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

Asian people are so obsessed with money, that they create superstitions in order to give them
a feeling of control, even though they're not in control— and never will be. Remember how
Asian parents love making their kids eat every small microscopic grain of rice from their
bowls? It's about this idea of control, this imaginary abstract idea of control, that they can
control everything, specifically good fortune and wealth, aka money. This illusion provides
them that “ warm, fuzzy feeling, ” so that everything will be okay, when in fact, it's just all in
their heads! Asians create belief systems that they use to manage their fears and anxieties;
superstitions are a form of those systems. As Edmund Burke said, “ Superstition is the religion
of feeble minds. ” Now you see why there are so many superstitions here at Grand Ma's
funeral. Asians are insecure about their own mortality and seek to deny it by using incredibly
complex belief systems to downplay its significance, in order to appease their own fears and
anxieties. They can't accept the fact that someday they will die so they need to at least
believe in something, even something as preposterous as superstitions, just to placate their
own fears and anxieties. I'm starting to sound like a d@mn psychoanalyst!
Jordan punches me in the left arm again, this time signaling me to approach the casket
— a simple nudge would suffice! I walk up, passing a salute of white flower bouquets, to see
Grand Ma, her wax-like face exhibiting such a peaceful and solemn elegance. I stare at her,
my body motionless and my eyes indifferent, not knowing exactly what I should do. I can see
my parents crying— the whole room is crying. I just...can't cry. I know that I've never been
close to Grand Ma, but something else is preventing me from crying for her, something that's
clutching my will to express any emotion. After all these years, now I know what it is: my
parents. Though not my parents per se, but the way they brought me up, the way I was
raised. I was never taught to express my feelings and never taught on how to react at times of
emotional stress. I was only taught to get good grades, to get into a good college, to get into a
good medical school, to get a good job— but never taught how to express my emotions. I
really am just a robot. I've become a robot, without love or affection from my parents— no
hugs, no kisses, not even a handshake from them, my entire life. And now when I'm faced
with the need to cry, I can't...I just can't do it. I just don't know how...
I walk back to my seat and sit silently, my face buried in my hands. I need some time to
think. Jordan is looking at me with a queer eye, as if I've been vilified as an outcast of the
family— and I don't blame her. What type of person can't cry at his own grandmother's
funeral? What kind of person can't express a single emotion at the sight of a deceased