Food, Knowledge, Family, and Truth. Perhaps these things have no clear connection at first glance, but together, they are my everything. I spent a significant portion of my life refusing to acknowledge my heritage. After being mocked for the smell of my food in elementary school, I begged my mother to make me a sandwich for lunch the next day, crying as I said I hated my food. She listened silently as I tried to hide my Taiwanese roots behind American mannerisms and interests. Time after time, I stood silently in the corner at family holidays, unsure of what to do as my grandparents burned incense and unwilling to ask. However, the truth exists regardless of whether or not we choose to acknowledge it. When I entered university in my early adolescent years after years of homeschooling, I was surprised to find that I was no longer antagonized whenever I quietly pulled my lunch out of my bag or spoke in hushed Mandarin to my parents on the phone. Instead, I was met with curious questions from my cohort mates about what I was eating or what the "festival" I had mentioned on the phone was about. Suddenly filled with the drive to obtain the answers to these questions for myself, I began hesitantly nudging my family members at events, hoping for an explanation of what was going on. As I gradually opened myself to my ancestry and the knowledge that had been passed through my family throughout generations, I was also forging a path for myself in university. Despite my initial challenges due to a lack of formal writing or public speaking training, I was intrigued by psychology and criminal justice, two writing- and presentation-intensive majors. I grew more confident in my abilities and discovered my passion for law, hoping to unveil the truths in life. After soaking up the information my professors gave me, I found that I wanted to share my newfound knowledge with students like me who were just as passionate about learning all they could about the world. At one of the family functions I now happily attended, a relative mentioned an organization for overseas Taiwanese youth who were interested in learning about Taiwanese culture. I was eager for any opportunity to explore the lore and myths that were lost in forgotten bedtime stories for my family and joined almost immediately. When this organization offered positions to members to tutor Taiwanese students in English and other subjects, I jumped at the opportunity. It was exhilarating being able to share what I had learned in exchange for insight into my culture. I had gone from the child who would sheepishly admit that she didn't eat her lunch for fear of being bullied to the girl begging her grandmother for recipes that held a taste of home, family, and comfort without even noticing. I learned that the phrase my mother had insisted upon for so many years was true: I am Taiwanese American.

My all-time favorite film is The Art of Racing in the Rain. The Art of Racing in the Rain tells the story of an elderly dog, and we are taken through his life through his eyes. Having lost my own dog as a child, watching this film forced me to relive and confront the emotions I had spent so long burying, hoping that I could simply file them away for another time. Listening to a dog describe his simple love for his human despite all of his owner's faults and troubles was beautiful and heartwarming to me. As I watched Enzo, a fiercely protective golden retriever, learn to love his owner's family, I was reminded by all the times my own dog had come up to me as a child and snuggled up against me, always there to comfort me when I was upset. I was able to envision what my dog might have gone through when I was born and was able to be transported back into rose-toned memories. I had read the book before I had watched the film, and I was not disappointed by the adaptation at all!

In a world where smartphones are a staple in our daily lives, the benefits of using smartphones are sometimes all we see. Smartphones allow us to communicate constantly with those who are important to us, whether they be right next to us or halfway across the globe. As the child of East Asian immigrants, my phone allows me to connect with loved ones overseas. Through my smartphone, I'm able to call my grandparents, who are currently too old to travel to see us very often. They are able to send me cute pictures or videos that they find on the internet every morning, hoping to bring a little joy to my day. Having a phone allows me to be reminded of my grandparent's love each and every day, though I cannot see them in person. When my mother visits my grandparents overseas once a year, I am able to see her and tell her that I miss her "face to face" and almost be immersed in her life there through her camera. I did not have a smartphone until I started attending university. For the longest time, I was used to believing that I did not need one. After all, who needs a smartphone when you can just call or email someone? However, after I got my very first smartphone, I found myself almost unable to imagine living without it. Though having a smartphone allows me to always be aware when an important email or phone call arrives, I have found that very feature to be the source of my frustration: I can never seem to stop checking my phone. Having a smartphone means that regardless of where I am, what I am doing, or when the last time I checked my phone was, I feel the almost undeniable urge to open up my email or text messages to see if "anything important happened." As a child, I was surrounded by adults who bemoaned the current generation's addiction to their phone screens. However, I have found that after obtaining smartphones themselves, these adults find themselves similarly unable to put down their phones. Though I have not found myself texting while behind the wheel, I have had to tell many of the same adults who complained about children and teenagers who were "glued to the phones" to focus on the road, sometimes having to physically confiscate their phones as though they were a child. Despite the many benefits of smartphones, they do indeed have the dangerous potential for distracting drivers from road conditions, thus affecting their ability to react quickly in unexpected situations.

I spent so much of my childhood despising piano. When I decided to try to get back into playing the piano after years of not even glancing at the keys, Mini B helped me find the joy in the instrument. He was always there with me as I learned a new song, encouraging to smile at my mistakes rather than feel disappointed. He is one of my biggest sources of support, and while he'll never say the words, I'm glad to know that he loves me.