Who Am I?

A white chick. That is the assumption by which others define me.
Who am I? Even when I ask myself, I do not know.

 

Upon further analyzing the piece, How it Feels to be Colored Me by Zora Neale Hurston, I reflect upon my own standing in society.

Race is defined by the color a person’s skin. Whether it is black or white, or the so called “yellow” or “brown”; we as individuals are classified under a majority. And by doing so, we become blurred faces in a coward of strangers. The “superior white man” is never expected to mix with the minorities such as the African American groups. Or so, society defined it as such before the Civil Rights Movements (unless you go to the South, then this is a different discussion entirely). And why would the intelligent Asian speak to the dim-witted White majority?
When did we allow the color of our skin to define us?

Even thoughout this majority of color, there lies separation. From the religious to cultural dividers of the Europeans, to those in Asia, we find ways to create barriers between ourselves, our own people and form hatred for something we do not even understand.

Now I shall share something personal. A part of my identity that I cannot control. When my parents got married, their parents were not pleased. My mother is Armenian and Jewish, while my father is Tatar and Muslim (both my parents are also Russian, but now is not the time to dwell into my family tree). It is expected of them to marry them same individuals, the same culture, and carry that into a new stream of generations. My father broke that tradition by marrying my mother. The issue? My grandfather never once agreed to meet my mother. He died without ever meeting the girl his son married. Now, my father’s side of the family loves us and our families get along very well, but my mother will never be accepted by them—for reasons no one understands or is truly part of.
I understand my family’s need to preserve family and culture, it is their identity and their love; but why do we take this and form hatred?

Upon speculation, I am the white girl in AP classes. I am expected to do average or to fail. To care more about my appearance than my grades. And to be quiet and polite, but never stand out.

Even at THS, people segregate themselves. The Asians form GROUPS of only Asians. It’s intimidating at times, and sometimes I feel as though I cannot speak to my own friends because of it. Most of them who I do not know, assume I am an idiot in the first place simply because I am white. Now on the other hand, those same Asian groups bond together because most of the time they are the only people they find similarities to, in terms of culture and interest. Not to mention, there are plenty of white majorities which target these Asian groups and even bully. But this goes for all groups, and all people. We do not to mean to segregate, but as humans we look for what relates to us.
And when you are like me who doesn’t fit into your own culture—you’re just an unidentifiable white person.

I do not know my own identity. When Ms. Valentino asked us to write in our comp. books “How We Identify Ourselves”, I left mine blank. I could not fathom a single statement that represented me.
All I know for certain is the person I wish to become. Since the age of 7, I knew I wanted to go to Harvard; that I would graduate with a Ph.D. and live the rest of my life striving for knowledge and one day winning a Nobel Prize in science. But lately it is as though I’ve lost a part of myself. I do know my strengths or weaknesses anymore; it’s as though the stress of junior year has numbed it all away. It is as though the 4.0 honor student, with determination and perseverance has been clouded and reduced to this confused and tired coward.
My identity is still somewhere within me. And the determination has not yet left me, and I shall not allow it to.

So my point is, your identity is not always your choice, but you know who you are. Only you know YOU. Even in times when you lose yourself, keep working for the person you are.
Sometimes you have to fall, to get back up.

What is a Great Gatsby?

Throughout the fallacious and intimidating tale of the Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald captivates his audience by revealing the harsh reality and fault-lines within the "American Dream".
For many, The Great Gatsby is a tragic love story--depicting the lost love of Gatsby and Daisy. Obliviously, this is a completely mislead perception of the novel.

For most of us, the message of the novel is lost. While we do gain the intended perspective toward alcoholism and greed, we forget the true purpose. It is as though the main topic of this week has shifted from The Great Gatsby into "Ms. Valentino why don't we read happy books?!"--now to be fair a part of me would enjoy some more optimistic novels but we gained positive aspects from our time with the transcendentalists. Regardless, this further proves the point many people fail to see the reasoning of Fitzgerald. It is not a tale depicting the ultimate failure or success of the individual, but instead the individual's weakness and strength; which either leads to their rise or demise. Fitzgerald is not telling us we are incapable of being successful and happy in life--but instead that our actions may deter us from the road toward achievement. Instead, he warns us that greed, suppressed emotions, lying, cowardly silence, and illegal activities--all bad actions, will lead to serve consequences. The inability to accept yourself, intertwines into the branches of others--forming tangled webs and broken twigs for bonds (relationships). The purpose of the American Dream is to provide opportunity for everyone; that the common man is the successor just as greatly as the man who came from wealth. And just like the Great Gatsby, it inspires the strive toward success. Fitzgerald is not telling the reader that he shall ultimately fail, whether born inherently wealthy as Tom, become wealthy as Gatsby, or live middle class as Nick; but instead that everyone is equal. No matter their social representation, all of the characters ended up unhappy and unfulfilled in their lives. By satirizing the West Egg vs. East Egg, and the charming appearance of each character, Fitzgerald reveals that happiness is not gained through materialism, but instead through the individual themselves. Everyone is capable of becoming wealthy--it is simply the road each person takes that leads them into difference directions.

The true message of the Great Gatsby is that life is not always a fairy-tale ending, and it never will end up unflawed. Fitzgerald warns his audience the dangers of greed and materialism, along with his own experiences with alcoholism and affairs. By satirizing the era through his own life experiences, Fitzgerald is revealing to the reader not to make the same mistakes he did; and instead to live life as though in a moving car--always going forward and striving for the higher road.
Enjoy the ride of life, wherever it takes you.