My Online Identity
Can you maintain a growth mindset across all your work?
H/W
- Copy the link to your 'Unseen Influences' (Where I'm From poem) here under your name. Where I'm From -Link
- Spend 15-20mins working on your 'online identity' artwork. e.g.
All Classes
Compulsory H/W Read Michelle's VERY powerful piece. Write a comment about a line or phrase that stood out to you.
Maybe the question is not who we are, but who we are meant to be.
I stared all the blank screen, my mind silenced as if there was a wad of cotton stuck there. It muted everything, the bright lights of the classroom, the already almost-inaudible whisper of my classmates, even my own thoughts seemed far away, as if I was suddenly trapped in a imperceptible, yet indestructible glass box.
Unfortunately, it was also not helping me get my work done. My eyes bore into the page, but I couldn’t stay that way for long - my vision became unfocused, like a camera zooming in for the perfect shot.
NO IDEAS.
NO IDEAS.
NO IDEAS.
I kept gawking at the screen, but my mind had travelled far already, three years, to be exact. My eyes stayed on the blank page, but if anyone had asked, I was seeing China, I was in China, in 2012, meeting the gaze of an unknown stranger on the street. I already knew what was going to happen, but I could tear my eyes away, couldn’t not see what was about to occur. Two words replayed themselves, writing themselves all over my mind, like a blackboard overcrowded with the same two words over and over again. They burnt themselves into my skin, etched themselves into my heart.
混血儿. Mixed blood.
It wasn’t even the words. It was the way she spat them at me, like something poisonous she wanted to get off her tongue before it infected her. Like I was something poisonous that would infect her.
Yes, I was definitely mixed, my eyes, my nose, my mouth, all not quite Asian, but not quite European either.
Sometimes, the Chinese part of me shows. The part that likes to have steaming hot dumplings on a cold winter’s day, the steam a white mist billowing out, a heavenly scent enveloping me like a warm blanket. The part that focuses on studying, furiously scribbling away at math homework, determined to understand. The part that speaks chinese in China, and ignores it when people stare at me strangely. After all, I don’t look Chinese.
Sometimes, the European part of me shows. The part that loves to eat lasagne so hot it burns my mouth, and top it off with a creamy panna cotta that melts on the tip of my tongue, all the while watching a rich summer sunset from my porch, the kind that has so many colors that it’s almost too bright to look at - the crimsons, scarlets, tangerines, lavenders, violets, and golds blending to make a strange new color, maybe one with an exotic name like rêve, or speranza, or merveille, or maybe langueur. The part that isn’t afraid to be different, to wear strange mismatched socks or a sweater in summer. The part that can’t speak German, and ignores it when people stare at me strangely - like I’m an outsider. After all, I don’t look Swiss.
Sometimes, the American part of me shows. The part that craves sizzling bacon from right off the pan, and a sunny-side-up egg as well, with a extra large Sprite and a cookie to wash it all down in the busy mornings when I rush to get ready for school, and sprinting for the bus when I’m late, backpack thumping against my back. The part that covets music, and always has her earphones with her, be it in her pocket or in her backpack, ever ready to pull them out in times of need. The part that people ask where she is from, and she isn’t sure whether to say American, Chinese, or European.
After all, I don’t look like any of them.
But sometimes, things aren’t what they seem, like a slightly bruised apple - the inside is just as whole as a unmarked one.
