Why do Asians really get straight A's? - Project Gutenberg Consortia ...

11
The plane lands as I start to wake up, the sun shining intensely into my eyes, with a fury like
wild fire. Jordan's next to me, reading the same differential calculus textbook that she was
reading before we boarded the plane. She's a machine, my little sister. My parents are still
reading the same paper as they were at the terminal gate, so everyone's a machine except
good old Johnson. Now I'm hungry, and I regret not eating some of that deliciously
scrumptious airplane food.
After picking up our luggage from baggage claim, we walk outside the terminal to greet
our relatives, just two of them since they came in a small sedan: my oldest uncle, whom I just
call Uncle, and my youngest cousin, Bo. We'll be staying with them for the duration of our trip.
Bo walks up to me, presenting a big smile. “ How r you? ”
“ I'm doing good, ” I politely reply. He nods and picks up our bags— one by one— and
puts them in the trunk of the car. That will probably be the most that we say to each other
during this trip, since that's the only English he knows, and I only speak English.
Uncle makes small talk with my parents, leaving Jordan and me to discuss how all six
of us are going to fit into a compact car. After all is said and done, we pile in, stretching our
arms and legs for every little bit of room, grasping for the luxury of comfort. I then realize that
not one hug or kiss has been exchanged this entire time.
Driving through the city is a fantastic visual journey in itself: my eyes unmoving and
unwavering, like a lion's first glance at its prey, locking onto the vast display of neon lights
smothering the cloudscape. Every street looks indubitably the same, narrow and compressed,
with food stands overflowing the sidewalks. I see my life flash before me a dozen of times,
cars running through stop lights as if red's the new green. No wonder so many Asians drink
and smoke; they just live it up now since they'll most likely die driving first. On the bright side,
I won't have to worry about getting into medical school if we do indeed crash and die. Uncle
rolls up the windows as we apparently pass by a slaughterhouse, our nostrils overwhelmed by
the stench of manure and rotting meat. Welcome to Asia!