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Personal Narrative: Life After High School

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Whenever I go grocery shopping with my father, I can always guarantee two things: awkward stares and double-takes. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’ll get the well-intentioned stranger asking if I’m adopted. You see, my father is Caucasian whereas I am half-white and half-Asian, but I am the spitting image of my mother. Most of my father’s similarities lie in our personalities, where we both enjoy sampling new cuisines, exchanging terrible puns, and listening to the rich purr of V8 engines. The only physical attribute he has given me: my fingers.
I credit my mother with setting my educational foundation, from reading to beading. I would snuggle in her lap as we pored through first Eric Carle and then graduated to Roald Dahl. However, my mother could …show more content…

I entered my eleventh grade with Steven Denn ringing in my ears. Rather than choosing between academic success and healthy social interactions, I decided to combine the two and create study groups to fulfill both of my mental needs. I cut off all contact with undesirable distractors, including the tiny voices in my head that endlessly criticized. I started off by first examining my own hands closely, the tools which would pave my new road. While my fingers might be useless in modeling rings on Facebook, they were invaluable in researching and typing winning debate cases for hours on end. While my fingers might not be the next Nutrisystem models, they did help clarify my goals. I had been so obsessed comparing my own talents to another’s that I completely lost my perspective. My hands gently reminded me to take charge of my own future. They pat the shoulder of one of my students, an immigrant from Incheon who struggles with speaking English. My hands remind me to keep fighting and to support others with the knowledge I gain. My daddy’s genetic gift reminds me to maximize my own special talents in every and any

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