I was just thinking that some of you (my 3 readers!) may want to read one of the essays that Ashley submitted as part of her application to Northwestern. As you already know, Ashley is an amazing writer, and the quality of her writing (in my humble fatherly opinion) belies her 18-year life experience. See for yourself. Ashley wrote the essay below in November 2007.
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Two years ago, my family and I decided to transition by moving to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, our first international relocation. I was surprised, most certainly – I never thought we’d go, despite my parents’ dreams of a house in Singapore or Sydney – but excitement emerged as the dominant emotion. Describing what I knew about the country, the people, and the culture I’d dive into, my hopes rose as I came to realize how incredibly fortunate I was to begin this new chapter of life. The sub-cultures within the United States weren’t foreign to me, but Malaysia was radically different, a venture like nothing I’d ever considered, a challenge from which I could learn, experiment, and grow.
The twenty-hour flight from Texas to Malaysia (a disorienting journey that, in itself, prepared me for the international scene through excessive amounts of seafood, nonsensical posters, and over-attentive individual service) made me think we’d live royally overseas. Looking around me today, we don’t live extravagantly, and I wouldn’t choose to, as we’re segregated enough from our Malaysian, Chinese, and Filipino neighbors with our iPods and imported boxes of Cheerios. We’ve learned the disadvantages of being white, how taxis charge triple with an unspoken
matsali (foreigner) tax, and how Gucci and Prada knock-offs on Petaling Street are twice as expensive as they are for those who don’t look like tourists. We’ve tried everything, even braving the pungent depths of Jalan Alor,
durian, (a fruit favored by the locals and described by foreigners as a medley of sweaty socks and rotten garlic) and parasites that sent me to the hospital and stripped me of fifteen pounds over two weeks. Still, not four weeks afterwards, I was wandering the crevices of Batu Caves and enjoying the canteen food of Central Market, content to risk anything see as much of Kuala Lumpur as I could.
My family and I were the only Caucasians at the Malay wedding we attended, and consequently, almost all guests openly stared as we picked through our plates of curry in gauche silence. Only three guests spoke to us, questioning in ways you wouldn’t hear in the United States, like how old (each of us) was and how much money my father made. Later, it was slightly disconcerting see every person on the ground in prayer, and to hear a boy, not seven years old, sing the Muslim call to prayer in the chant’s alien key. Prayer five times daily is mandatory for Malaysian citizens by their government, and it puzzled me – I was told that Malaysia permitted freedom of religion. What I
wasn’t told was that this natural right only applies to followers of Islam. Every year, Malaysian-appearing individuals are arrested for eating during Hari-Raya (an Islamic practice of a month-long fast), and even my SAT administrator had to explain that she was not breaking the law by drinking water. Such government restrictions contradict everything the United States stands for, yet, as expatriates, we must remain silent, an effort that has taught me to acknowledge higher authority while retaining a critical, independent mindset.
I heard once that the United States wasn’t a melting pot, that it would be better described today as a tossed salad.
We’re still more likely to clump in our respective “leaves”, the teacher lectured,
instead of blending with the other greens in the pile. With experience of life outside the bubble of the United States, I have to say I wholeheartedly disagree. Compared to Malaysia, the United States has long reached its melting-pot status, producing an entirely new element for our global periodic table. Stereotypes run rampant in the streets of KL, forging barriers between the Malay, Indian, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, European, and American ethnicities that maintain distance and distrust. Segregation isn’t limited to adults - in my own school, I know no Koreans, despite their 33% contribution to our student body. Living in a Muslim nation has opened my eyes towards accepting and accommodating often opposite perspectives, and I’m grateful to have the skills to see the origins and value of such diversity.
Two years ago, my family decided to take up a challenge. Most teenagers would have kicked and screamed, dug their heels into the soil of their birth, refused to enter a country in which standards of living are low, where locals jeer or catcall according to their ethnicity and mood. But I am not part of the “most teenagers” category. Instead of cowering, I embraced the prospect of adventure, a new environment – in essence, throwing myself into an alien culture. I didn’t just step out of my comfort zone – I created a new one, one in which it’s not
change that scares me, but its absence. Buoyed by the confidence I’ve gained from succeeding in Malaysia, I now eagerly look forward to my next great challenge.
** Well, what do you think? Post your comments. I'm sure Ash would love to read them.
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