First semester reflection
Ms. Hollingsworth told my sophomore English class that most students who take Honors and AP English don’t major in English or English-related fields. Of course, how are you going to make a decent salary in the humanities when science, technology, engineering and math far more lucrative?
Growing up, I was a huge bookworm. I checked out thirty books each month from the library starting at the end of kindergarten and up until sixth grade. That was around the same time I fell down a rabbit hole in my school’s computer lab, discovered that freelance writing could earn you six figures, and then told my mom I wanted to write for a living because it was the only thing I was good at. At first, she was cool with it, but you know how moms are. They worry a lot and like to talk about you with other moms, so after my sixth-grade open house, she suggested — with good intention — that I become a pharmacist like my best friend to be financially stable and maintain my writing interests on the side.
My college and career plan hasn’t changed much since then. I recently decided that I was going to major in biology and become an anesthesiologist or earn a degree in healthcare administration and help run a hospital. Maybe not anymore. Right now, I’m taking a step back from STEM and revisiting the humanities for several reasons, including the tear-inducing rigor of AP Biology and the fact that I’m terrible at math despite being Asian, but mostly because of the passion I’ve always had for English yet never fully embraced until taking Mr. Ziebarth’s class.
I’ve always been hard on myself, especially when it comes to English — that’s probably why people ask me to “go off” on their essays. Up until now, I never knew why I was so mean to myself. Was it because I wanted to make myself hate English? That worked for most of middle school, but I couldn’t ignore the urge to write anything besides a literary analysis essay or a lame blog post that no one besides two friends would read any longer, so I joined the student journalism my freshman year of high school.
Although I wrote a lot in my high school English classes and Baron Banner, I still felt no satisfaction. No pride in my work. No desire to share it. Just writing for someone else or some other purpose. Not for me. Yuck.
Then came junior year.
During first semester, Mr. Ziebarth let us write about anything we wanted for our Deep Dive posts as long as it was related to our SQUIDD cards (index cards that we write quick reflections on after reading a text or watching something). Everyone had different SQUIDD connections, so there were countless topics to write about, not a single prompt that everyone had to answer.
I think it was the first time I’ve ever had so much freedom in an English class (in any class, really), and I so took advantage of the opportunity to self-direct my learning. It took longer than expected to write my Deep Dive because I had so much to talk about and ended up turning in the assignment late. My Question Exploration on education was supposed to be three hundred words, but it turned out to be a full-on exploration with at least fifteen tabs open on my laptop at a time for over a week, and I haven’t stopped exploring that question and other related educational topics.
Self-directed learning made me invested in English again and interested in education reform since I realized how much of school isn’t self-directed, but it’s only one part of the jackpot from Mr. Ziebarth’s class.
Besides sometimes sharing the articles I wrote for Baron Banner on Instagram, I rarely let anyone read my writing, and I explain why “School Made Me Fall Out of Love with Writing.” But then we had to make a Twitter for class. My friend Justin tweeted something every day and thought I might as well do the same because I want clout, too.
I decided to tweet “School Made Me Fall Out of Love with Writing,” and after spending an hour trying to word it perfectly, my thumb moved to “cancel” and I stored it in my Twitter drafts. I looked at the tweet every day for almost a week feeling all nasty and nauseous and nervous before finally mustering up the courage to post it, turning off my notifications and calling it a day.
The reaction I got to my tweet was better than expected; Daniel Coffeen tweeted back and journalist Gustavo Arrellano retweeted it. My subsequent tweets were easier to write, but I chose not to tweet “I’m a Loser Because of School” because I was unsure if it was valid in any way since I’m just a student. It’s not like I have any say in education and education reform.
It turns out my blog post was worth the sixteen-minute read, thanks to Mr. Ziebarth tweeting it to writer and educator George Couros, who responded to it with a blog post and podcast. I was so thrilled when I saw other people reading and sharing my work and encouraging me to write more about education.
Having my work recognized by educators from what could be everywhere not only made me feel confident in my abilities as a writer but also recognize the importance of networking and further develop my interest in education reform. For me, the pen is more powerful than the sword, and I want to channel my voice in my writing to make an impact. I’m already thinking of my next Medium post: how students and teachers can build better relationships, based on the semester evaluation question that annually “haunts” Mr. Ziebarth.
From what I remember, Ms. Hollingsworth said about one percent of our Honors and AP English students pursue something English-related. If you asked me what I wanted to do in the future a few days ago, I would’ve said ‘I don’t know.’ Ask me the same question today and I’ll tell you that I want to be part of that one percent.
New York Times Making Connections Contest Entry
Cultural identity encompasses the customs, language, interests and other shared characteristics of a culture, and it’s a central part of our lives. When we don’t have a solid grasp of our identity, our sense of belonging and self are compromised and we sometimes embark on some sort of trip to find ourselves, just as Vietnamese-American author Andrew X. Pham did.
Pham’s “Catfish and Mandala” is a riveting memoir and travelogue that narrates his solo bicycle voyage from California to Vietnam in search of his cultural identity. On his journey of self-discovery, Pham realizes that he feels like a foreigner in the United States, his “adopted homeland,” and in Vietnam, his “forsaken fatherland.” By the time he reaches his hometown, Pham has come to terms with his hyphenated identity by learning to cherish who he is in the present.
While conflicts and confusion over cultural identity are often personal, they can occur simultaneously within a group of people, such as the Germans. In “Germany Has Been Unified For 30 Years. Its Identity Still Is Not.”, Katrin Bennhold examines the profound political and cultural divisions between the former East and West and that has left many Germans “feeling like strangers in their own land.”
Whereas the East is predominantly white and politically “frozen in time,” the West is ethnically diverse and pushes for liberal democracy. The German’s national identity is further complicated as they continue to open their doors to immigrants, giving rise to “bio-German” and “passport German” classifications, inflamed nationalism and racism in the former East and, ultimately, the question of what it means to be German. Likewise, Pham was uncertain of his Vietnamese identity while in Vietnam because he is a Viet kieu — a foreigner and traitor in the eyes of the Viet cong — but eventually came to terms with the perceived social and cultural divisions between the Vietnamese following the Vietnam War through intention, which is something that Germany, and everyone facing internal conflicts over their identity, can learn from.
Setting aside our differences, forming friendships and living in the moment aren’t easy tasks, but “the perfection of our intention is enough,” writes Pham. With each thoughtful promise and resolution, said goal becomes more meaningful and attainable — and the intention itself may even be more purposeful than the goal. For Pham, it was the intention to share a joyous sea bath with an elderly and (likely) Viet-cong woman that brought him peace at the end of his voyage. For Germany, it is the intention to mend past wrongs and establish a middle ground that will make reconciliation, cultural unification and the shared objective of a better, post-war Germany a reality.
