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. 

The Long Night Walk to Zhuhai- A Tale of Two Blisters

We all met at Yellow Submarine, a sandwich shop owned by an American man and his wife. Sonya from China, Elena from Singapore, Agnes from Ireland, ‘Captain Handsome’ (a direct translation of his name), Raymen, (both Chinese) and I sipped coffee and munched sandwiches as we made introductions and game planned. The night walk was to start at 7:30 pm so we hustled across the street to find our starting position outside the stadium. There was a huge stage with hundreds of people gathered, ready to walk. Just before 9 pm, we finally started walking. The energy was fantastic. Everyone was excited to be

moving. We were a lively sea of people rushing through the city.
Not long after we started, we were along the highway, spread thin. On one curve I could see the exodus spread half of a mile ahead of and behind me. After an hour and a half we reached the first checkpoint. Our team scanned our time cards, sipped water and kept on. We had walked 8 kilometers. Around midnight we lost track of each other. I carried on with Sonya and Agnes, walking quickly and sometimes running to pass roadblocks…swarms of people walking in tight groups. After midnight I hit our third checkpoint alone. I had gone ahead of the group, following the pace of a few nice Chinese men who were using me to practice their English. When I hit the checkpoint, I was tired but I didn’t want to stop to wait for the crew. I was in ‘go’ mode, sweaty, and

not wanting to cool down. Around 2 am I reached the 30km checkpoint where they had food for the walkers. In America, these energy tents offer Powerbars, gel packs, and Gatorade. But this is China. As I walked through the crowd, I was offered rice porridge, eggs boiled in tea, and meat and rice wrapped in lotus leaves. I respectfully declined and dug in my bag for a Snickers bar. I left the station just as it began to rain. A young Chinese man walked along side me for over an hour. We didn’t say a word to each other, but it was nice to have someone to pace with. My new best friend and I split up at the next station, and I started to lose steam. The 25 pounds in my backpack was starting to feel more like 50 pounds. By this point everyone was spread out, but every few minutes I would pass a group who would gasp, then chatter in Chinese about the foreigner with the huge pack. My phone was dead, severing my communication with my teammates. I was led through a small city, which transitioned into highway, which transitioned into a country back road. I was pleasantly reminded of the country roads in Texas- paved rural paths lined with trees, winding from one small town to the next. About every 300 meters there was a help station- a small group of volunteers bundled in jackets, blankets, and umbrellas with a generator powering a light shining the way. Their encouragement was amazing. 加油 (Jiayo!! Jiayo!), they would say. (Come on! Fight on! literally meaning to put gas in the tank) The rain started to come down heavily and steadily. I walked alone. After the 40 km checkpoint, I stopped for rest. I didn’t know if I could continue. My knees throbbed. My feet complained loudly each time I lifted them from the concrete. There were blisters forming on the bottoms of my feet, and I could feel the tendons and muscles in my hips and legs tightening up like twisted rubber bands. I made a mental note to do more yoga. It was 4 in the morning and I had already walked more than a marathon. To say I was tired is an understatement. I searched my soul for motivation…inspiration….any ‘ation’  I could find.
‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’ was the question. I was having trouble locating the answer. My knees were aching so much that I feared my ACL might snap from the pressure of my 1000-pound pack. When I thought I might give in, I hit the 49 km checkpoint. There, I rested, ate another Snickers bar, had some tea, and left with a bit more juice in my tank. I had six kilometers to go. I did anything to distract myself from the pain. I sang Bob Marley songs, calculated what percent of the walk I had finished with each step, and tried to recall the details of interesting psychology articles I read in college. I was on the outer edge of Zhuhai, walking along the beautiful bay. The sky was beginning to light up as a sliver of the sun peeked over the horizon. With 2km to go, I hit a wall. I stopped, unsure that I could take another step.

‘Just keep moving forward.’ I thought. ‘If you keep moving forward, you’ll finish sometime.’ 

Just keep moving forward.

A man wearing sandals passed me. Thankfully, I didn’t have the energy to murder him. I hated everyone and everything. I wanted to quit. I wanted to die. Just then, the heavens opened up and sent an angel down to me in the form of Captain Handsome. He came from nowhere. I didn’t realize it was The Captain at first. I was actually a bit annoyed at the man speaking to me in Chinese, asking me how I was, and if I was hungry. He gave me an external battery to charge my phone. I was reconnected with the rest of the team and their encouragement.

Just keep moving forward.

Then came the game changer. Out of his magic Mary Poppins backpack, The Captain pulled a bag of bread. He offered me one of the lightly browned , french toast-like squares. I took one bite and decided it was the best bite of food I have ever put in my mouth in my whole life. The bread was manna from heaven, made from grain ground by God himself and sweetened with honey from the promise land. I inhaled one piece, then another. With that tasty snack, I had the

energy to keep on. But even with the refreshment of my snack, I thought the last kilometer would never end. I kept looking for the finish line that didn’t appear. I couldn’t distract myself from the pain anymore. It came in full force. I limped along, trying to keep up with Captain Handsome. One tear rolled down my cheek. I held back more tears because I figured my body needed to keep the electrolytes. When we finally finished, I dropped my pack, documented the moment, and collapsed. I traded my hiking boots for moccasins, and limped to the car where The Captain’s friends were waiting. The next few days were filled with rest, mass amounts of fluids, and two of the most painful massages I’ve ever had. 
Contrary to everything I just said, this was a great experience. My favorite part was walking on the back roads of China with only the sound of my footsteps, my breath, and my beating heart. I also made new friends and strengthened existing relationships with my teammates. Many good things came from the experience of the walk to Zhuhai. I can honestly say it was well worth the pain….almost.