LION DANCING

The sound of gongs echoed through the room, its loud rumble enough to feel like how an earthquake’s tremble can be felt from beneath the ground. Playing alongside the gongs, cymbals clashed together. It wasn’t only the loud sounds. Dancers dressed in large lion costumes danced, the bright colors of the costume creating a presence unlike any other. Celebrating the Lunar New Year festivities, people stood up and began to clap for the lions who mastered elegant tricks. Without warning, the lion came closer… and closer… until I could see its large eyes staring dead at me. It stuck its tongue out in hopes of a red envelope. My mom responded by slipping a red envelope through the lion’s mouth. I scanned my eyes around the room. How could so many smile at this horrifying experience? I watched, petrified, tears flowing down my face; I was one of the few children who cried. 

BARBIE DOLLS

Typically dressed in pink head-to-toe. Streaks of marker running through blonde hair. Extravagant dresses paired with matching heels and jewelry. Friendship with a sprinkle of romance. It is the embodiment of a typical girl’s childhood: Barbie dolls. The way girls love Barbie dolls is like how dogs love dog toys and how teen girls love Sephora. It is something that cannot be understood by other groups due to its own niche. 

I was a Barbie outfit specialist. Rather than using plain, boring sets of clothes that were designed for the specific doll, I put together outfits from different Barbies, DIY-ing and altering pieces of her closet into completely different pieces. I even went a step further. I cut hair and styled it, forgetting that these dolls weren’t capable of growing their hair back like I was. It was the jagged cuts along the hem of the clothes and poor stylistic choices that completed the look. At this time, I fully believed I was an aspiring fashion designer. 

The awkward color coordination and innovative outfits were enough for me to look back in disapproval of my designs. Yet it was these choices that allowed me to gain confidence and express myself through my clothes, disregarding others’ opinions. This feeling of expression is the feeling of walking out of a test that you studied hard for, regardless of the outcome. It is the feeling of when you’re laughing with friends, and suddenly all your worries and stress are alleviated. Most importantly, it is the feeling of liberation and being free from thoughts that were keeping you down. I was finally free, being my own Barbie doll. 

MY VERSION OF LOS ANGELES

When people think of Los Angeles, what first comes to mind is probably its notable skyline, Hollywood celebrities, and its bustling streets. 

However, when I think of Los Angeles, I don’t think of lights coming from apartment complexes at night. Nor do I think of famous celebrities whose names deserve enough recognition to be carved into stars on the Walk of Fame. 

I think of cramped Chinese restaurants filled with loud chatter and laughing and run-down shops filled with more memories than practical products to sell. 

I grew up going to this part of LA every Saturday, not the version many fantasize about living in. As a child, I dreaded Saturdays. I had to wake up at 8 in the morning just to talk to grown adults who asked the same questions every week. Rather than being able to play games all day, I had to sit through boring adult conversations, nothing a kid in elementary school would care to partake in. Unlike the conversations though, I always enjoyed the food that came along with the chattering. Waiters brought out plate after plate of hot, mouth-watering Chinese food. At the time, eating was the only thing I cared about. But, as I grew older, every Saturday turned into a monthly occurrence, and now, we only come together for special occasions.    

Now that I’m older, I realize that I should’ve cherished the times I had when nothing mattered except for the current laughter, happiness, and love that came with family. 

HORROR AND MATH

As I entered through the door, cold air hit my face, seeming to hint at the upcoming horrors that would follow. What I saw inside was not smiling children but children who had a look of desperation painted on their faces. I trailed down the aisle, watching children ranging from five to 18 frantically work through a small packet filled with math problems, their biggest fear. I was no different. I rushed through the pages, my pencil marks more like scribbles than numbers. I could not wait to exit my personal hell: Kumon. 

What allowed me to survive was competition. From a young age, I thrived off of winning and success. 100%, 4.0 GPA, 1st place. If it involved the feeling of superiority, I wanted it all.

However, it wasn’t a competition with people. It was one with time. I rushed against the minute-hand, writing away to the monotonous sound of pencil scratching against paper, loud voices from toddlers learning their ABCs, and the voices of parents waiting behind the barricade for their poor children. It was an intense battle against time; who would come out victorious? 

I reached my last equation as I peered back at the clock. 3:20. I had ten minutes remaining. Working through the steps of my last question, I saw the end of the tunnel. 3:22. I turned in my work to the tutors in the front, waiting for my paper to get graded. 3:27. I received my paper back, with a large circle around each of the five pages, symbolizing correctness. I turned in my work and packed my bag. I beat the clock, but barely this time. 

I rushed out the prison gates of Kumon, my bag in hand, unready to face the tortuous process once again next Tuesday.

MY FUTURE

Extravagant objects were laid out in front of me. A calculator, a stethoscope, a lawyer’s hammer called a gavel; you name it, they were all placed before my eyes. I crawled towards the group of objects, family members curiously watching me as I chose my future with innocent hands. This moment was supposed to decide it all. I searched the group of objects, seeing one that piqued my interest: a gavel. All my family members celebrated as they realized what this would mean; I would become a lawyer. 

Right from the moment we’re out of the womb, our parents decide the trajectory of our lives. Many of our lives are fixated on this plan that our parents created for us. Whether it be to play various sports or learn an instrument, we have no choice but to listen to them. For me, I wasn’t forced to participate in sports. Nor was I told to play an instrument. Instead, I was told to maintain good grades and study hard. 

Picking a gavel, I was encouraged to pursue speech and debate and began to take classes during the summers of my youth. I didn’t like it one bit. I was never a person to enjoy being the center of attention, having everyone watch my every move. I stuttered across my lines as anxiety washed over my thoughts. Would I really be able to satisfy my parents’ wants and needs?

To simply tell the truth, I’ll never be anything special. I won’t be Steve Jobs and create the innovative iPhone that many of us can’t live without. I won’t be Taylor Swift whose music alone changes the lives of many from all around the globe. I’m trapped in a world filled with important people as a girl who’s just nothing special. I’m the outlier. 

My dream is also nothing special. I just want to live a normal and quiet life, away from the eyes of relatives who wish for nothing but the “best” for me.