Chess is my favorite board game today. I received my first set when I was 7 or 8 years old and my father taught me how to play. As I continued to play, I noticed remarkable changes in the way that I thought, and those changes manifested themselves in my particular style. Early on, I saw steady improvement. My playing style reflected who I was at the time. I was the kid who raised his hand in class all the time, and was bordering on being a showboat. As such, I played in a superficial manner. I would never think ahead, but rather, would take stock of the situation on the board and react from there. This strategy had allowed me to triumph against inexperienced classmates, but not against wily opponents. I would have my entire perspective on chess redefined. I found out about the myriad of chess variants played by different countries around the world. I was fascinated and took the time to learn how to play them. In addition to the standard FIDE chess and Xiangqi (China), my repertoire grew to include Sittuyin (Myanmar), Makruk (Thailand), Shogi (Japan), Janggi (Korea), Chaturaji (India), Shatranj (Iran), Shatar (Mongolia), Senterej (Ethiopia), and Cờ Tư Lệnh (Vietnam). I was exposed to all of these games and the cultures associated with them. I developed a new perspective of the world and practiced these variants, determined to preserve them. I noticed a change in the way that I played chess in general. I became more thoughtful, on the board and off. I could think farther ahead and react much more quickly. I marveled at how each chess was a microcosm of its country's history and culture. The customs represented by the different rules, piece movements, and defining characteristics of each game. I learned a great many skills from all the chess variants that I can apply to any situation in life. From Makruk, I learned the importance of long-term planning and how to go about it. From Sittuyin, I learned the art of making preparations before any undertaking. From Shatranj, I was taught organizational skills. Xiangqi taught me versatility, shifting from offense and defense. Chaturaji taught me how to deal with luck and turn it to my advantage. Playing Janggi, I practiced tenacity, enduring fierce attacks and mounting steadfast defenses. Shogi instructed me on how to incorporate every tool at my disposal. Cờ Tư Lệnh showed me that everyone has a role to play, and that everyone's skills complemented each other if employed correctly. Shatar demonstrated how important it was to have a wide range of options, as well as teaching me how to continually keep myself in a favorable position. Senterej told me to always be aware of my surroundings and to react quickly, but consciously. Finally, FIDE chess instilled in me the importance of innovation and encouraged it in me. As a young boy, I've always aspired to do great things for the world. My dream is to attend the United States Military Academy at West Point. I dream of being a general and leading troops in defense of liberty and freedom. When playing chess, I'm very careful with my pieces, unwilling to take extreme risks with them. In real life, each pawn is a whole division of soldiers. I will not lose these lives in vain. If I am facing trouble in chess, I wouldn't hesitate to employ my king to contribute to the defense. If I am to lead my troops on the field, I would not order them to do something I am not willing to do. All of the lessons I learned from the variants will manifest themselves in profession. With this knowledge, I hope to become successful in my defense of what is right and just.

Chess is my favorite board game today. I received my first set when I was 7 or 8 years old and my father taught me how to play. As I continued to play, I noticed remarkable changes in the way that I thought, and those changes manifested themselves in my particular style. I am not a superb player, but I can say with absolute certainty that I have used chess to learn and grow in a way that no other player has. Early on, I saw steady improvement. My playing style reflected who I was at the time. I was the kid who raised his hand in class all the time, and was bordering on being a showboat. As such, I played in a superficial manner. I recall that I always used the same opening: the "Nimzo-Indian" defense. I must have chosen it for its name. I would never think ahead, but rather, would take stock of the situation on the board and react from there. This strategy had allowed me to triumph against inexperienced classmates. Finally, I was defeated three times by an talented classmate in elementary school. Ashamed, I put my board and pieces away. My skills grew slowly after that. I would go long periods of time without playing, and then a sudden burst of interest would take me and I would make a little progress. In high school, I joined the Chess Club and saw my interest peak once again. During my freshman year, I would have my entire perspective on chess redefined. I found out about the myriad of chess variants played by different countries around the world. I was fascinated and took the time to learn how to play them. In addition to the standard FIDE chess and Xiangqi (China), which my father taught me after FIDE chess, my repertoire grew to include Sittuyin (Myanmar), Makruk (Thailand), Shogi (Japan), Janggi (Korea), Chaturaji (India), Shatranj (Iran), Shatar (Mongolia), Senterej (Ethiopia), and Cờ Tư Lệnh (Vietnam). I was exposed to all of these games and the cultures associated with them. I developed a new perspective of the world and practiced these variants. I am determined to preserve them. I marveled at how each chess was a microcosm of its country's history and culture, represented by the different rules, piece movements, and defining characteristics of the game. For instance, Myanmar and Thailand both have strong martial traditions and patriotism. Consequently, both Sittuyin and Makruk feature copious amounts of trades and close quarters fighting. Mongolia's historical emphasis on movement and speed lead to many pieces in Shatar moving much farther than counterparts in other versions. India's philosophy encourages people to go with the flow, and so luck is a very important factor in Chaturaji, with dice throws determining which pieces could be moved. Despite this expansion of knowledge and perspective, I managed to ruin it by continuing to remain arrogant. I looked down upon FIDE chess in favor of the other forms of chess, ones that I could reliably beat anyone who played against me. I touted myself as cosmopolitan for championing these forms of chess that few people cared to pay attention to. In fairness, I did actually enjoy these chess variants and appreciated the culture that came along with it. Yet another part of me wanted people to be impressed by my knowledge of them. Two years go by and I'm a junior in high school now. I became aware of my arrogance and faults, and worked to rectify them. I went back to playing FIDE chess consistently as well as other chess variants. I noticed a change in the way that I played. I became more thoughtful, on the board and off. I could think farther ahead and react much more quickly. My self-improvement reflected itself in my play style. I learned a great many skills from all the chess variants that I could apply to any situation in life. From Makruk, I learned the importance of long-term planning and how to go about it. From Sittuyin, I learned the art of making preparations before any undertaking. From Shatranj, I was taught organizational skills. Xiangqi taught me versatility, shifting from offense and defense. Chaturaji taught me how to deal with luck and turn it to my advantage. Playing Janggi, I practiced tenacity, enduring fierce attacks and mounting steadfast defenses. Shogi instructed me on how to incorporate every tool at my disposal. Cờ Tư Lệnh showed me that everyone has a role to play, and that everyone's skills complemented each other if employed correctly. Shatar demonstrated how important it was to have a wide range of options, as well as teaching me how to continually keep myself in a favorable position. Senterej told me to always be aware of my surroundings and to react quickly, but consciously. Finally, FIDE chess instilled in me the importance of innovation and encouraged it in me. As a young boy, I've always aspired to do great things for the world. My dream is to attend the United States Military Academy at West Point. I dream of being a general and leading troops in defense of liberty and freedom. Funny how my desired profession so closely correlates with chess, as it is a war game at its core. When playing chess, I'm very careful with my pieces, unwilling to take extreme risks with them. In real life, each pawn is a whole division of soldiers. I will not lose these lives in vain. If I am facing trouble in chess, I wouldn't hesitate to employ my king to contribute to the defense. If I am to lead my troops on the field, I would not order them to do something I am not willing to do. All of the lessons I learned from the variants will manifest themselves in profession. With this knowledge, I hope to become successful in my defense of what is right and just.

My Asian-American heritage provided me with the foundation for great personal growth. It's roots enabled me to grow quickly, and its returning importance allowed me to blossom. It is difficult to understate how important it is to me. My parents emigrated from Vietnam to America in the 1990s. After college and getting married, they had me and my little sister. They raised us according to the traditional Vietnamese values, which are also shared across much of Asia. We learned obedience, respect, and virtue at a young age. When translated, my Vietnamese name means integrity and filial piety. In my childhood, I was just like many other Vietnamese-Americans. I grew up with Vietnamese music, food, and customs. I just took it all in, without giving it much thought. Vietnamese was my first language. When I started going to school, my culture's importance was lessened. I was exposed to many different cultures as well as the standard American one. My Vietnamese language skills declined as I eagerly worked on my English. While my culture still remained a part of me, I did not think of it much. I didn't ponder the importance of it. With that, elementary and middle school flew by. I enjoyed school very much. I explored more of my interests. I expanded my knowledge and skills. But at the end of the day, I felt like I was missing something. I was no longer fully satisfied with what I read, what I wrote, and what I thought. In 9th grade, I happened upon an interesting topic in history. It was the Three Kingdoms period of China. It was a time of more than a century of warfare. It greatly fascinated me, but not because of the warfare or political intrigue because they could be found anywhere in history. Why then, did I enjoy learning about this particular time period so much? The values and ideas that I discovered while studying the period were what made my experience so pleasant. They simply made sense to me. I began to feel longing for something deep inside me. Living in America, I had learned to think and see the world through the lenses of Western civilization. While interesting, I could not reap all the benefits from it. It was like a pair of prescription glasses that were not strong enough. You could see a bit better, but you could not see with full clarity. Studying the Sinosphere gave me full clarity. Vietnam, Korea, China, and Japan all fall under the Sinosphere in regards to culture. After finishing the Three Kingdoms period, I branched off to other parts of Chinese history, then Japanese history, my own Vietnamese history, and then Korea's. Paired with history was the culture of each country. When I arrived at the arts, I had a creative awakening. Prior to my discoveries, I was not satisfied with my quality of writing. Everything I wrote seemed banal. I knew that I was capable of eloquent ideas, but my abilities of expression failed me. Then, I realized that it was not my inability to express that held me back, but rather, I had not yet found the way to express myself that worked for me. I began writing poetry in the style and themes of the Sinosphere. I usually avoid poetry, but now, I am pleased with my progression. With essays, I found myself bored writing them. But now, every essay is an adventure, a chance to explore my mind and the world around me. With regards to philosophy, I had a total paradigm shift. I did not feel content with the explanations that Western philosophy put out. My Catholic religion explained a lot, but often ran contrary to the Western modes of thought in a way that made deeper truths difficult to discern. With my explorations, I was exposed to Confucianism and Daoism. I took a shine to the philosophical aspects of Daoism. In combining my Catholic religion and the ideas of Daoism, I could now synthesize complex ideas and explanations about deeper mysteries. With my new discoveries, I reconnected the bonds that I had to my Vietnamese heritage. I eagerly took in everything that my people had to offer. Aside from its comforting familiarity, and its educational value, I simply found every aspect of it fun. It's almost as if I was exploring a lost world. And in a sense, it was. Many Vietnamese-Americans don't diverge on the path like I accidentally did. They stay on the path of mainstream culture. There's nothing wrong with that, but I am of the opinion that we should all look into our roots and learn about the cultures that we are connected to. There is a great indifference to the story of the Vietnamese people. Vietnam was never a great world power like China, and so any mentions of it in history are restricted to the Vietnam War. Many Vietnamese-Americans only know that much about Vietnam's history and scratch the surface of Vietnam's culture. It is scary because I'm afraid our culture will disappear. The other nations of the Sinosphere still have their flames burning bright. But what about Vietnam? Will we lose our connection to our past? I am determined to keep the culture alive. I started to study the Vietnamese language again. I began incorporating the ideas and perspectives I obtained in my writings for school. I bound my identity tightly to Vietnamese culture. I feel obligated to defend this part of me. Throughout high school, I noticed great change and development in everything I did. It was almost as if I became a new person. I did not have conflicts in the traditional sense that I had an adversary or obstacle to overcome. Rather, my conflict involved self-discovery. I came home to my heritage and that started me on the path to being the best version of myself.