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The kitchen is congested with cumin, pepper, and bitter leaf. If you start chuckling, singing, or communicating in any way you will choke because spice particles compose most of the air now. This is my living room three times a week when my mom doesn’t go to work the night before. It is how my family functions. My family has enkindled me to live my life immersed in culture. From helping my mom cook our dinner of Jollof rice to attending fundraisers until early dawn to build primary schools in the motherland. I am grateful for my family, because of them I have cultivated my early interest in culture, and now I will maintain that interest with me well after my secondary education years. Although I can say I have attained a substantial element from my family, they have limited me in my life for too long. Often because of preformed notions or ideals my parents had, they would not permit me to explore a passion I held. Additionally, at times I could only pursue an interest meagerly because of my obligation to watch my siblings or accompany them at their activities. My parents also expec...
In conclusion, this book gave me a whole new view on life and how we can interact better with different people. The book emphasized that culture is key to understanding people. Sometimes it is hard to connect with others because they are indicated as different but in due time we can adjust. Every culture has their own traditions when it comes to what they eat, what to wear, dating, various ceremonies, holidays and more. Reading this book helped me become more accepting of who I am and where I come from.
Kothari employs a mixture of narrative and description in her work to garner the reader’s emotional investment. The essay is presented in seventeen vignettes of differing lengths, a unique presentation that makes the reader feel like they are reading directly from Kothari’s journal. The writer places emphasis on both her description of food and resulting reaction as she describes her experiences visiting India with her parents: “Someone hands me a plate of aloo tikki, fried potato patties filled with mashed channa dal and served with a sweet and a sour chutney. The channa, mixed with hot chilies and spices, burns my tongue and throat” (Kothari). She also uses precise descriptions of herself: “I have inherited brown eyes, black hair, a long nose with a crooked bridge, and soft teeth
Despite many people’s beliefs, all families have culture. Therefore, any traditions your family may have count. Whether those traditions be something like special family recipes passed down from generation to generation, or just going camping every summer, it does not matter. Within my family, a personal favorite tradition of mine is every year when my mom, my sister, and I, paint pumpkins for Halloween. In Laura Esquerel’s novel, Like Water for Chocolate, a major theme is that family has the potential to hold you down, and I cannot relate to Tita’s experiences with tradition and family issues based on my own with non-oppressive tradition and lack of family ties.
It is often said that the toughest part of being a kid is fitting in. The United States is a diverse country with many cultures; consequently, it can be overwhelming for adolescents to feel accepted for who they are and where they come from. Amy Tan is an American writer with traditional Chinese parents. She focuses her writing on mother-daughter relationships. Specifically, Tan’s article, “Fish Cheeks,” published in Seventeen Magazine, describes her struggle as a 14-year-old girl in America trying to establish her identity and fit in. Tan is in love with the minister’s son, Robert. For Christmas, Tan prays for Robert and a slim new American nose. Tan’s parents invite the minister and his family over for Christmas Eve dinner. Under those circumstances, Tan is overwhelmed with fear of what Robert will think of her family’s shabby Chinese Christmas. Tan’s mother prepares a strange Chinese menu consisting of prawns, fish, tofu, and squid. Tan is ashamed of her family because she thinks they are loud and lack American manners. After dinner, Tan’s mother tells her to be proud of who she is and where she comes from. Nevertheless, it took many years for Tan to appreciate her mother’s lesson. For Christmas Eve that year, Tan’s mother made all of her favorite foods. Amy Tan writes this article using different literary devices suggesting that family plays a fundamental role in forming one’s identity.
Gently swaying back and forth in an old wooden rocker, I take a break from my journaling. While listening to the creaky hum of the tired oak thumping out a blue song, I think about the art of writing, painting with my words, and wonder what hampers my creative practice. A foreboding sense of unworthiness floats into my consciousness and I ask myself why do I feel this way. Rifling through my thoughts a fog wraps around me like a blanket not for comfort but instead to shield the feelings of inadequacy. I take a deep breath and inhale the reassuring sage scent of our family room. I press on in this process of self-discovery; an old black and white photo sitting on a shelf captures my eye. I see an image of myself as a smiling, confident child, which stirs uneasiness within. Following the muddled whisperings in my mind, I return to the day in the snapshot and consider what comes to pass.
Last night as I lay in bed thinking about my English final, I decided, as I often do, to procrastinate falling asleep by watching Netflix. This may not seem noteworthy to this essay, and under other circumstances it certainly would not be, but last night I happened to watch an episode of Aziz Ansari’s original Netflix show Master of None. The show is about a first generation, 30-something year old Indian-American man named Dev, played by Aziz Ansari, who experiences the daily trials and tribulations of being an Indian man in modern day New York. Luckily for me, it just so happens to be that the episode I watched last night directly correlates to the topic and poem that I am writing about right now. In the episode, titled Religion, Dev is coerced by his devout, first generation Muslim-Indian parents to not eat pork in front of his visiting aunt and uncle. Dev begrudgingly agrees, but, being a comedy show, this agreement
The novel ‘Interpreter of Maladies’ by Jhumpa Lahiri is comprised of many short stories including ‘This Blessed House’ and ‘The Third and Final Continent’. ‘This Blessed House’ is centered on a newlywed Indian couple moving into their house and finding Christian trinkets all over the house. ‘The Third and Final Continent’ is about another newlywed couple and their move to America. Both short stories are told from the point of view of the husband and have the recurring element of tradition, therefore the effects of tradition and culture on the daily lives and relationships of newlywed couples are highlighted.
Thus, traditions can create stable upbringings and meaningful lives that have reason and purpose which cannot be changed due to the rationality of a cultured
When it comes to being thankful, there are many things that I think about. I’m thankful for friends, family, and even the animals. Everything nice in my life is worth being thankful for, but what I’m most grateful for is the chance to be vegan. I’m grateful that I can go to bed each day knowing that I didn’t cause the death of another living being. I’m also grateful for the change I’m able to make every single day. That being said, what I’m most ungrateful for is the meat and dairy industry. This business contributes to the abuse and murder of so many innocent animals, as well as contributes to the damages of the environment and our own health.
The denotation of the word hero is "a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities". To some, that person may be George Washington, Batman, or even Peter Griffin. My hero, though, is my grandfather, D.S. Patel. My grandfather, from my mother's side of the family, is a wise, nice, caring sixty-year old man. Vocationally, he works as a civil engineer for the state of Indiana. How can a sixty-year old civil engineer be a hero? Let's find out how strangers see him as a hero, and how I see him as a hero.
Certain voices stuck out more than others; the shrill laughter of my aunt whose tone was a single octave higher than anyone else’s and a deep, nearly unintelligible rumble from my grandpa fairly close to where I was sitting. There was classical music playing from the stereo. It alternated between Beethoven and fast-paced Bach with an abundance of pianos and violins. The volume couldn’t hold up to the natural sounds of the house since my father had invited relatives over and they were all chatting each other up. I sat there deep in my own thoughts; I could feel my eyebrows pushing together and my lips held a firm rectangle. My stomach growled, but I didn’t want to bother making my way through the hoard of the family just to get a plate of finger foods. I distracted myself from their boring chatter that clouded the room by worrying about her and picturing what happened over and over again. The melodies were hard to hear above the people that worked the floor of the house, but my fingers still tapped along to the faint beat along the mahogany wood of the far end of the dinner table I leaned against. The only reason I knew this song, as muffled as it could be, was because my mom used to play it around the house. Why was he playing this? As if he had read my mind, my father turned his attention from my uncle for a second and easily found me through the crowd of relatives, eyes never leaving me as I made my way
If I were to choose one place in the whole world which would be the best setting to learn the lessons of life, it would be at home with my family. I am from the islands of Samoa located in the Pacific. I grew up in a family of five people in a society of strong culture and religious atmosphere. I love being with my family because they play a vital role in my life. Most of my time was spent on helping out with the family chores, going to school and fulfilling my church callings. In this essay I will discuss how my culture, my family and my church has changed and molded my character for the better.
My mother afraid of I was tired, she made me fast food and take an orange juice for me drink. Perhaps when people did not know the maternal typeface has shown enough full, shimmering like moonlight. Now on all communication media, art, mother image even more honored but it was never enough to speak of sacrifice and love of my mother for me. Also had repeatedly faulted, after her mother’s stern look, I still get a part on by the tips rustic. Each time, seems to me more mature and made a promise to never mistake again. Now, when I grows up, I will promise to mother to live well to able to reciprocate the thanks she taught me.
Many of us have role models in our lives and to most people role models are athletes and movie stars, but to me a role model is much more. To me a role model is a person who has positively influenced someone in life, and is not a person filled with selfishness and greed. They help shape someone’s personality, and characteristics. They are people who someone can look up to for advice in a hard situation, and know that they will give those words of wisdom. They will never judge our past actions, instead only look to help because they really care. A role model is someone who we should never feel awkward talking to about our problems. A perfect role model for me is my mother. She is a wonderful human being. She’s smart, wise, ambitious, patient and such a loving person. There are no words that can describe my gratitude towards her, but through this essay I will describe some of her characteristics that makes her my role model.
After writing about my history and the themes I selected, I have learned a lot about who I am in society. I have realized that I am an average girl that has not experienced much of life. During this analysis I have come to realize I have not had much contact with other family types or other cultures.