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Importance of language in school
Importance of language in school
The importance of language in education
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The five hours in Sonora Center definitely changed my view and the life in ASU that made me a more mature person than before. To be honest, I am a child born in a harmonious family, and nothing could bother me because of the protective shield that my parents provided in order to protect me. However, after I traveled 12 hours by plane to further my abroad study at ASU and reach my first-year dorm--- Sonora Center, the five hours in there changed me forever.
After I had got off the plane at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, I struggled to carry my two pieces of serious heavy luggage to find a taxi. These two pieces of luggage almost killed me due to the their inconvenient design. The sharp wind blew in my face and shivers just came to my body that let me feeling terrible. My arm felt a bit painful little by little just in that 500 meters long distance, and I lost my strength little by little. At last, I was on my way to my dormitory----Sonara Center. I had never realized that it was just the beginning of my nightmare.
When I reached Sonara Center, it was already 9:
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00P.M. But Sonara Center seemed still very ablaze with light. After 12 hours’ flight from Shanghai, I was too tired to do anything except sleep. However, the scene inside my first-year dormitory shocked me deeply when I entered. There were only two beds (my Chinese roommate owned one of the beds) in the living room with nothing and after I went into the room inside, there were two rooms with four Americans who were my future roommates, and they were all drunk! That is not the end; my Chinese roommate told me that they even smoked weed in the dorm! There was a strong odor of weed. It almost made me choke. They have tables, chairs and even a water dispenser inside. In contrast, we, Chinese have nothing. Just at that time, one American, who is the friend of my four roommates, came straight to me and my Chinese roommate and told us some unbelievable words.
‘Don’t play with the people inside, they are all junk. I knew that Chinese people are all smart. They are all the future of America,” said Nick. “OK, I got it,” I said. This was the only thing I could say to this stranger insinuatingly; we did not even see him before! But just after he told us to get some drink in his house and wanted to take us to some places to play in his car. We realized that he wanted to use us for money. The cheating smile on his face made me sick. What’s more, the most unbearable thing is that, he even wanted to use my phone to send his phone a message. I just could not endure anymore; I quickly came up with an excuse to get out of that room then I phoned my Chinese roommate to come out and escape from that
cheater. It was already 11:00 P.M. The cold weather made us tremble, but the weather I thought was much better than the “weather” in my dorm. My Chinese friend and I walked on the sidewalk. It seemed that it was already so late that nobody walked on the road. And what the only thing I needed to do was to keep walking and had some chat in order to avoid feeling bored. Actually I made a promise with my Chinese roommate after one hour’s wandering. If that guy was still in my dorm, I would call the staff. When we came back, he was still there thus I called the staffs immediately. Next, the real nightmare began. When we went to Room 116, that cheater was still there and kept on telling us some nonsense rubbish. After 30 minutes of bullshit, I made an excuse to come out and call the workers. When two Staff were coming for that cheater but my four US roommates and other several friends of them just freaked out and thought the staff was coming for the alcohol intake. I could see that they all stood in front of the bedrooms door and wanted to hide something. Due to their panic performance, the staff just forgot that cheater and came straight into the bedroom and want to find something that they were hiding. I could not forget the fear and worried expression on my four American roommates, faces and their heavy breathing of them. Without doubt, the result was that they would all get a $510 penalty for alcohol intake and were required to attend a meeting of punishment for drinking alcohol on campus. What really made me mad is what those two staff told me! He told them directly it was me who called the staff here. At that time, I realized that I was in real danger. Four husky men who were Mathew, Kevin, Nick and Stevenson with a fierce expression surrounded me. “Why don’t you tell us first? Are you stupid?” “You are in trouble now! OK? Screw you” Those words really hurt me. In the end, after one hour’s preaching with some abuses (one NY guy who was Mathew even said that he wanted to kill me). “Fuck you, you bastard, I will give some staff to you! You know what, I really want to kill you myself.” The serious expression on their faces and the rude words came from their mouths hurt my friend and me deeply into our heart. Various noise and drunk flavor surrounded me, which made me not want to stay in my first-year dorm anymore. After that they took their wallets and went out. At that time, the only thing we thought about was getting out of that damn place as soon as possible. We got our luggage settled immediately and got out of the Sonara center through the back door. After that, we needed to cross a long distance lawn in order to get to the main road. We did whatever we could to pull our heavy luggage to our destination---- the traffic light on the main road. It was already 1:30 A.M; cold wind, no taxi and no help made us suffer. There was no taxi because of the middle night and the danger at night in USA; helplessness and fear came into my mind and almost made me cry. After 30 minutes’ horrible memory, we finally found the nearest available hotel, which was Super-8 hotel and started our new journey to the long- distance destination. When we reached at hotel and got all procedure settled, it was already 3 A.M. I lost strength with my arms because of the heavy, annoying luggage. The body and mental hurt almost destroyed me. At last, we fell into the happiest sleep we had ever taken. This nightmare taught me how to face the difficulties and deal with them. Also, I should say thank to this nightmare because it makes me mature, it makes me learn to be careful about the people I do not know and deal with them smoothly. My future life will be full of frustrations and danger. However, this unforgettable experience is not only a caution for me but also a lesson that I could gain knowledge and experience from.
The transition from childhood to adulthood can be challenging. There are many things to learn and let go. Sometime teenagers can dramatize certain events to make themselves seem defenseless. Amy Tan, Chinese-American author, makes her Chinese Christmas seem insufferable. In Tan’s passage “Fish Cheeks”, Tan uses diction and details to exemplify the indignity caused by her Chinese culture.
Cultural differences in the United States have always impacted personal relationships, sometimes for the good, but also for the bad. Lenny and Eunice’s cultural variances were no different. Lenny Abramov was a 39-year-old man who worked in Indefinite Life Extension at Post-Human Services, which allowed the wealthy and the healthy—known as High Net Worth Individuals—to become immoral. Lenny is a self-deprecating Russian-American Jewish male, who is self-conscious about his appearance, uselessly well educated, passionate, neither old nor young, and helplessly prone to error. Eunice Park, on the other hand, is a 24-year-old young Korean-American woman who is constantly struggling with materialism and the pressures of her ...
All women are too sensitive! All Mexicans are illegal immigrants! If you’re from the South, then you are ignorant! Most people have heard at least one of these stereotypes pertaining to a certain group. Some people believe them whilst others do not. American Born Chinese illustrates three stories depicting the custom of stereotypes surrounding society: “The Monkey King”, the story of Monkey King’s thirst for infinite power, and his quest for atonement; “Jin Wang”, the story an awkward boy who tries to “fit in” the community around from but constantly fails; and “Danny”, the story about a high schooler who feels uncomfortable by his stereotypically negative Chinese cousin Chin-Kee. In this day-and-age, stereotypes are what bring people together, and stereotypes are what set people apart. To be ignorant of stereotypes would be a disastrous event as one would consequentially be ignorant to the prejudices engulfing them daily. Even though this causes problems throughout different communities, the way some individuals choose to address stereotypes is through laughter. From start to finish the graphic novel, American Born Chinese, by Gene Luen Yang purposefully satirizes Asian stereotypes in hopes that the reader opens up to the fact that stereotypes are indeed existent in today’s society.
The American Dream is not fruitful for immigrants of color because they are misnomered as model minorities, despite the fact they still suffer from racial prejudice. While there was still racial tension in China, Suyuan Woo remarks that, “If it hadn’t been for the Japanese, there would have been plenty of reason for fighting to break among the different people,” describing the state of limbo before the Japanese invade Kweilin (Tan 22). Some Chinese Americans find that racial discrimination prevails more in America than in their homeland. Meghan Lee, a teenage Korean American, laments on ignorance surrounding her race she encounters on an almost daily basis. Being asked “What kind of Asian are you?” or “Where are you really from?” when she states the state of her birth,Virginia, epitomizes the inconsideration of Americans for those of non-native American descent. In The Joy Luck Club Rose Hsu Jordan encounters a similar situation when her significant other’s mother assu...
Amy Tan’s “Fish Cheeks” describes Tan’s upbringing as a Chinese-American caught in between two cultures. In “Fish Cheeks” Tan’s crush Robert and his family were invited to Tan’s house for Christmas, Amy was embarrassed of Robert’s impression of her Chinese relatives, cuisine, and culture (Tan 110). Tan’s situation is not uncommon as millions of first generation Americans encounter similar situations while living within two cultures. Albeit the extreme embarrassment Tan endured throughout the encounter, she contends that her mother taught her a valuable lesson in appreciating her Chinese culture (111). Ultimately, Tan's purpose was to implore first generation Americans to embrace both of their cultures, in spite of its unique traditions (Tan
Traditionally, Twinkies are usually thought of as cream-filled yellow sponge cakes. To Chinese Americans, a different image is conjured. When Chinese Americans integrate with the American culture so much that their Chinese culture is much less apparent, they are known as “Twinkies”: yellow on the outside and white on the inside. In Amy Tan’s essay “Mother Tongue” and Elizabeth Wong’s essay “The Struggle to be an All-American Girl”, both girls are Chinese American trying to fit in with the American society while their Chinese mother’s are very traditional at home. Tan and Wong are trying to please their image in America and their mothers at the same time. While these essays are similar because they focus on the native languages used in America and the struggles of being a Chinese American in America, they differ in both their attitudes toward their mothers and personal reflections of being Chinese American.
Oftentimes the children of immigrants to the United States lose the sense of cultural background in which their parents had tried so desperately to instill within them. According to Walter Shear, “It is an unseen terror that runs through both the distinct social spectrum experienced by the mothers in China and the lack of such social definition in the daughters’ lives.” This “unseen terror” is portrayed in Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club as four Chinese women and their American-born daughters struggle to understand one another’s culture and values. The second-generation women in The Joy Luck Club prove to lose their sense of Chinese values, becoming Americanized.
The scene is always the same: the three of us sitting in a room together, talking. I see her from the corner of my eye, glancing for only a second or two, but always long enough to notice the look on her face, the expression I’ve become so painfully familiar with over the years. I am forced to turn away; the conversation resumes. She is a few feet from us. She hears everything, and understands nothing except what she can gather from the expressions on our faces, the tone of our voices. She pretends not to be bothered, smiling at us and interjecting random questions or comments in Chinese—a language I was raised to speak, a language I’ve slowly forgotten over the years, a language that is now mine only by blood. It is an earnest but usually futile attempt to break through the invisible barrier that separates her from us, and in spite of all her efforts to hide it, that sad, contem...
I was carrying my whole life with me, as I walked towards the aircraft. I was carrying two suitcases, filled mainly with clothes and books. I know they were less than 20 kilograms because that was the permissible weight. I could not feel their weight as they were on the trolley. I had a backpack on my shoulders. It contained some eatables, some clothes, a novel, some magazines, a portable CD player, some CDS, a deck of cards, and an inflatable pillow. I was well prepared for my long flight. In my hand I carried as brown leather case containing my passport, visa, and all other personal documents and papers. If I were to lose that case, technically I would cease to exist. Other than that, I had a tennis racket slung over my left shoulder. In short, I was carrying almost all my belongings with me. But that was not all I was taking with me. I was carrying with me memories of 18 years. Things and incidents, long forgotten, resurfaced in my mind, with incredible detail. Every face around me reminded me of uncountable incidents. I was carrying with me a sense of tremendous loss. But, at the same time, I was also carrying with me hope and excitement. A new world called me, and I was looking forward to go there. To protect me in this new place, I had a holy red thread tied on my wrist. That was the explanation my Mom had given me when she was tying it. Though I did not necessarily agree with her, looking at the thread did bring a warm feeling in my heart. It symbolized the love and blessings of my parents which I carried with me, wherever I went.
The greatness of Diablo Valley College is there ability to support and understand the practicality of peoples lives. Growing up in poverty to undocumented parents presents challenges. For this reason, since I was around 7 years old I would help my mother and father work in any way I could. I still remember going to, what seemed to me at the time, as gigantic houses with my mother wondering why the kids there didn’t have to help their mother’s clean houses like me. The idea of socioeconomically privileged cultures ultimately became a topic I learned at a young age and became something that motivates me to succeed still today.
Surprisingly, our parents had beaten us to the top and we all stopped in awe, mesmerized by the great waterfall in front of us. My mouth felt like the Sahara desert. I vividly remember reaching for the chilling water bottle that hid underneath the tons of clothes stuffed in my father’s black backpack to quench my thirst. I took off my beaten down shoes and stinky socks covered in dirt from the trail and blood from the blisters on my feet and dove into the refreshing lake. After swimming through the lake for a few seconds, I abruptly jumped out of the freezing water. My toes turned into a blue that reminded me of the blueberry muffins from breakfast that morning. My body shivered as I exited the lake and threw on a warm towel over my shoulders. Gradually my body heat increased, escaping the risk of hypothermia. At that point, I just wanted to go home. My family and I gathered all our belongings and I dragged my energyless body into the large, gray shuttle. The shuttle smelled of sweat from previous passengers. It drove us down a rough, bumpy trail, causing my tall father to constantly slam his head on the roof of the car. After we finally got back to our hotel, we all let off a sigh of
To a seven year old me, the looming grey monolith before me wasn’t intimidating, it was downright nightmarish. Maybe I had traumatized myself by watching “Why Airplanes Crash” the night before, or maybe I was scared of leaving everything I knew behind, but the site of the glass encased, dull concrete Airport made me want to turn around and run. And thinking back to that day in 2009, I probably could have. My Aunt and Grandma had stayed up the whole night packing and cleaning and reassuring me and my Sister that yes, Florida was fun, and no, the Airplane wasn’t going to crash and burn and consequently turn into a steaming pile of ash and dismembered corpses. They were both exhausted, and if me or my sister tried to turn back and ran around the parking lot, they would’ve surrendered and let us be. Regardless of what
The next few days at school, I started to really understand the schedule and got the hang of migrating between Lasalle and DePaul. I made new friends everyday, did not struggle with my locker once, had lunches that tasted, smelled, and looked amazing, and I am really glad I chose to come to Sacred Heart Cathedral. Everyone is really welcoming and nice. I have made great friends and I am really excited for the next four years at Sacred Heart
Just after this quick bend, the crew became visible helping people on. Just before I entered the transportation unit, I looked down at the gap left between the door and I. The metal around the entry door was rusted and worn, which gave me an eerie feeling. Reluctantly, I stepped aboard and felt uneasy as I saw those responsible for taking us to our destination. I would soon know for sure, how I felt about my now plausible career.
The heart begins racing the moment the car pulls into the airport parking lot. The smell of jet fuel, automobile exhaust, and hot tarmac combine to assault the senses with images of exotic escapes and the kind of freedom that can only come from airports. I feel the thrum of the engines at takeoff and the vibration of the plane during the flight in my skin. I see people listening to MP3s and playing video games. I hear the couple behind me chatting about the weather in Florida and the possibility of rain. I recognize the smell of fading perfume that women are wearing. Chanel, Windsong and White Diamonds clash with the smell of popcorn and Quizno sandwiches.