<p>How about all us RDers post our 500 word main essay here? Dunno if its a good idea, but i thought it might be cool instead of PMing</p>
<p>ok, so where’s yours?</p>
<p>Nestled between mountains is the International School of Stavanger, Norway; proof of a dynamic multicultural microcosm. As I walked down the cheerful halls of the school lined with thumbnail images of flags from around the world, what did I see? Only differences. What did my peers see? Only differences. Differences in culture, differences in religion, differences in perspective. I never wondered what could bridge all of these what was the unifying thread running through us. I perceived diversity in the constantly moving population, and I learned to tolerate. It was not until a meeting with His Holiness the Dalai Lama that I really understood The Art of Happiness.</p>
<p>May 21, 2000 was the day when the Dalai Lama visited Stavanger. I was of course excited about getting to meet a world-renowned figure, but I never expected the meeting to change my life forever. As His Holiness talked, I could see that everyone found a place in his eyes his vision encompassed all, overriding diversity to unify us under a single umbrella. He talked about transcending boundaries that divide our society, and the importance of recognizing the common threads that bind all cultures. He shared with me the importance of deriving ones own happiness from others. The term diverse took on a different complexion in the light of what he said. We are not just a diverse society we are a true global community. I realized that all the experiences I had gained through my years in the International School were valuable ones, which had not been fully assimilated. I interpreted diversity and understood the universality of it. I began to accept. Above all I saw that to be happy was to make everyone around so by making a difference in society. </p>
<p>My move to Korea in the summer of 2003 saw me joining an International School in Busan. It was a new culture, a new environment, and a culturally diverse place populated mainly with Third-Culture Kids. My sociology thesis done in the second semester of my junior year addressed the question of whether Third-Culture Kids were moving towards global citizenship. The results of study saddened me as they indicated a strong resistance towards the ideal. As the student representative on the WASC accreditation committee for the school, I attempted to bring about changes in the school by adding to the curriculum. The additions included compulsory reading of a book on multiculturalism every year by each grade, a weekly presentation on a certain religion, and the exploration of music from various cultures. It promoted cultural awareness and appears to be successful this year. The students have started organizing the International Day in the school and actively participate in other multicultural events. </p>
<p>Being an international student is not just a term to be put on a college application or a personal statement. Through my years of international exposure, I have realized that it is a title that I must live up to. The meeting with the Dalai Lama added a new dimension to my perspective as an international student and enhanced my vision. My meeting with His Holiness shed light the on the importance of a sustained awareness of the unifying factors that link us all. Through him I realized the unity in diversity.</p>
<p>I posted this in hope that u guys will do the same…</p>
<p>"My move to Korea in the summer of 2003 saw me joining an International School in Busan. It was a new culture, a new environment, and a culturally diverse place populated mainly with Third-Culture Kids. " I object to and deny this statement wholeheartedly. What do you mean by “third-culture”?</p>
<p>And here’s my essay (my version of what Korea is to me)</p>
<p>Home
I stood on home soil technically the nice, waxed floors of Incheon airport for the first time in eight years. I had left as a seven year old child and was returning as a teenager. Or was this truly home? After all, I had lived more than half my life in Australia. Had Korea become a foreign country to me? Was I returning to Korea or just visiting it? Before I could savour this poetic moment however, a familiar face came into view. Wow, you were cute when you went, now youre uglier than ever! my uncle joked well I hoped he was joking and gave me and my brother a customary headlock. My aunt and mum started their game of who-can-blurt-out-the-most-amount-of-gossip-in-the-shortest-amount-of-time. While walking to the car however, I felt something immense hit me. At first I thought it was the Korean winter teaching me a lesson for my stupidity I had shorts and a T-shirt on from the 35 degree (95 Fahrenheit) heat at Sydney airport but it was something else. I wanted to ask John my older brother if he was feeling it but he was too busy from the barrage of cheeky questions from my uncle; girlfriends, alcohol experiences, partying etc
I, not yet 18, was saved this torture however, and left alone to contemplate this thing. </p>
<p>At my grandparents apartment we were showered with hugs and kisses but I noticed significant aging in grandpa. Sure I had received his pictures via mail but to actually see the wrinkles, to notice the difficulty and the ponderousness of his steps was saddening. I was very close to my grandparents because I had lived with them when I was in Korea, and when I was young my grandpa and I often played Go a board game consisting of black and white stones. However it was very late and I went to bed without really talking to anyone.</p>
<p>Next morning I found the apartment empty; my aunt and uncle had gone back to their apartments last night, mum had gone to the station to pick up dad who was coming up from Pusan, John had gone to a friends apartment a few floors up and my grandparents had both gone out. Now that the thrill of being home had worn off, I was getting a little depressed; after all, I had no friends here. Bundled with heavy clothing, I decided to go out for a walk, not prepared for what I was about to witness. I went out to the main road and saw a legless beggar, dragging himself across the snow begging for money. I saw an old woman much older than my grandma seated by the street, skinning garlic. I saw two men shouting at each other from their cars in the stagnant traffic because one of them refused to let the other in. And all this was happening in a supposedly affluent suburb with high skyscrapers and people walking around in brand-name coats. Suddenly I wasnt so happy, suddenly I wasnt so proud to call this country home. But this changed during my game of Go against grandpa. After a lengthy game he told me that he was succumbing to age, that his worst fear was to die before seeing me get into college, get married and have children. He said to me in these exact words (translated as closely as possible), I know that you are studying in a foreign country, but never forget this one., and while hes told me this an uncountable number of times when I was young, this time it really touched me. I feigned frivolity and gave him an eye-roll to hide my embarrassment but that night I felt that thing go away. I was truly happy to be in Korea; happy to see my mother and aunt gossip for hours, happy to be provoked into a wrestling match with my uncle, happy to be playing Go with Grandpa… Yes, this was my home.</p>
<p>Third-Culture = a kid who has lived in several countries, experienced several cultures, and doesnt really have a single “home country”. there are so many of them where i study (intl school here). it is NOT third world. dont get me mistken…anyway. nice essay.</p>
<p>oh ok… sorry for my bitterness. And I enjoyed your essay as well :P</p>