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