Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Privilege

By Karen Zheng

I took the PSAT this year for the first time. When the test was finally over, the proctor asked us two yes or no “research” questions that would "not affect our scores". The first was if we used the “Official Student Guide to the PSAT/ NMSQT” booklet to prepare. I vaguely remember noticing a big pile of them outside of the guidance office, free for the taking, several weeks before the exam. I looked at the second question. It asked if one or both of our parents went to college. I bubbled in the negative for both of them.

The second question seemed like déjà vu to me, as it was one of the questions from SLI's Privilege Walk. If one or both of your parents went to college, you were to take a step or two forward. I ended up as almost the farthest back person in the walk, meaning that I was one of the most "stereotypically unprivileged" people in the room. It was a shock; I have always thought of myself as a privileged individual.

I thought about the questions asked. If you were a female, you were to take a step back. If you were under eighteen, you were to take a step back. If you were under sixteen, you were to take another step back. If you had to worry about citizenship, you were to take a step back. If you did not fully trust your parents with certain discussions, you were to take a step back. I did not understand how these questions could determine how fortunate someone is, because adult male citizens who have good salaries and good relationships with their families have problems just like everyone else. I initially thought the questions were unfair; if different questions were asked, I might be in the "privileged" group.

We then tried to define privilege as a group; I remember saying, “being born with things that others don't have.” Some people agreed with me, expressing their doubts of the walk as a good measure of privilege. Some said that it was pretty accurate, defining "privilege" as access to material goods (for example, if you have ever lived in public housing, you probably lived in poverty at some point, which puts you at a more unprivileged state than someone from the middle- or upper-class). Others said that privilege was self-gained, so everything that you are born with means nothing; only what you make happen for yourself counts. Still others narrowed this down by saying that only happiness should matter, and how happy you are equals how privileged you are. Although we could not come to a definite conclusion about privilege, we agreed that being "privileged" is to have everything that we need to survive and be content with life, and also to be a part of SLI and society's institutions.

I looked at the PSAT book before me. I wonder what “research” they will gather – will kids with highly educated parent(s) have generally higher grades than kids whose parent(s) did not attend college, or vice versa? Either scenario could happen, though there probably will be no correlation. In some cases, “uneducated” parents will want their children to be better than they are, and will push them harder than “educated” parents to excel in school to have better job opportunities in the future. In other cases, “uneducated” parents will use themselves as templates for their children – if they did not study much and are financially stable now, their children can do the same and focus on other activities, like working or sports. I think having parents who did not attend college is sort of a privilege; I am influenced to work harder so that I will not have as physically demanding jobs as they do. Other times, I wish my parents know what it is like to be in my shoes, so they would stop telling me to loosen up on extracurricular activities, or to sleep before midnight because it is "just one science test". Either way, I know I cannot affect my parents' past. My future should not be based on privileges that I may or may not have been lucky enough to have been born with.

Friday, December 11, 2009

by Gavin Li





I'm Gavin Li and I'm proud to be an Asian American. Being in a multicultural environment, I am able to take some and give some different points of views in different cultures. I've had firsthand experience on the farms in China's countryside where my family comes from and it is completely different from places like New York City. Learning and growing in an environment where my parents did not forces me to be self aware and self dependent outside of home. WHATS YOUR STORY?!

Saturday, December 05, 2009

A Walk in my Fil-Am Shoes

by Marion Condeza

I was standing at the door of my grandparents’ home, basking under the blazing sun and taking deep, reflective breaths of the stagnant, humid air. I listened to palm trees swaying everywhere as the wind blew them and little, happy-go-lucky children running around in their ruffled school uniforms. It was my first trip to the Philippines in ten long years, and I really appreciated every detail. I let every moment sink in.

I turned back inside and saw my grandfather’s cousin with a wide genuine smile as she looked back at me. She gestured towards the amazing breakfast she had made just for me. She was so sweet and caring that almost I couldn’t believe it.

I didn’t know I had so many relatives. Plus, I was an important guest to all of them when we barely knew anything about each other. They had so little, but presented me with large home-cooked meals and gifts such as my grandfather’s precious, old songbook. I could tell they tried their hardest to please me.

It was an odd feeling to be so loved by these strangers. All the while, I was discovering that we shared a deeply remarkable ancestry— a past before my birth that my parents’ few stories barely touched upon. I found I had a family that was so huge it practically dominated my parents’ entire hometown. I felt a fervent place in my heart finally awakening, overtaken by immense acts of love I never asked for.

A lot of pride filled me through my visit to the Philippines. Nevertheless, something was wrong. Everywhere I went, I felt I didn’t quite fit in. Actually, it was quite obvious.

Entering a large gathering of Filipinos, I would get heads to turn as if everyone knew at that moment I walked by that I was from somewhere far from out of town. Tiny barefoot children in large hand-me-down dresses couldn’t stop staring at me—the tall girl with A&F shorts, big hoop earrings, and manicured nails. I felt so uncomfortable. And I couldn’t break the awkward silence of these brown-eyed youngsters.

As a matter of fact, there was no Filipino dialect I could have used to talk to anyone in. Every day, we visited new family members, and it was increasingly frustrating sitting around for hours— forced to listen to laughter and chatter I couldn’t understand. Upset and dying of boredom, I wondered, Why didn’t my parents teach me their dialect, Bisaya?! Even meeting my half-brother for the first time was extremely tongue-tied. He made the excuse that he was too shy, and whenever I tried speaking to him his difficult attempts to respond were half-hearted just because he thought his English wasn’t so great.

I was crestfallen at hearing how everyone assumed I was quiet and reserved. There was so much I wanted to talk to them about their lives, history, and culture! But if I simply ever asked, “What did he/she say,” or “What does that mean?” people were likely to ignore me or laugh. Was it because they couldn’t explain? Or because I would never understand? Obviously, there’s something that sets me too far apart from their culture.

I am Filipino. It’s funny how when asked my nationality, I reply immediately with that answer. If it was actually valid, my trip to the Philippines would have been much more easygoing and fulfilling. There is another half of my identity I need to acknowledge—and that is being American. As a Filipino-American, I am not only mixed with different cultures, but unique experiences, perspectives, and troubles.

One trouble that has come to my attention is that most first generation Filipino-Americans cannot speak their parents’ native tongue. Knowing I wasn’t alone as a child, I used to think that it was no big deal, English was enough. Then, I began to hear my Filipino friends gossiping. I sat by my aunts or uncles praying deep words I couldn’t understand. I noticed parents singing in Bisaya with our karaoke machine. As the days went by, especially after visiting the Philippines, I wished more and more that I wasn’t disconnected from their lively communication.

I regret not learning at an early age when it would’ve been easier, but I am sure I am not alone. What should be done for Filipino Americans and other Asian Americans else feeling shut off from so much of their own culture? Such miscommunication can really complicate self-identification and limit relations with other people. Please, don’t ever let it limit any of yours. There are many different languages and people in the world out there, but never let that stop you walking in another person’s shoes.

Thank you so much— for walking in mine.