Boston College

I used to face two paths: one flocked with taxis and frantic people, staccato shouts, and the smell of pizza. The other was a road of motorcycles rolling over wet cement, laced with cicada symphonies and the aroma of beef noodle soup. It always felt easier to walk the streets of Taiwan, where everyone looks like me, speaks meekly as I have been taught to, and steers away from confrontation. However, I was also raised in the thick of New York, where people argue, think, and exist fearlessly. PBS created a documentary in 1988 titled Tug of War: The Story of Taiwan, and I grew to believe that I embodied the little potato island as my teetering balance between two worlds initiated a "Tug of War" within myself. Although I am proud to be Taiwanese, New York has cultivated an unbridled emotion and passion within me that encourages me, against my inherent modesty, to be a bold author, a shameless poet, and a strong-willed advocate for Asian-American youth. I am excited by the vibrant discussions and meshed ideas I might find at a place as diverse as Boston College: perhaps at the Diversity Summit or with Professor Min Hyoung Song about the integration of Asian American writers and literature in an alienating culture. I see incredible opportunities to become part of a community that supports students struggling with their own "Tug of Wars" by sharing my story through the Taiwanese Cultural Organization and delving into the stories of others by curating pieces written by my peers for The Stylus.

Growing up in a pentecostal home also taught me the strength of conviction in faith and community. The Holy Ghost Faith Church is a family that has become a constant foundation in my life, and a world that grounds me in my beliefs despite the cultural identities I struggled with. Through religion, I find connection with many people molded uniquely by their personal experiences. At Boston College, I will seek the same enriched human bonds with my peers and professors by sharing my testimonies while learning from theirs. I can see myself striking up a conversation about religious influences in literature and poetry with Professor James Najarian or joining a multi-faith program and attending local church services with friends on Sunday mornings. While Jesuit education will strengthen my religious values, it will also enlighten me to the beliefs of my peers.

I gazed at my Beyer book and the monochromatic piano keys. Notes swirled in my head as I struggled to decipher the crochet on the page. Taking my chances, I pressed the D key, positive that I was right. Alas, my tutor's sigh indicated that l got the note wrong again.

Growing up, I often faced such mishaps during piano lessons. My grandma is an avid singer and my grandpa, a violinist. My cousins are also guitarists. From being brought up around my family's deeply rooted musical inclinations, to constantly struggling during practice sessions, I often felt like a fish out of water and wanted to quit. Music was a chore, something I felt obligated to pursue only to uphold my family's tradition. However, one fateful session completely changed my view.

Back then, I had spent hours glued atop the piano stool practicing for a recital, and I felt completely drained. Needing a break, I grabbed my phone and turned on some pop music. As Rihanna's "Diamonds" blasted away, I couldn't help but notice how similar it sounded to several musical scales I had learned. Curiously, I attempted to match some notes to the song, and before I knew, I was playing the entire chorus! It dawned on me that those scales and arpeggios I found irritating formed the basis for an endless array of songs when combined strategically and originally.

From then on, I started to see music as my favorite creative challenge rather than a nuisance. My new perspective eventually led me to embrace every struggle I faced during practice and instead view them as opportunities to improve. As I came to love every step of my musical journey, I ultimately learned to persevere through any setbacks, like dealing with unfamiliar pieces or memorizing notes on end.

Music has become something more than a family tradition, shaping who I am today. Thinking creatively and overcoming struggles with determination are now values I carry when tackling everyday roadblocks. Going forward, I plan to bring these values to BC. I'm determined to use creativity to help solve communal problems, like finding innovative ways to implement healthcare in underserved communities through Timmy Global Health. I also hope to contribute musically to the Symphony Orchestra and be part of a nurturing community where I can work alongside other musicians. I'm excited to see what the future holds when I become an Eagle!

Instead of admiring towers of multi-colored cupcakes, Asher and I found ourselves staring at a menacing yellow bulldozer, caution tape barring our path. Turned in circles, looking askance at our surroundings, Asher and I immediately began to squabble:

"Margot, how could you mess it up??" "I followed the directions…." "Well, clearly you didn't since we're here and not at the bakery." "You didn't have to follow me!"

I retraced our steps on Google Maps, insisting that the directions were flawed—not me. My voice faded as I scrutinized the outlined path. I found our error: I had confidently led us right down Broadway instead of left.

Since we were four, Asher and I have been best friends, and our friendship is founded on three principles: adventure, food, and FAMU (fight and make up). From hide-and-go-seek to mastering the metro system, our shared love of exploration dominates our time together. We converse about everything from where we one day hope to travel to the best dumpling places and most engaging museums. However, as two directionally challenged individuals, we routinely end up lost on our way to try new things. As a result, we frequently discuss directions: debating optimal routes, arguing when we mess up, then analyzing how to undo our errors best.

As we anxiously bickered at the construction site, our fight progressed toward problem-solving.

"I guess we could retrace our steps." "No…look! There's a pedestrian path over by the cones. Let's see where it goes."

Following the path, we talked solely about our frustration and annoyance about getting lost. But, as we emerged on the other side of the construction site, we spotted the bakery we had been searching for. Our disastrous detour was actually a secret shortcut.

Inspired by our unintentional discovery, Asher and I shared an epiphany: for too long, we focused on the negatives of getting lost rather than the positives. And our conversations reflected our pessimistic attitudes. Now, I make an active effort to replace phrases like "this is all your fault" and "the directions are wrong" with "let's get lost" or "forget the directions." By celebrating the beauty of getting lost, I have learned that there is no singular right way to get where I am going. Sometimes the unexpected pans out in unpredictable yet incredible ways.

Asher and I no longer fight about directions; now, we excitedly discuss getting lost.