“You’re crushing the rice! Gently rinse it - let the grain trickle through your fingers.” As my grandmother yanked the strainer back, she sternly reprimanded me.: “How many times have I told you?” As the sun began to set and the streets flooded with workers rushing home for dinner, my family’s kitchen came alive with smoke and fire. The stove was on and the oil was hot, - just as it was every afternoon. I have prepared dinner with my grandmother every evening since I turned eight. While she took great pride in this “stereotypically feminine task”, I abhorred it, but being a girl in a Vietnamese family left me with few choices. Growing up, the struggle between my Vietnamese womanhood and my ideologies was has always been present. While I was taught to be kind and gentle, I was curious and independent. Contrary to my grandmother, my parents - who never got to finish high school - would give me daily talks on how school is the only important factor in my life. Thus, I take immense pride in my academics and tried to rid myself of the traditional identity my grandmother bestowed upon me. As my childhood gradually blended into my teenage years, the relationship between us became more strained. Until one day, it broke. I flung the strainer across the table. “Enough’s enough!” My grandmother’s eyes flared with anger. As the strainer rolled to a halt, I held my breath and prepared to brave her storm. Imagine my surprise when nothing but a sigh came out. “There’s nothing weak about cooking. Food is sacred, so women are the beating hearts of our culture; it is the love and care I put into every dish that raised you.” Patiently, she stroked my hair: “You know, being a wife and a mother can also be a very noble job.” Suddenly, my grandmother looked different. Her eyes glittered with the flare of a young woman determined to build her own home. Even with no degrees or stable jobs, she was the emotional pillar on which my family depended. After all, her wholesome meals were what raised me into the person I am today, and they are the things I will miss the most when I leave home. Like my Vietnamese heritage, they are an integral part of me, - one that can never be erased. I started to uncover another side of my grandmother, - one where she worked as a cook beyond the borders of a war-torn Vietnam who was far from home most of her life. Turns out, she wanted to give me the childhood she had lost. My parents always stressed me out about my education, because they wanted to provide me with the education that was stripped from them by the war. More than anyone, they understood that a good education was the only way out. That is why they decided to finance my undergraduate degree at Grinnell College with their loans and live savings. Even though I am on financial aid, being a low income, first-generation international student in the US is still an insurmountable burden on our family, and for that reason, I am seeking this scholarship. Though my grandmother has passed away, the traditional values she instiled within me is always present, and rather than abolishing it, I have learned to embrace it and integrate it with my ideology. I am now ready to accept my Vietnamese identity with pride and joy while simultaneously being a curious, modern woman.