How full is your glass?
“You’re like my Dumbledore--not as wise, but still pretty cool,” joked my friend. It was one of the best compliments I’ve received. Though his words made me laugh, they also made me reflect on why he perceived me as the fictional, old wizard. Although it’s assumed that with age comes wisdom, I’m not sure I agree. However, I know with age comes perspective. As an eighteen-year-old, I don’t have much wisdom, but I certainly have gained some perspective.
My story begins in New York City, where I was born to a Zoroastrian mother and a Hindu father, two religions that strongly discourage interfaith marriage. Their union provides me the opportunity to celebrate double the number of holidays, enjoy two different cuisines, and live an interesting life that embraces varied cultures. I spent my early childhood as an expat in Singapore, learning Mandarin and British English. Everywhere I looked, I found diversity—in skin color, religion, and garb. I grew up thinking such a heterogeneous environment was the norm. However, when I moved to Midwestern America at age four, I discovered that was not always the case. I was surprised when, in my new town, most people mispronounced my name and the color of my skin suddenly differentiated me from most of my classmates. My occasional use of Mandarin puzzled my friends, and my British English caused confusion—I remember asking for “chips” and getting potato chips instead of fries. I felt out of place. Over time, my desire to fit in replaced my joy of being different, slowly my perception of the glass that was my life started shifting.
I ventured on, hoping to find a way to belong. On my journey, I met my friend Danny, a ten-year old magician and chef suffering from stage 4 neuroblastoma. We shared a love for seafood and all things Harry Potter. Just like me, he struggled to find his identity. Yet, Danny refused to let cancer define him. I watched in awe as he tried to lead a normal life, practicing his magic tricks on his nurses while undergoing chemotherapy and continuing to do things that made him happy. Though he fought fervently, the disease ultimately took his life. His death was heartbreaking, yet the vibrancy with which he lived helped me realize that life is fleeting and it is important to live it on one’s own terms. I didn’t need to sacrifice my individuality to fit in. This unshackled me from the need for others’ approval.
While I could no longer help Danny, I realized I could help others impacted by pediatric cancer. To honor his memory, I founded the Pediatric Cancer Awareness Club (PCAC) in my freshman year to support Danny’s Fund, the organization his parents had created in his memory. Earlier, I would have been very hesitant to ask people to contribute funds, food, or their time to help pediatric cancer patients. However, after Danny’s passing, it became apparent that the cause was more important than my personal inhibitions. I couldn’t succeed if I feared rejection or failure.
My patchwork identity is intrinsic to my being, helping me view the world with an open mind, never shutting the door on any person, idea, or interest. Although I may never be as wise or cool as the legendary Dumbledore, I journey on trying to define myself not by one thing, but all my varied experiences: both who I am, and who I aspire to become.
My story begins in New York City, where I was born to a Zoroastrian mother and a Hindu father, two religions that strongly discourage interfaith marriage. Their union provides me the opportunity to celebrate double the number of holidays, enjoy two different cuisines, and live an interesting life that embraces varied cultures. I spent my early childhood as an expat in Singapore, learning Mandarin and British English. Everywhere I looked, I found diversity—in skin color, religion, and garb. I grew up thinking such a heterogeneous environment was the norm. However, when I moved to Midwestern America at age four, I discovered that was not always the case. I was surprised when, in my new town, most people mispronounced my name and the color of my skin suddenly differentiated me from most of my classmates. My occasional use of Mandarin puzzled my friends, and my British English caused confusion—I remember asking for “chips” and getting potato chips instead of fries. I felt out of place. Over time, my desire to fit in replaced my joy of being different, slowly my perception of the glass that was my life started shifting.
I ventured on, hoping to find a way to belong. On my journey, I met my friend Danny, a ten-year old magician and chef suffering from stage 4 neuroblastoma. We shared a love for seafood and all things Harry Potter. Just like me, he struggled to find his identity. Yet, Danny refused to let cancer define him. I watched in awe as he tried to lead a normal life, practicing his magic tricks on his nurses while undergoing chemotherapy and continuing to do things that made him happy. Though he fought fervently, the disease ultimately took his life. His death was heartbreaking, yet the vibrancy with which he lived helped me realize that life is fleeting and it is important to live it on one’s own terms. I didn’t need to sacrifice my individuality to fit in. This unshackled me from the need for others’ approval.
While I could no longer help Danny, I realized I could help others impacted by pediatric cancer. To honor his memory, I founded the Pediatric Cancer Awareness Club (PCAC) in my freshman year to support Danny’s Fund, the organization his parents had created in his memory. Earlier, I would have been very hesitant to ask people to contribute funds, food, or their time to help pediatric cancer patients. However, after Danny’s passing, it became apparent that the cause was more important than my personal inhibitions. I couldn’t succeed if I feared rejection or failure.
My patchwork identity is intrinsic to my being, helping me view the world with an open mind, never shutting the door on any person, idea, or interest. Although I may never be as wise or cool as the legendary Dumbledore, I journey on trying to define myself not by one thing, but all my varied experiences: both who I am, and who I aspire to become.
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