Statement of Purpose

I had to write a statement of purpose for a grad school application.  I was sitting in a Chinese restaurant, writing and crying. The other people in the restaurant shot me uncomfortable looks (a Chinese person would never cry in public). I figured that any piece of work that can make someone cry in public is worth sharing. Here is my statement of purpose:

My parents never let my brother and me know that we were poor. Going out to the Navajo reservation to pick up aluminum cans on the side of the highway was presented as a fun Saturday activity rather than something we needed to do to afford meat for the week. There was truth to the façade- I remember screaming with excitement when my older brother, Derrick, or I spotted a dull, crumpled can stuck in a tumbleweed. We would dance in celebration as we watched our dad spear the can with his stick and add it to the big black garbage bag full of cans that sounded like heavy rain as he lifted it over his shoulder. But we were lucky. We all jumped into our Ford truck and drove back into town, to our house on a safe street with nice neighbors. Derrick and I had no idea we were poor.

My dad did everything in his power to stay off of the reservation for good. He married a white woman from Wisconsin and had two children with her. He worked like a dog to give his children the life he never had- a vacation to Disneyland, enough food in the cupboard, and fatherly love. So much love. I knew I was fortunate.

I still know.

Even when we had more money- when I was getting ready to go to college- I knew I had nothing to worry about financially. That didn’t stop me from applying for every scholarship I was eligible for. It was clear to me that education was (and is) the most important thing in my life. The Chief Manuelito Scholarship funded a large part of my undergraduate education. Chief Manuelito was a brave and brilliant Navajo Chief who was once quoted as follows:

My grandchild, the whites have many things which we Navajos need. But we cannot get them. It is as though the whites were in a grassy canyon and there they have wagons, plows, and plenty of food. We Navajos are up on a dry mesa. We can hear them talking but we cannot get to them. My grandchild, education is the ladder. Tell our people to take it.

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But there are many kinds of education. After I graduated college, I moved to Texas to be a tennis professional. I spent nine months teaching at a ranch where people from all over the world came to learn the game of tennis. There, I cultivated interesting, important, and valuable relationships with people from all walks of life. All kinds of people play tennis; I met brilliant engineers, professors, psychologists, stockbrokers, teachers, authors, lawyers, business owners, and Grand Slam champions. I learned more in that nine months than I did in most college semesters. I can look back and see my mind opening during this time. The people who came to the ranch exposed me to bits and pieces of a world that was infinite. It was a world that I had suspicions about, but one I had never experienced for myself. I became obsessed with the idea of objectivity- the idea of being able to see the world from other people’s point of view. I loved each tennis guest and their view of the world, no matter how obscure. I spent my free time talking to guests for hours, deepening my understanding of their loves, passions, problems, and skills. Each Sunday and Friday we had a new crop of guests; new points of view. I loved this time. It was the beginning of something beautiful. It is difficult to set aside personal biases and opinions in order to truly comprehend a person. However, once this is achieved, empathy, grace, and admiration can rush in.

Even before the tennis ranch, I experienced this phenomenon with possibly the most difficult demographic to empathize with: patients at a psychiatric penitentiary for the ‘criminally insane’. I was not prepared or excited for the six weeks we spent there. I didn’t know what to expect. If I had known what to expect, I probably wouldn’t have gone. My partner and I were placed on a stabilization unit of 40 men (patients), a psychiatrist, a social worker, and a music therapist. We spent the first few days reading through their files- a book case full of binders holding the cold facts and grotesque details of the incidents leading up to each man’s incarceration.

‘OMG, Lex- this guy kept his wife’s body in the trunk of his car for three weeks.’

‘Fuck me. This guy tried to kill his family with a kitchen knife. He killed his dad but his mom and sister got away.’

‘Holy shit. This guy molested his infant daughter and tried to kill his mother.’

When we met the men, I knew what they had done and I wanted to hate them.

Then I got to know them.

We played bingo and dominoes with them and talked about ice cream and good movies. Lex and I sat in on group therapy sessions and heard the struggles in their hearts… their daily problems and their deepest pains. As a broken pot cannot hold water, my heart could no longer hold anger or hate. Once I humbled myself to see the world as they did, I saw stories of heartbreak, loneliness, struggle, pain, depression, and exhaustion. In came grace, empathy, and my own heartbreak. On our last day at the hospital, Lex and I made brownies and brought ice cream- our last chance and attempt to bring a bright spot of happiness into the lives of these broken people. We laughed, played games, and ate sweets. Then we walked out of the gates for the last time, knowing we’d never see those men again.

That was an education.

When I learned that only 11% of Native Americans graduate with a bachelor’s degree (less than half of the national ‘norm’), I had mixed feelings. I felt sick that the number is so low. I felt proud to be in that 11%, and I felt thankful for the forces pushing me forward. I do not know how to advance women and minorities into higher education. All I can say is that this minority…this woman will continue to a higher education. And this Navajo woman will do everything possible to inspire other minorities, other women, and other people to chase after their dreams, too.

In February, Ann (a Chinese woman- my walking partner) and I will walk 2,400 kilometers from Zhongshan to Beijing as a fundraiser for people with disabilities. Our motto is ‘ni keyi’, or ‘you can’. Currently, the best way that I can inspire people to educate themselves and to continue chasing their dreams is by educating myself and chasing after my own dreams. I can encourage other people to do the same by showing them that nothing is impossible.

Ni keyi.