Mean Girls (and Boys)

******this passage was adopted into an application essay*******
It's a modern cliche: "don't try to be someone you're not,"

...nonetheless, the constant pressure to be someone, or rather, something, else is all too present within almost all members of society.  Pecola longs to have "blue-sky eyes" and to look like the Shirley Temples, Mary Janes, and Maureen Peals of the world; China "forever" longs for "[curly hair]"; they both long to be what society has subtly (and at times, explicitly) told them is beautiful-white (46) (52).  The blind acceptance on the receiving end and the steadfast distribution of this belief on the giving end result in a largely unspoken divide between the two.  Only when Maureen finally breaks the silence by declaring, "I am cute!  And you ugly!  Black and ugly black e mos," do we see how truly deep-seated this mindset is (73).

 I still remember it.  How I was walking across the playground to join my friends' game of tether ball when a boy, previously unknown to me, stopped and stared at me.  How he looked me straight in the eyes before yelling, "Konnichi wa," simultaneously pulling the skin around his eyes to narrow them, mocking my own.  Up until that moment, my race had always been a subject handled with the utmost delicacy (to ensure that the one of the only Asian families in a spotless, white-picket-fence, suburban Ohio community was not offended, of course).  It didn't matter that I, in fact, am not Japanese, that Konnichi wa was just as foreign to me as it was to him; all that mattered to me in that moment was the red-hot shame I felt.  Throughout the following years, I had always imagined in passing what it would be like to have a thin nose and large eyes, what it would be like to be rid of my hair color, so dark that the sun cast an ever-present spotlight on me.

Sure, I eventually got over this desire to be "white" as I matured and learned that there are multiple definitions of beauty (although it didn't help that I seldom saw any fellow Asians in magazine spreads or movies), but that doesn't mean that the comparisons ended there.  Among a disarray of high expectations and "I-sacrificed-so-much-to-immigrate-here" guilt trips, there has always been that family friend with a flawless academic record, that one who made it to Harvard and is now a millionaire, that one who I'll never live up to.  Even after reaching some of the goals that my parents have baited in front of me, I somehow always manage to feel emptier than I did as simply a disappointment.  Perhaps this is because of the ever-looming "What Now?" that only becomes stronger after I have achieved something.  Perhaps it's because becoming someone else isn't a true measurement of success.  Perhaps we all should shift our gazes from what defines others to how to define ourselves.  

this is what happens when you only focus on how to become like others