“My name is Rose. What's your name?”
I gaped at the wrinkled old Chinese lady curled up in the hospital bed. There we were, in a nursing home in Qingdao, China, yet she spoke to me in accented, but unmistakable English. “My name is Hannah,” I responded calmly, “I'm a volunteer here. Can I stay and chat?”
She reached for my hand and smiled, showing the few teeth she still had. “See, I haven't forgotten my English.”..
My passion for politics began as I stood at a podium in front of 300 girls in a sweltering lecture hall. I was at Girls State, and I had been elected chairman of the Agriculture Committee because no one else wanted the job. Now, I had to defend the pesticide bill that my committee wrote in front of the mock state assembly and senate. As soon as I finished reading the two-page bill that would impose a per-acre quota for pesticide use, the questions began...
By the standards of a proper Asian-American upbringing, as detailed in “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”, my parents are half-hearted felines at best. When I read Chua's memoir, I was having a self-proclaimed existential crisis over the SAT and deciding upon a future career path. It was January 7, my birthday, but more importantly, 21 days away from test day...
This is the car ride home. This is not a 90's dance off. This is not your first boy and girl party in your parent's basement. This is the car ride home. I expect that singing out loud to the oldies station did nothing to help the situation, but I do not take ownership of whatever happens in the car. When your dad starts chanting, “What you gon' do, son?” and awkwardly popping whilst making a left at an intersection, you know you have to answer his challenge. This is the car ride home, but it is also the place where I lay down the law about who runs the imaginary Rodriguez dance floor. This is my superhero dad...
It was love at first tentacle. Dissecting a squid in first grade with unsteady hands, and waving around my cephalopod gut covered scissors, I was in love with science. Ten years later, and still enthusiastic about dissecting a pig in biology, I saw a chance to apply to the Research Education Program at The Scripps Research Institute. This was my opportunity to really see if I was meant for science, not just the classroom version...
Gliding above the liquid glass, I take deep breathes, setting a rhythm for my crew to act together with one mind. Putrid green bubbles can be seen, rising to the water’s surface to gently greet the most crimson-colored sunset found in the Sacramento Valley, only to be crushed by the blade found at the end of my Yao Ming-sized sweeping oar. Each stroke, I pull harder than I did on the one that came before it; each stroke I tear skin from the blisters found on the joints of my fingers that grasp my oar; each stroke I carry my weapon of bubble destruction with more and more confidence...
The inauguration of the United State's 45th president was not in the mind of many Americans during the dog days of summer, yet I was consumed by the historic event. Early last July I received an email from the National Society of High School Scholars inviting me to participate in the High School Presidential Conference, this overwhelmed and excited me as soon as I finished reading the email. It was unbelievable that I was being offered an opportunity to watch history unfold before my eyes and this was something I could not pass up! Unfortunately it came at the hefty price of $3,195 with a rebate of $200 if I reserved my spot before July 27; I couldn't fathom the idea of having enough money but I asked my parents and they were devastated...
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