Joyce Kim, Penn in Grahamstown Spring 2015
Misgana Ghidewon, Freshman Seminar Hearing Africa, Fall 2014
Turnings (1)
As an elementary student, I was never focused on school. All I wanted to do was play on the jungle gym and hang out with the neighborhood kids. Although that is still true today, I am not the same person I was before. I remember I cried the summer before third grade because I found out that my teacher for the year would be Ms. Bromely. She was the meanest teacher in the whole school and had no mercy when it came to homework. The first day I walked into her class, fear and nervousness ran through my body. As expected, the first night of homework had me in tears. Ms. Bromely changed my life. A transformation occurred in her class and my perspective changed. She is why I am who I am.
Turnings (2)
Every time! It happened over and over again. He could never seem to learn his lesson. I asked myself why for years. He knew what he was doing would hurt him in the long run. He was slowly killing himself, and I watched him do it. For a long time, I carried his problems on my back. Slowly it was starting to kill me too. The burden was just to great for the 10 year old me. Although I loved him, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I needed to live my own life, and, yes, he was the most important person in my life, but his problems were no longer mine. I was done waiting for him to change. And as expected, that day never came. Even good people who make bad decisions must reap the consequences of their actions.
Turnings (3)
I can’t remember the day or what the air felt like as it brushed my face. All I could remember was wishing that my parents could be like others. I loved them, but why did they have to be illiterate. I understood the struggles they went through to get here. Their lives were meaningless before they arrived in the US. For a long time, I never came to terms with that. I despised it. But I will never forget that one and only birthday card that my mother wrote. She struggled to get the words on paper and gave up after “I love you”. It was that moment when I realized I was lucky. My parents provided my sister and I with a life better than a lot of people with little to no means. They provided a life, a great life that was rich in culture, wealth, and love.
Turnings (4)
That day was a strange day. My aunts told my cousins and I to leave the house. During that time, as we played out in the front yard, they broke the news to my aunt that her brother had left this earth forever. We all heard a sharp scream come from the house. When we approached the door slammed in our face, but we all caught a glimpse of my aunt on the floor hysterically crying. For some unusual reason that moment stuck with me. Life was a precious gift that could be taken away at any moment, whether you are ready or not.
Turnings (5)
I eagerly raised my hand to answer the question. I couldn’t hold it in anymore, so the answers fell from my mouth and onto the ears of my teacher and fellow students. Of course, I was correct. I never doubted my intelligence. I was a smart young woman. But I soon realized otherwise, when someone jokingly said “oh you’re smart for a black girl?” I was not a smart young woman, rather a smart BLACK woman.
Turnings (6)
Nerves, unbearable waiting, trembling hands, jumbled mind, stress and anxiety.
Every high school senior nervously sat in front of their computer waiting for admissions decisions to be released. The clock hit 5 and I rushed to my college portal. I yelled the word words “Yes” as I read the word congratulations. Finally, my life was going right.
Matt Hanessian, Freshman Seminar Hearing Africa, Fall 2014
Turning(s)
It was almost too good to be true. I was a happy 6 year old, not a care in the world, but I hated those pills. They had to be at least an inch long, and thick too. They tasted like vaguely like wheat; not the ingredient, but how I imagine the actual plant tastes while its still in the ground. And now, after two years of taking two at breakfast and two at dinner, the last two were staring right through my glasses and deep into my eyes. It had been four years since my first seizure, and only two since my doctor was able to prescribe the right dosage of the right drug in order to stop my epileptic attacks. Finally, after tonight, I would be normal again. I could watch TV with my friends without my ‘special’, as my mom called them, extra-thick glasses, I could play video games without needing someone to supervise me, and could leave the dinner table without a disgusting, multigrain-ish taste in my mouth. As I swallowed the pills, my mom began to cry, my brother gave me a high-five, and I sunk back into my chair, the gravity of my accomplishment not coming close to the importance of never swallowing another pill.
Turning(s)
It was like a snow globe. The sky was totally clear, without a cloud in the sky, but snowflakes were falling relentlessly as we walked away from school. The cold Chicago wind bit at our faces, but I was warm beneath my three layers and hilariously enormous down jacket. As we got further away from campus, my heart started to beat furiously. I knew what I needed to do, but I wasn’t sure if I had the guts. She was talking about Mrs. McCullagh’s ridiculous expectations in math class, how chewing gum was not a privilege, but instead her right as an – Then I did it. I stopped her, put my hand on her cheek, just like I’d seen in the movies, and leaned down, softly touching my lips to hers. After a few seconds, I pulled away, somehow drenched in sweat in below-0 weather. She looked at me, smiled sheepishly, and said, “Matt, you know you have to open your mouth, right?”
Turning(s)
“I’ve made my decision,” I said, storming into the counselor’s office. “Don’t you ever knock?” said Mrs. Kovacs, grinning. “I want to apply Early Decision to Columbia,” I said. “Sit down,” Mrs. Kovacs said, as she motioned to the couch in her office. “I’ve known your family for a long time. I’ve helped your brother and your sister find schools that they have absolutely loved. I’m going to need you to trust me on this one”.
I looked at her, and my smile slowly escaped my face. After returning from my college visits, I had fallen in love with Columbia’s campus and the opportunities that would present themselves in New York.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I know a bad fit when I see one. Columbia is too artsy for you; I know that you wont be happy there. Think about your visit to Penn, and see if you can see yourself there. I know that I can not only see you fitting in there, but I can see you growing and excelling there”.
Turning(s)
“Matthew,” said, in between sniffles. “We have to put down Suzie”. I was upset, but for some reason, losing my pet cat who I had loved unconditionally since I can remember, didn’t result in a particularly negative reaction. Maybe it just didn’t seem real yet. This was not how I thought this conversation would go.
Turning(s)
“Backstreet’s back alright!” The entire bus was singing along to the Backstreet Boys song that I heard for the first time 3 days ago, and would now consider as one of the greatest musical compositions of all time. We were on our way back from a three day hiking trip called PennQuest, which brought together Penn freshmen before New Student Orientation to hike the trails of rural Pennsylvania. My new friend, David, was sitting next to me, and was alternating between a beautiful falcetto and below average beatboxing. He turned to me and said, “You have a pretty good voice. Want to audition for a cappella groups with me?”
Turning(s)
He was a lot taller than I imagined. As he strode towards the group, I became more and more nervous. I had been invited by the assistant coach to play pick up with the varsity players, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to be a try out. My eyes glanced up, above the rim, where I saw an office with a window looking down onto the court. Thoughts raced through my head: “How did I not notice that window? Was he watching us play the whole time? Oh no. I haven’t been paying attention. I hope he’s not talking to me…” Coach Allen continued to tell his team that he was disappointed in their commitment to the program, and that he expected more. He wrapped up the conversation without acknowledging my existence. Then, as he was walking away, he added, “Matt, be in the weight room at 7 on Monday with the team.”
“Yes, coach.”
Nora Laberee, Freshman Seminar Hearing Africa, Fall 2014
Turning Points in My Life
It is difficult to think of just six moments that have shaped me as a student and individual. I think of my personality and identity as the cumulative result of hundreds and thousands of pivotal moments, rather than just a few. However, after considering this topic it’s become clear that some moments influenced me more than others, perhaps even more than I understood at the time.
My first memory of moving was leaving Philadelphia and moving to Cherry Hill New Jersey –I was too young to understand the implications, but I had a vague idea that I was not going to be at home anymore. I could no longer walk to the art museum for lunch or explore a museum with my brother. Our new home was bigger and greener and much more boring. In my memory now, this moment combines with another move a few years later to another small New Jersey town. Even though the moves occurred 5 years apart, the same feelings were associated with both and so the two events became one in my mind. Leaving a place I’d grown to like for another that I definitely did not like as much.
I’ve now lived in Medford the longest of the three, and I consider it my home. I’ve always spent a lot of time in Philadelphia though, and also consider it partially my home. It’s where my mother grew up, which contributes to the closeness I feel towards it. I remember when my mother first showed me the small town home she was born and raised in and told me about how her father bought it after moving here from Ireland. I’d always considered myself purely American, so I was surprised when she began to tell me how my grandfather, her father, came over to American during the Irish potato famine and bought his first home. I knew that my father’s father came from France by choice but I never fully knew why my maternal grandfather came to America until my mother explained it all. Suddenly, I had identity as the granddaughter of an immigrant – the granddaughter of a man forced to leave his home because his entire country was starving to death.
While all of these things are important and influential in my life, the moments that have influenced me far more than any others come from my travels. I never went to school and most of my high school years were spent abroad. Each new place I studied in altered and influenced me in a new way – I consider traveling a huge part of my identity.
The first of these moments came in Beijing – I was speaking with my history teacher at the university where I was studying. We’d been speaking about the way westerners were viewed in China and how difficult it was to stick out so sorely as a blue-eyed American. She laughed and assured me that this was a necessary part of my time there; I had to understand what it felt like to be the one sticking out. Yes, being stared at and spoken about was uncomfortable, but something could be learned from it. This conversation with my professor altered by entire experience in Beijing and permanently raised my level of self-awareness; now I am quick to ask myself who or what I’m staring at and most importantly, why?
The next pivotal moment for me occurred in Sopron, a beautiful Hungarian city on the Austrian border. I’d been living there for many months and I could pass on the street for Hungarian; I spoke the language, dressed like them, looked like them and most of my friends were Hungarian. Even in all my travels around Europe, It was assumed I was a native European and I was treated indifferently. However, whenever I spoke English or mentioned being American, the entire dynamic of all of my interactions changed. Without fail, people treated me completely differently. People wanted to hear me talk, and assumed both positive and very negative things about me and about the US. I spoke and thought about my country more than I even did at home and, ironically, grew more proud and appreciative of the US while abroad than in all my time at home. Clichéd or not, non-Americans are obsessed with the US and their interest in my country totally shifted my identify as a person and as an American. By seeing my country through foreign eyes, I realized I was allowed to be proud of and love my country.
So many of my moments, experiences and growing up occurred abroad for me that coming back and joining life in American was pivotal in itself. Coming to Penn was my first time ever experiencing life with a large group of American kids, going to class everyday, seeing the same people, and interacting with professors and advisors often. When people ask me where I’m from, I say New Jersey, even thought I feel like telling people I am from so many places, but I live in New Jersey. This question people love to ask has made me realize home can be multiple places, and one doesn’t have to identify with just one. Genetically, I come from France, Ireland and smattering elsewhere, but individually, I have an even more complex identity and that’s ok.
Chibuzor Ugwu, Freshman Seminar Hearing Africa, Fall 2014
Turnings
African booty scratcher. Yes, I was dumbfounded. I literally could not believe what I was hearing. And then she said it again. He’s an African booty scratcher! It was my first day of summer camp at the YMCA and I was already less than excited. When my mother told me that I’d be spending the bulk of my summer with people and not video games I was disappointed. When I arrived the counselors organized an icebreaker that was supposed to help us all get to know each other a little better. As my turn approached and I heard names like Billy, Bobby, Susan, and Timothy my heart began to pound. I began to ponder on ways that I could say my name to avoid laughter, which was usually the norm whenever I had to say my name. As the kid next to me finished introducing himself and the counselor pointed at me, my heart exploded out of my chest. I braced myself for the worst and went for it. Chibuzor Ugwu. And that’s when I heard it. It was the first time, but it wouldn’t be the last. He’s an African Booty scratcher.
Ms. Guzman was the meanest of the mean. She was the worst person they could’ve found to teach 8 year olds. She was simply awful. One day during an American history lesson she was telling the class about how Christopher Columbus founded America. I raised hand to interject. When she asked me what a had to say I said, “but my mom said Christopher Columbus stole American form Native Americans.’’ Ms. Guzman turned her entire body towards me and her cold blue eyes pierced my soul. She responded angrily, “You don’t live with your mom, you family is broken, what your mom says does not mean anything to me.” Every word hit me like a 50 caliber bullet. How did she know that? Why did she say it in front of the class? How was I going to explain that to my friends?
National Signing Day. I had been thinking, praying and looking for wisdom anywhere that I could find it. And I an answer, but not one anyone was willing to hear. All I got were the self-motived opinions of my friends and family. Go to Texas Tech so you’ll be close to house. Go to Baylor, you’ll play on TV every week. Go to Fresno State, how can you pass on college in Cali?? Go to Yale, it’s the best of both worlds? Penn?? You mean Penn state, why would you go there??? I was moments away form making to biggest decision of my life thus far and I was worried. Worried about letting my friends down. Worried about disappointing my mom. Worried about be hated for what I wanted to do. As host of athletes form around the city prepared to sign our national letters of intent, legally binding us to the college of our choice, I realized that the decision that I made that day would affect me forever, and that I had to do what wanted and needed. I knew what I had to do. I knew where I had to go.
Everyday walking in from recess Keenan Mitchell would pull my shirt over my head and push me into the gravel. I would always have to lie and tell my mom that the cuts on my legs came from slipped while playing basketball. I was angry and I was fed up. Today was the day I was going to exact my revenge. As I was walking into the school building I kept a close eye on Keenan. As he began to approach me I turned to him, charged and tackled him. He was clearly dazed and my victory was secured, but I was not content. Suddenly I was immersed in a tidal wave of anger, which unleashed by punching Keenan in the face. It felt… good. It felt great! So I punched him again. And again. And again. And again. Soon I lost count of how many punches I had thrown. I could hear the other kids chanting. Fight fight fight. Just as I was beginning to blackout from rage the principle grabbed my shirt and pulled me to his office.
My mom was less than impressed with my recent angry out breaks at home and at school and decided that if was going to be punching things it might as well be in a place where I cant get in trouble for it. As my mom pulled up to the martial art gym I could not contain my joy. I was going to be a ninja.
“Get up Ugwu!” I wanted to quit. So badly. I wanted to find an easy way out of this hell that was my black belt exam. “It’s not always going to go your way, but you must get up. Now GET UP’’. I contemplated walking out of the gym and never coming back. This was too hard. Why was this so hard? I got up and put my hands in front of my face. My mentor threw a jab to my face and executed a sweeping kick that sent me spinning back towards the ground. This time I was ready to stay. Why get up. What was the worst that could actually happen? I fail the test. That’s it. Not that bad. Not as bad ass continuing this ass whooping. “You can’t stay down when life puts you down,” my mentor yelled. “That is the lifestyle of the weak and the weak die in this world. Do you want to be weak or strong?” I decided right then that the only way I wasn’t walking out of that dojo with a black belt was if he killed me. I stood up and looked my mentor in the face and said, “I am not weak. I am strong.” And charged at him.