Uncommon app essays: Tommy Guo

Afterword

If my life were made into a picture book, with each page illustrating the most important moment of that day, you would discover page 3887 to be mysteriously blank, apart from a small insignificant note from me, the author: an apathetic apology, similar to one a child would give for eating an off-limits cookie. The message would simply read: "Page 3887 is intentionally blank. Sorry."

The truth is that not one, but two equally significant events unfolded on Day 3887, thus breaking the one image per page rule. If I were to depict both of them on one page, I would need to justify this infraction with an explanation that simply wouldn't fit in a picture book-but what if?

In the first illustration on page 3887, I am watching the 2008 Beijing Olympics. Reclining to the right is my undoubtedly American friend with an eagle brazenly flying across his shirt and a star spangled bandanna knotted around his forehead. My Japanese friend is also flaunting his national pride, but in the form of an "I love Tokyo" shirt. And there I am sandwiched in the middle and uncomfortably aware of my surroundings. Wearing an unconvincingly neutral t-shirt, I have a jarring realization about my cultural identity-or rather my lack of one.

My dilemma: I don't have a nation to root for in the Olympics. What seems like a perfunctory problem, however, strikes much deeper; it is actually an admission of alienation. Raised in three different countries, I have been constantly on the move. For me, the attachment to their culture and country that most people experience has been diluted to the point of irrelevance. In this first illustration, I concede that I am a nomad, wandering aimlessly without an anchor, a home to call my own.

The second picture on page 3887 is almost an exact copy of the first, leaving the reader to wonder if it is a printing error. However, upon closer examination, you can see that this time, the illustrator has annoyingly caught me mid-blink and the minute hand of the quartz clock on the wall has inched forward. What you can't see is that I have come to terms with who I am.

Trying to reject my previous conclusion, I again ask myself which country I would be supporting. After a long period of contemplation, my brain gives a surprisingly different answer: not the ever ambiguous "I don't know," but a satisfactory "every one." This time, I recognize that my answer is no longer an admission of belonging nowhere; it is an admission of neutrality.

As I am sitting on the couch in my indifferent t-shirt wedged between my friends, I realize how remarkable it is to be released from any personal obligation to support a side. Having lived in Japan, China, New Mexico, Florida, and Pennsylvania, I've come across various cultures and learned from these experiences to look past the nationality, ethnicity, and skin color of people. Even in an inherently nationalistic arena such as the Olympics, I ignore these traits that have no bearing on character and cheer on athletes who display merit, courage, and integrity. In this second illustration, I begin to appreciate my lack of national identity, which has not distanced me from others, but has allowed me to appreciate all people, cultures, and beliefs with an open mind. I finally understand that being a nomad isn't all that bad: the world is my home and everybody is family.

But alas this explanation is too long and so like my identity, this page is left bare. Hopefully this afterword will make up for the half-hearted apology that still remains: "Page 3887 is intentionally blank. Sorry."

#mexico