, the resulting dishes were a fantastic mix of numerous tastes. It was then I realized that the concept of a melting pot could be real; all it needed was a dash of willingness, a pinch of understanding, and a heat for one cause to unite all.Imagine a small girl running as fast as her chubby legs will allow, wispy hair tied into pigtails energetically bouncing with the force of her pace. She has within her tight grasps an incredible thing full of treasuresa book. That girl would scurry under the belly of a grand piano to read, where she would immerse herselfdreams being filledin the extraordinary worlds held within the pages of her book.

I havent changed much since then. I cant really fit under the piano anymore, but I still constantly find myself in fascination of all that I read, particularly concerning history. When I should be studying, the Roman Empire plays out before me: a legion of soldiers marching across the battlefield of my desk, the Coliseum being built upon the precariously stacked pile of math workbooks, and Julius Caesar posing regally with his laurel wreath on my unused pencil. Well, that is until I feel a tap on my shoulder and I swing around to see my mother, her cold stare indicating that I should get back to work.

My parents, eager to provide their daughter with a head start in the future of math and science, supply me with an endless flow of workbooks. I dont mind math and science. But, I do keep myself sane with something that I absolutely love. When the lines of numbers begin to blur, I slip a National Geographic magazine between the pages of my workbook, avidly reading about the excavation of Gbekli Tepe. Rather than memorizing mathematical formulas, I eagerly research the history of their conception, astounded by the impact of math on human developmentall the while furtively looking around for any sign of my mother.

The career path that my parents envision for me is understandable, yet I cannot help but stray from it by the allure of infinite stories and lessons that history affords. My passion for history stems from its unique powerto give meaning to the present and direction for the future. I remember reading once that history is akin to a brief respite from the storm, allowing a captain to assess how far he has come and to where he should journey forth. In this very manner, I have come to find history as both the solace from my own storms and the impetus to pave my own future.

I cannot wait to explore and further unlock the mysteries of the past. Through research, collaboration, and even excavation, I want to see the remnants of history come to life before my very eyes. Thus ironicallyor perhaps fatefullyI look to the future to tell me more about the past.

Past experiences beget future expectations. The small girl I once was continually returned to her space under the pianoalways with a new book in towuntil the space became too small. These experiences have intensified my hunger for history, and I cannot wait to explore the promise of wonder and discovery that it holds.

I close my eyes and whisper a prayer. Only two spots left1st and 2nd, but 2nd means nothingno airplane ticket to the international competition. The judge opens the envelope with the name of the winners, but instead of two names, he only announces oneChristine Kim. At first, I am overjoyed! But as I make my way up, I realize that I am not the only Christine Kim in the room. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, my imposter falls in step with me, and we proceed up the stage simultaneously. I hear chuckles permeating the auditorium, and I am at a loss for what to do.

Even in retrospect, this particular memory still haunts me to this day. I did not claim first prize, but that wasnt the worst part; the judges actually crowned me the winner, only to strip the title away seconds later, apologizing that they had made a mistake. I was humiliated. I was not THE Christine Kim they wanted. Yet the memory also holds a glimmer of hope, stemming from a strangers words after the competition. After his futile attempts to console my utter dejection, his last words left a lasting impact. Try again next year. Failure is nothing more than an excuse to try harder. Those words gave me the perseverance to try again.

Thus I find myself a year later, standing on the same exact stage. I begin my speech, wavering slightly at first, but steadily gaining confidence. I have prepared far too much to fail here. I am determined to win. My voice booms into the microphone and at this instant, I feel invincible. But suddenly, my microphone begins to stutter. I am caught off guardmy aura of conviction shattered. I attempt to continue my speech, but my voice continues to fade in and out. How can fate be so cruel? I feel helpless, but I force myself to finish. I end my speech by saying, I stand in front of the cold wall called fate. I am able to firmly face it because I know that one day I will pass over that wall. Time suddenly stops, my last words resounding throughout the stage. At that very moment, I realize something.

Ever since my first humiliation, all I could think about was winning. I wanted redemption. Yet fate was not so willing. However, I had completely lost sight of why I joined the speech competition in the first place. I love the stage. I love talking about pertinent issues that plague our country. I love witnessing the hearts of others being moved into action. Thats when I decided: this is my redemption. Regardless of the outcome, I have given all my effort to give a speech from the heart.

The ironic thing is, I actually won. Of course after I heard my name, I looked around to make sure it was me. But in the end, the victory had been won far before my name was even called.My father is short-tempered, has a bad mouth, drinks heavily, and smokes like a Russian sailor. Unsurprisingly, my parents fought constantly, and their frustrations manifested in ways such as slamming doors, verbal abuse, and breaking household items. Daily fights between my parents led to a great deal of stress, and I became more and more withdrawn. My house became a gilded cage void of family interactions, warmth, and love. My parents discussed separation, in which my father opposed. I remember one morning as I was getting ready for school and eating breakfast, my dad came downstairs gripping his bleeding left arm, calling out to my mother to take him to the hospital. Thinking it was solely an injury, I left the house to catch the school bus. When I came home, my dad called me into his room and showed his bandaged wrist. With hopelessness in his voice, he explained that he tried to hurt himself because he could not bear separation from my mother.

The arguments between my parents progressed, and during my junior year in high school, I witnessed my dads most devastating attempt to take his own life. To this day, I still cannot forget that night, which leaves me trembling and scared. I can still envision the wine-red blood racing down his arms, staining his sheets and painting his skin so red as I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to speak.

This was the catalyst that piled more burdens on top of me, slowly suffocating me one by one. Our financial situation was always a struggle in our daily household. My grandmothers death during my freshman year led to my fathers depression and subsequent job loss. In return, my family depended on my mother to support the three of us. Eventually, this led to bankruptcy, and my mother and I moved into an apartment nearby. The consequences of these events were inevitable. My grades began to suffer, and all my relationships became strained.However, I have grown.

It has been months since the last mutiny rings in my ears. I have now settled down to a new environmenta new house, a new family, a new year, and a new me. It is in our nature to forget, but I refuse to do so. These previous years have been a knife to my self-confidence, yet I am determined to keep moving forward. I want to remember everythingevery single moment whether painful or joyful. The experiences have become a motivation to seek something. I have begun to find passion and excitement in learning, and through it, hope to find my place in this world. Whats more, I wish to give all that I haveto fill the emptiness in others hearts, hoping that my own heart will find its peace.

Regardless of what is to come, I do believe that I have what it takes to succeed. I am no longer the one who is helpless. I will persist.The Pursuit of GreatnessPrologue the Spinning of Dreams The journeys we choose to embark on define who we are and what we hope to do. Pursuing dreams, adventures, heartaches, loveit all begins with youthful innocence and sincere desire. Yet when the storms come, they have a way of testing the foundations of any explorer. Burdens of life manifest in torrential rains; life changes and dire events become towering waves that push even the mightiest of ships off course; and as the unavoidable influences of wealth, power, and pride cast darkening shadows, the adventurer becomes wayward and loses sight of the dreams he once pursued.

I once read that the past is akin to a brief respite from the storm; it allows the captain to assess how far he has come, the extent by which he has lost his way, and to where he should journey forth. I contemplate my own life. As my journey nears its final stages (although I know in my heart the pursuit shall never end), I think about the past, meditating on the very first steps I took towards what I believed to be my destiny. I have come a long way.

When I first moved to America in the 8th grade with my mother and sister, I was at a loss from the start. My sister had just been accepted to the University of Pennsylvania, a feat that even I couldnt help but respect. But as for me, I struggled immensely. I had such a hard time understanding English that I wouldnt talk in school for days. With no means of effective communication, friends did not come easily. And for the first quarter of school, I did not do well. Looking at my report card, my English grade revealed a blatant F. In silence, I felt both helpless and discouraged.

But my family would not be silent. They gave me words of encouragement; they expressed their belief in me. Their dedication and love became the impetus that drove me forward. Every day after school, my mother drove meeven amid snowstormsto a private academy to improve my English. My sister went out of her way to meet with my English teacher to discuss how I could improve. Their actions became my sustenance, and by my junior year, I was able to raise my grade to an A.

This is where it all began. I realized the influence and strength of my familys help. In response, what could I do to make a significant difference in this world? I began to think that it would be wonderful if I too could help others. And with that, my dreams slowly unfoldedthe pursuit of greatness beginning.

I decided to start with something small, sponsoring a six-year-old child named Mercy in Malawi, Africa through World Vision. Malnourished and lacking basic medical needs, Mercy was living with her grandmother after her parents passed away from AIDS. Every month, I sent money I earned from summer jobs to pay for the medical attention and education Mercy required. Regular progress reports indicated her improving health and she soon learned how to read and write. Recently I sent an extra gift of $80; soon thereafter, I received a response.

I looked intently at the photograph she sentMercy stood beside a goat and held a large basket of corn. Her smile was exuberant. She looked healthy, happy. I turned the photo to find her note, roughly translated in English. With the small gift I sent, she boasted that she had bought enough to keep her and her grandmother healthy for a long time. She detailed her plans on how to pay for her tuition with the goats offspring, and she was hopeful of a bright future thanks to me. I looked at the photo for another good hour. Just a few years ago, Mercy was extremely malnourished and lacked basic medical needs. She wondered if she could last the next winter. Now, she dreamt of college and a life beyond.

The power of helping otherseven with so little, I realized how much I could do. My dreams became goals, and those goals began to reach the stars. I dreamt that I could one day make a global impactthat I could truly obtain the greatness necessary to help the world improve.

College became crucial. I attended Purdue University, a college renowned for not only science, research, and engineering but also imagination, discovery, and innovation. As a Sociology major, I learned more and more about the intricacies of society and the impact of various factors on life. What was most ironic, however, is the fact that as I explored the topics of local, national, and even global concerns, but I became more intrigued by how these global trends affected the individual. However, the adventures and growth I experienced there is an entirely different chapter of my life. Whats most important is the fact that at Purdue, my journey was given true direction and meaning.

As I contemplate how far Ive come from this starting point, I envy the passion that I once held. Yet I have come to learn so much. As I pursued greatnessthe realization of smaller dreams catalyzing even bigger, glorious dreamsI realized something important: I may never complete my journey, for greatness was and still is an elusive ideal. But as I reached for the unfathomable, dreamed of the impossible, a level of greatness naturally developed and overflowed to touch the hearts of those I least expected. Now, let me describe the significance of my pursuit and what I truly found. Let me tell you my story

You may not believe that I'm living my second life.

Seventeen years ago, a fire destroyed everything in our home, and nearly took my life as well. Smoke and flames blocked nearly every exit in our 12th-floor apartment, leaving me secluded and helpless. But, amidst this terrifying moment, a pair of hands reached through the balcony window, handing me to neighbors, one after another, as if I were a human baton. My grandfather and I managed to narrowly escape death. My grandmother, however, passed away without even a chance for goodbyes.

My grandparents hadn't had the best lives: from being wealthy bankers in British-controlled Hong Kong, they decided to move back to communist China to give their children a chance to learn to love the country they had loved for so long. But their move brought only strife, as what welcomed them were not flowers and champagne, but unemployment and hunger, humiliation and constant political struggle.

Amid their pain, I was born. They poured every ounce of their love and compassion into their new grandson. When my parents left for the United States after only my first birthday, my grandparents took it upon themselves to provide me with a normal childhood, giving all they had when the world seemed only to take away.

My parents came to the United States with dreams for a new beginning. Like many immigrants, they started with nothing. When not studying for school, they worked as waiters, babysitters and deliverymen. They dreamed of getting a green card and health insurance--and to bring me, their only son, out from brutal authoritarian control. They wanted me to be able to study whatever I wanted, a choice they never had during their student years in China.

Seven years later, my grandfather's death brought us back together in the United States. Though I should have been happy to see my own parents, they had become strangers to me--like everything else in this new world. No matter how much they wanted to love and protect me, they could not shield my eyes from the marked differences of my previous life. I would have to face a new language, new environment and new people. The infusion of two cultures and languages ultimately overwhelmed my ability to express myself in either. I had just lost the most important person to me in the world. What's more, I now had to find my own identity.

When my parents resumed their role, they nurtured me with as much compassion as they could express to make up for our lost memories. They wanted to ensure that I would not be alone in my life during times of challenges without their love and support. I will never forget my mother's unfailing support during every table tennis tournament, and how my father, regardless of where he was on his business trips, would fly in to be there for me as well.

My Chinese-American identity would be similarly established as I made caring friends who would help me assimilate into Western culture. I'll never forget Eric Holmberg, reaching out a hand in our elementary school cafeteria to become my first friend in the United States; Yicong Liu, using her little body to protect me from being discriminated and harassed; and Mrs. Cressman, a retired English teacher with no children, who taught me word by word nearly every night to help me pass ESL, dedicating so much of her time and care as if I were her own child.

This "second life" has taught me to truly appreciate the meanings of loss and love. Though suddenly losing control of my own life and the life of the ones I loved brought agony to my early childhood, it is this very anguish that has taught me what true happiness is, and that true love should transcend the boundaries of blood, race, and nationality. I have learned to appreciate the health of my surroundings inexplicably more as I realize how I had taken my grandparents' presence for granted since the day I opened my eyes. The fire in my heart has been fanned into a great desire as I come to realize how I've not only been given a second chance at life, but one that is replete with loving memories.

I have been continually motivated throughout my life as I understand how my educational opportunities have been bought by more than twenty years of my parents' sacrifice and toil; how my career-oriented grandparents would like nothing more than to see my own accomplishments, as they had so many regrets about their own. My entire life has taught me to appreciate the pain that two generations of my family have experienced because of their incomplete careers, all limited by historical circumstances.

As I invest all I have for my future profession in a society bound only by hard work and imagination, I want to use the blessings of my second life as motivation to requite what all of my family and friends have done for me during times of hardship. I want to use this as an opportunity to give others the same chance at a new life, so that they too may experience the powerful love that I have experienced all my life. I want my future patients to be able to enjoy happy, memorable lives with their loved ones, without fear of succumbing to preventable illnesses. I want to reach out a hand to them at their most vulnerable moments, giving them a chance to create their own everlasting memories.

Category: Personal Essay / Memoir12 Years Old, 7th Grade, from Klein, TXThe Brick Wall

We stood facing each other. Clenched fingers, gritted teeth, blazing eyes, this moment defined itself to be the devastating conclusion of our friendship, the one thing we had always thought to be stable and unconditional, like the sturdy concrete beneath our feet.

The air pulsed with furious energy, radiated from our emotions, our beings, our very souls. I looked, bitter with hurt and anger, at the girl standing opposite me, the girl who Id strung countless friendship bracelets with, the girl who had taught me the art of skipping stones on the community pond, the girl who had always been there for me no matter what. That girl, I realized with a jolt, was gone. G-O-N-E. Gone, departed, disappeared. There wasnt a trace of her left in those burning eyes that glared back at me with fiery animosity.

Without warning, the bell rang, a surreal sound that jarred us from this intense scene. The girl I had once known scowled, flashing me a last withering look to confirm our friendship had died, that we no longer possessed any positive relationship. She turned sharply on her heel and stalked off. I just stood there, unable to comprehend the events that had just taken place. A whole string of wonderful years filled with shared secrets, hilarious inside jokes, zillions of unforgettable memories; a powerful bond that had always been part of my life, completely gone, in less than five minutes. It couldnt have possibly happened. Surely this was all part of a nightmare: I just had to wake up and everything would be normal again

I could have stood there forever, trying to reassure myself, but the sharp voice of a hall monitor dragged me back to reality. A pool of despair welled up inside my stomach. There was no way around it. I had lost my best friend.

As soon as I could fully process the heartbreaking truth, a fierce emotional whirlwind attacked me. Its howling winds of loss and grief slammed into me, pushing me farther and farther into a deep forest of sorrow. I tried to find a way out of the dense thicket, but every time I stepped forward, thorny branches whacked me harder and harder, pain increasing with each breath, until my body shrieked with agony at the slightest movement and there was no other choice but to give up.

I sank to the ground, hands wet from the endless salty river flowing down my cheeks. The world had ended. Nothing,nothing, could pull me out of this abyss, this dark, endless pit of anguish.

The only thing I truly wanted was to travel back through the past few weeks, to zoom through them until I had found where the knot that had bound both of us together had begun to unravel. Maybe I could have tightened it more firmly. Maybe I could have prevented the arrival of the tension, the little bits and pieces of tension that had piled up neatly on top of one another like bricks on a wall.

The wall had grown taller and stronger through the course of time, eventually aquiring so many bricks, that with just one more, it would be sealed, no more space left to get through and mend things. And that last brick had been found in the form of some quotes. Quotes that I snatched from a whispered conversation at lunch one day. Quotes provided by my supposedly loyal-to-the-bone best friend. Quotes that had focused negatively onme.

And so came that final argument, the fight that had ruined me.

Grief swallowed me; I spent days just crying and aching for what had once been. I didnt believe I could move on with my life, but the matter of school left no room for argument with my parents. Slowly but surely, I got reaccustomed to the life of impending homework assignments and bland cafeteria food. Then one day, I caught a glimpse of my best friend, all smiles and laughter as she strolled through the hallway with new kids, ignoring me completely. My sorrow was instantly replaced by anger. How come she had not been affected as I had been after our fight? We had been friends since forever, experiencing nearly everything together. Surely she must have felt, even if only sparsely, the sorrow that I had been going through. But when I looked again, she still gave no sign of remorse, nothing at all.

Thats when I decided I didnt need friends. They might be people that could love and make you laugh, but they could just as well turn their backs on you without a second thought if you werent needed by them anymore.

It was time to move on, to concentrate on more important things in life.

So I did. I focused on school, something I really hadnt paid attention to in the past. I joined extracurriculars like violin and tennis, tried finding social work, eating healthier. Everything was a possibility in my new life, unless it reminded me of anything I used to do with her, my old best friend.

My parents noticed, and they were impressed with my newfound dedication to these subjects, subjects they considered important in life, subjects they had always wanted me to pay attention to. They started to help me, exposing me to more and more of what I had begun to learn, introducing new ideas, new people, new activites.

And at first, it was extremely interesting to learn all these new things. I could stay up for hours at night, trying to imagine just how small an atom truly was, or thinking about a beautiful line from a poem.

However, as time passed, I realized I was bored. Since I had given up any contact with others, my only companions were dry encyclopedia facts and quotes from dusty books, things completely devoid of emotion. My own feelings soon slipped away under their influence, and I became a robot, just a figure who went through the motions, following a programmed, set path. My days had become a bleak gray sky with no thunder or lightning to liven it up. There was nothing more to live for, nothing to look forward to.

I crawled deeper and deeper into this stupor, until one day, I couldnt breathe. My insides were about to burst, burst with feelings that I hadnt used for such a long time. Now I couldnt contain them any longer, or I was sure I would die. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed, pushed with all my soul, until I felt myself break surface of the daze I had been drowning in. When I opened my eyes again, I saw real life once more. I saw what I had been missing.

People laughing at a joke, kids working together to win a basketball game, a group of friends chattering as they walked through a crowded hallway.Friends. I repeated the word once more out loud, savoring its taste, its meaning, the feelings it provoked. I had needed a friend all along. Maybe they werent so easy to keep, but they were the only ones whose little jabs and funny jokes gave some color to my life. They were the ones who really understood me for who I really was. They were the ones who kept me alive. Andthatwas what mattered the most.

I sucked in a deep breath. It was time to find the girl who had once been my best friend. There had been a wall between us when I had left her, a brick wall, with no gaps. I had thought that there was no way to get through that wall anymore after it had been sealed. But I never really had to find a space to get past that big barrier. I could break it down. Sure, it would be much harder to do this than just to slip through, but the effects would last forever.

Smiling now, I stood and set off in search of my old best friend. It was time for a dead friendship to be reborn.