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Festival/custom Christianity
Festival/custom Christianity
Festival/custom Christianity
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It was Christmas Eve and my grandparents had just arrived to be with us for the holidays. They always come over every year, it’s like a family tradition. We always watched The Polar Express that night, which is also a tradition we do. After that we usually make the cookies and get a glass of milk for Santa. Finally, we go to bed anxious for tomorrow. It was December 25th, Christmas morning, and I was twelve years old. I was so tired because it was seven o’clock in the morning. I couldn’t fall back asleep because I was so excited that it was Christmas. I crawled out of my bed and snuck into my brother’s room and woke him up. We watched tv in my brothers room until eight o’clock and then we rushed down the hall to the top of the stairs. We could
see the elf on the shelf hidden in the small village we have in our room. My dad came out of his room and saw us sitting their. He told us to wait there as he walked down the stairs looking like a zombie that got no sleep. My mom came out of her room soon after my dad. She went down stairs and waited at the bottom. My dad gove her the ok signal meaning that we could come downstairs. We rushed down the stairs, almost tripping, and darted to the living room to where our tree was. We saw our 12 foot tall tree and all the beautiful ornaments on it. Then we looked below the tree and saw dozens of presents surrounding it. We saw two big yogibos in front of it so my brother leaped and landed on the cosy yogibo. I wasn’t far behind him, I jumped on the other yogibo and layed there. My brother and I opened more presents after that. My brother got presents including, a PS4, clothes, and an iPhone 6. I got presents like an iPhone 6, clothes as well as gift cards to restaurants I like. After we opened a few presents, we gave our parents and grandparents some too. Christmas was always my favorite holiday because I get to be with my family and enjoy the holidays with the people I care about.
What is culture? Culture is the idea of what is wrong or right, the concept of what is acceptable within our society. Culture serves us as a guide, taking us to the "right way" and helping us to make sense of things that surrounds us. There are many different cultures around the world. A lot of them are similar in specific ways and others are just completely different, this difference explains why we think that people from different backgrounds are "weird".
I was born and raised in Vietnam, so I naturally observed my culture from my family and my previous schools. I learned most of my culture by watching and coping the ways my family do things. My family and my friends all spoke Vietnamese, so I eventually knew how to speak and understand deeply about my language as I grew up. At home, my mom cooked many Vietnamese foods, and she also taught me to cook Vietnamese food. So I became accustom Vietnamese food. I also learned that grandparents and parents in my culture are taken care of until they die. At school, I learned to address people formally and greet higher-ranking people first. In Vietnamese culture, ranking and status are not related to wealth, so they are concerned with age and education.
The air hung around them, tensed and quiet. The fragility of her emotion was threatening to shatter. It is as if that time stood still for her. She fingered the brim of her notebook, nervously and took notice of the cup of coffee on her side. Controlling the sudden urged to drown the caffeine all at once; she carefully picked the cup and warily sipped its content. It had long been cold, and her tongue appreciated that fact.
It was Christmas eve at my aunt's house and the parents were trying to get us to go to bed. When we wouldn’t my mom suggested going caroling. We all screamed that we didn’t want to go. Since she was the adult we had to listen to her and we went.
The big day, it was finally here. Two weeks of training on my own and putting in extra effort to sharpen my soccer skills, all for a two-hour evaluation. Sure I’ve been to soccer tryouts before, but I’ve never been to one where I’m so nervous that I could pass out. After a little pep talk from my dad, I was ready to go. I pulled my tryout jersey over my head and set off for the deep green pitch. As I approached the other girls that were already passing, juggling, or just talking with their friends, every single one of them turned their head to stare. Of course, there were other girls that didn’t belong to Sc Waukesha and were trying out, but nobody even glanced at them. Everyone's attention was on me, and I didn’t know why.
I never would have imagined feeling like an outsider in my own home. Unfortunately I wouldn’t even go as far as considering my current home as “my home.” I live in a house with eight people and two dogs and for some, that might not even be slightly overwhelming, but for me it is. I try to keep my heart open about the situation, but I always end up feeling like I don’t belong. Given the circumstances of my situation, I would say life definitely turned out better than what I initially expected, but I was left feeling like a “stranger in a village” having to live with a family that is nothing like my own.
It was the last Saturday in December of 1997. My brother, sister, and I were chasing after each other throughout the house. As we were running, our parents told us to come and sit down in the living room. They had to tell us something. So, we all went down stairs wondering what was going on. Once we all got down stairs, the three of us got onto the couch. Then, my mom said, “ Well…”
On that fateful day in March, I was a couple months shy of my third birthday. My family and I lived in New Mexico at the time and were renting a house with an outdoor in-ground pool. The day was beautiful. I was outside with my oldest sister Rachel and my father. Rachel was diligently reading curled up on a bench that sat against the house, and my father was mowing the backyard. My mother and my other sister were in the house. Off to one side of the house there was a group of large bushes. I was playing over there with one of her large cooking pots, off in my own little world. At one point while amusing and en...
Christmas morning I wake up my parents like always we go in to the living room and I pass out presents. We open are present together and see what we get. mom got a ring dad a tablet and me a phone with the day half way over already we head to my sister’s house to open gifts there everyone got what they wanted . It was a good day.
It was Christmas Eve, and I just hung the stockings up on the fire place. I knew Santa was real and I was waiting for him to come down the chimney and put presents under the tree. He would always leave gifts under the tree for good kids. I know he would come, I just know he will be here before morning. I wanted to see if Santa was not a fake, I wished that I could go and see him. A Tiny Voice told me to go see Santa. All I had to do was try on the magical shoes and I would be able to go and see Santa. When I tried on the slippers they took me off to somewhere shining with a bright light. There were bright lights all around me.
I remember being woken up by my dad who was calling my name and telling me he had to take my mother to the hospital. He also made sure to tell me that my aunt had come to watch my brothers and I until they got back from the hospital. I left the warmth of my bed to go out into the hallway stepping on the cold wooden floor with my bare feet. From the dark unlit hallway I could see the flickering glow of the TV. Out of curiosity I immediately went to go see what my aunt was watching. When I got into the living room I saw her flipping through the channels until she suddenly came to a stop. A smile came across my aunt’s face as soon as she saw the movie title. She asked me if I wanted to watch the movie Chucky and I said yes. Although at the time I had no idea what the movie was about but if I did I would have never agreed to watch the movie.
“hErITAGE” IS ThE FIrST word IN my family dictionary, a noun and adverb, for who we are and how we live. My parents taught me that my heritage defines my identity. Through honorific speech towards my elders and adherence to traditional values, I accepted Korean customs as part of the duality that defines my life in America. Yet, a turbulent disunity stormed under that surface of peaceful coexistence. Though I outwardly represented the model Korean-American son, I loathed fitting this stereotypical mold. My shell was so well-constructed, however, that others mistook me for a successful immigrant. I felt as if I were ripped from the very fabric of my American birthplace, and plunged into a vacuum between my ancestral home and the world I lived
Christmas was always a big event in our family. We always spent Christmas Eve with my father's family and Christmas Day with my mom's. There was always a lot of food and many gifts, but for the first four or five years of my life, I had no clue what we were celebrating. I really don't think I cared too much, being a young child caught up in all the excitement. And I had something to call it. Christmas. That's all I really needed until I stumbled upon a Christmas special on television entitled A Charlie Brown Christmas. I must have been four or five years old at the time, I can't remember for sure, but I don't think I had started kindergarten yet. But I know I was curled up in a Sesame Street sleeping bag in front of our old television set, one of the small older models instead of the giant entertainment centers like we have now.
We had spent the rest of the day playing board games and watching Christmas movies, my favorite being Home Alone. I fell asleep quickly after, more than ready for the next day. The day finally come. It was Christmas.
My most memorable Christmas is one from my past. I was about six years old. I clearly remember sitting in class on the last day of school before Christmas vacation anticipating the bell to ring and signify that the classes were finally over. As the bell rang, I ran out of that class, and once I got home I was ready in an instant to leave for my grandmother’s where I would spend my holidays. It was a two hour drive to my grandmother’s house. I was very impatient throughout the entire drive. I couldn’t wait to see my grandma, my cousin, and my aunts. To make things better, however, snow started to fall filling me with hopes of a snowball fight the next day.