Culture Responses

Post your culture responses here. Save your racial identity statements for next week.

im from a mans world. the culture of muay thai kickboxing. its harsh and painful but its always worth it. ive been kickboxing for the past couple years and its become a part of me. as a girl, im rare in the competitive sport and the people i train with are older, and solid walls of muscle. despite the gender, size and age differences, were all a family. but when youre in the ring, be it sparring or an actual fight, you see the people as your enemy. theyre just a target that you need to hit. but once youre done, they are back to your loved friends. they are the people you share your bruise stories with (and theyre probably the ones that gave them too you anyway), and and people you know to be just like you. right down to the bag filled with sweaty sparring gear and gloves, tangled up cotton hand wraps and a once full bottle of water.

My culture is the outdoors. Cold fingers and runny noses in the snow, and the purple plastic sled. My culture is camping; dirty feet, crickets and lanterns in the night. My culture is one of neighborhood kids, of scootering down the block and running across the street in bare feet to ring doorbells. My culture is one of bloody knees, kick the can and hide and seek in the rain. But the most important part of my culture is the people I'm closest to, I grew up with, and have made me who I am.

I belong to the Pacific Northwest culture; more specifically the Seattle culture. I eat foods stereotypical of the region; e.g. salmon and "coffee." "Coffee" is in quotation marks because the coffee I drink is mostly milk and sugar, as is the norm here. I listen to a lot of grunge and other Seattle-native music. My politics are very typical of the region; I'm as blue as you can get. I've heard of the Cascadian independence movement, and were I more idealistic, I'd support it. However, it's worth noting that I often feel detached from the sports and modern music scenes of Seattle.

I am part of a culture called "Players". No not the type that goes out every weekend and tries to snag a different girl. But the players who have a passion and drive for a sport. The ones that lace up there shoes everyday and try to get better all the time. My sport is basketball and my culture loves to work hard and get better every chance possible. We take criticism and turn it into our motive and goal to get better and prove people wrong. We don't worry about getting tired we know that were all teenagers and not gonna die from exhaustion. so we push ourselves to over the hill and test our limits to prove were better than the person next to us. My culture has no certain race or ethnicity that is required. it is purely the people that love to work hard and play there sport over anything in life.

I belong to a culture of musicians. To be specific, string players. We recognize the violinist's spot and the calluses, we bond over the pieces we've played. We sing melodies at each other, complain together over bowings, and discuss the last concert we went to. Sheet music floats around our houses and CDs of symphonies are filed away by composer. Our ipods are full of symphonies and concertos, and it always matters who the soloist is.

I belong to the culture of high blocks, hard hits and some of the tallest girls you've seen. In high school, club volleyball isn't just time for friends. You're getting ranked, getting recruits, and filling up your time you don't have high school season. When you aren't playing, you're reffing. Calling if the ball was in or out, if somebody touched the net, tracking rotations and getting yelled at by parents every second of the way. When you get stuck with time off you're talking and laughing with the people that are to become as close as family.

I belong to the culture of drama geeks. It is perfectly normal to hear me humming musical numbers under my breath, or whispering lines to myself. If you pass through the drama hallway after school the day of an audition, you'll hear vocal me-meh-mahs and scales. We play games where we try and act as strange as possible. Our goal is to be anyone but ourselves. But most importantly, we are storytellers. If our emotions touch a place deep inside you, it is a job well done.

i belong to the culture know as "goof balls" or "class clowns." What ever you choose to call it, we are a silly group. we are the people that blurt out a dumb or witting comment to break a silence. we enjoy making people smile and laugh. to some of us its wanted, or even needed attention. when you look at us, its a look of confusion, or a look that simply says "uh...what?" some of us enjoy to do this for the pleasure of knowing someones day was made, because of what a class clown said or did. that one thing that just makes you smile and ruins a bad mood. i personally love attention and making people's days. one of my favorite things to do as a class clown, is doing something dumb. not that I'm a rebel, but i like it better when i break a rule doing something dumb. we are the class clowns, and its hard to take us serious.

I am part of the culture of jazz. Time when you're reading music means everything, but time on the clock means close to nothing, and we often ignore actual time restraints in the real world, because they don't mean anything compared to music time. We have a unique language, one that only we truly understand. We argue without words, and develop connections with people without talking. Most of us don't exercise, and don't want to, but there are a few exceptions. We listen, we learn, we practice.

I belong to a culture of teenage girls adopted from China between the years of 1995 to 1998 with at least one, but usually both Caucasian parents. We belong to the left over, unwanted discarded population of China’s children. We were born and then put in front of police stations or train stations or on the front steps of hospitals to be found, and then taken in by orphanages. We are part of the direct result of the one child policy, along with all of the preferred but now brideless sons of China. But we were the lucky ones you could say. We were adopted. We are Americans. We don’t remember that other life. We are white, we were raised white, we are surrounded by white. But are we white? Look at us. Look, we are not white. What are we then? I’ve heard Twinkie. I’ve heard banana. Should we be more offended by these then we are? I’m silent because I know it’s true.
We feel as though we must identify with Asian things. No, that is too broad, with Chinese things. And our white parents over 50 who love us dearly re-enforce that idea. We eat Chinese food at least once a week. We have pictures of when we were little in traditional silk dress framed in the house. In elementary school I saw myself as white. I didn’t know any better, I didn’t understand racial slurs or why they should hurt me so much. In middle school I understood, and I tried harder than I’d care to admit to become white. I wanted to smother the girl who looked Chinese on the outside by acting very white. By the time I got to high school I knew that no matter who I was, people would still see a Chinese girl on the outside even though I felt white on the inside. So I thought I should embrace it and become more of that stereotypical Asian girl.
Not necessarily the Chinese one, but just the Asian one. Asian girls are smart. Good, I fit that one. Asian girls are quite. True, I can be, but I can be loud enough when I need to. That’s the white inside of me then I guess. Asian women are bad drivers. Not true for me, I’m pretty good. Asians are short. Yep, well nothing I can do about that one. But now, as we grow up, we see that we are who we are. We are both Chinese and American. So we are Chinese American. But we always thought that was for people with a Chinese parent and a white American parent. So is that who we are? Lumped in with that lot? Or are we supposed to be thrown in with the lot where both parents are fluent in Mandarin and speak minimal English. We are certainly not translators and contrary to the belief of the employees in stores or airports who come up to us either speaking Mandarin or in very slow, loud English.
We don’t call them out though, we are too polite to do that. We simply smile. We do not talk about such things. We don’t talk about why we have some trouble opening up to others. We don’t talk about how awkward we feel when our teachers tell us that we are like our parents because of biology. We don’t talk about how it makes us uncomfortable when we are asked to draw family trees, or talk about how our families ended up in America. We don’t talk about how weird it is some mornings to wake up, look in the mirror, expect to see the face of a white girl, and see the face of some Chinese girl. Or when we do, we talk about it as a common experience that we laugh off because we’ve all done it, and because brushing it off is easier than actually talking about what it really makes us feel. We don’t talk about why it still hurts that we have no idea who our birth parents are. Or why we were not good enough for them. We know.
They were poor. The government only allowed a family one child, and they loved us we hope, but we knew they could not afford to pay the fee for another child. They could not afford to pay for a girl, who would be married off and live with her husband’s family and take care of his parents. They needed someone to take care of them; they needed a son. Besides a son is preferable. We know this. But we don’t know what we are supposed to feel. Are we supposed to ignore the face that is Chinese on the outside? Are we supposed to ignore all our ancestors and all the history of our families that we don’t even know? Are we supposed to go back and find them? Are we supposed to go back and try to understand the country that told us we weren’t good enough? Or are we supposed to ignore all of that and start over in this promised land of immigrants? We must do something, because we were given a second chance. We must tell our story, because in this country we can say what needs to be said, even if it is hard. We must accept who we are, because then we can grow, and because in this country, we can be whomever we choose to be. No matter what we do, we will always be China’s Lost Girls.

My diverse cultural group is arguably the oldest in human history: that of the distance runner. Our ancient forebears would chase down antelopes to feed the tribe, giving the best runners an evolutionary advantage. All humans are technically part of this culture, but many have lost the old ways. Those who carry on the tradition run eight, ten, twenty, or more miles, for no reason at all except to feel the joy of being in motion and remember what it felt like to chase antelopes across the savanna.

Currently, I am part of the seemingly "always sick" culture. From the DayQuil keeping us going, to the wastebasket full of tissues. What is considered socially acceptable in this culture is to cough and sneeze into your elbow. Everybody has been part of this culture at one point or another, its contagious. Til the NiQuil knocks you out.

I am a soccer girl, and sufffer from soccer girl problems. The backs of our cars are filled with deflated balls, cleats caked with dirt and split at the seams, and empty water bottles. Turf bits are our potpourri. The biggest tragedies are forgetting your spandex - or worse - when the coach casually mentions to put on your runners. Concussions, ACL tears, and stress fractures are disregarded along with shin splints and turf burn. Ankles are meant to be black and blue. Toe nails are meant to fall off. Ibuprophen becomes our daily vitamin. When asked to hang out or go to dances, more often than not we must reply "i cant, i have soccer." This mantra is learned by all. Christmas lists include Nike ID's, fleeces, a new muscle roller. Trips to Spokane and Portland on the weekend are like trips to the supermarket. And while most prefer a hot steamy bath, we prefer an icy cold one. Practice is always something to complain about, but without it we complain even more. Referees are a joke and are to blame for everything. No matter what. The name "Seattle United" is revered as the Dark Lord. They are Voldemort and we are Harry Potter. THEY MUST BE CONQUERED. Or at the very least, made fun of constantly. "Get on the line" is a death sentence, but most importantly everything is a competition, and you better be keeping score.

I come from a culture mingled with wet grass and dried sand traps, of heavy rain pants and collared shirts. My culture revolves around sincere courtesy, quiet clapping, and careful counting. Like huddling under the opponent's umbrella before the game, or tracking through the muddy hazards during the game, or standing back and watching the rainbow afterwards. In the end, my culture demands dedication through every hole, commitment to drive the ball up the hill, and the willpower to keep moving.

I belong to the culture group of those who are recognized as Hapa. I identify with those who have been called out of place, a minority of minorities. I have roots in China, Taiwan, the Netherlands, and Ireland. I eat a traditional American Thanksgiving meal effortlessly prepared by my Caucasian grandmother, but when Christ comes round I visit several Chinese restaurants all generously provided through my Asian grandfather. Peers have told me I am two halves of a whole, that I cannot truly grasp the cultures that compose me. I sometimes wish that I could just pick a side and stick with it. I belong with those who are familiar with feeling awkward with their White or Asian friends. I am constantly called either White or Asian, and these very different messages tend to confuse me. I wish others could look at me and see that I am a complex person, and that the transformation of these two disparate cultures is a blessing, not a curse. I am not just White or Yellow. I am a Hapa

I come from the land of the geek. We are not accepted by society and do not even fit in with our own social classification. A culture where many relationships end in death on an MMORPG. A society where often times you find us in debate over which robin was the best my personal favorite being jason todd. A plain of existance where the last job completed in the last month was Halo 4 in your parents basement. We do however camp out in front of best buy, fri's electronics or wal mart for the release of a new video game or electronic divice. If you havent heard of us we prefer it that way as an underground society. A group where the only way to prove yourself as one of us would be to name all seven kingdoms of Midle Earth and quote the inscription on the ring in its original old Elvish.

I belong to the German culture. Its a pretty awesome culture in my opinion. I speak the language! Deutsche Muttersprache so to say. Also, I just love that German food. From Jaegerschnitzel to Kirschtorte; I love it all. I have spent more than fourteen years of my life all over Germany; so I think that could relate to me in a way. I toured the Weihnachtsmarkt on Christmas, I ate my Milchreis and Nutella bread for breakfast. Summing up all these things one might argue that I am German and belong to that culture.

I belong to the culture of skiers and snowboarders. I have grown up snowboarding at age ten and I have recently learned how to ski. I love going up to the pass on a crisp morning in a bulky 4-wheel drive. The first run is always intimidating, but after warming up, I feel very confident. I search for the best snow all day and when I think I have found it, I ski it all day long. I enjoy the company of others when I ski, but skiing alone is very quiet and relaxing. This culture is different than any other. There is no competition (unless it’s among friends). Everyone is there to ski and enjoy it. When I am skiing I am always happy and that is the culture I belong to.

my coulture is the group of people known as basketball players. we come in all shapes in sizes, typically tall and thin. we wear basketball shorts and mid or crew cut socks. we love to spend long hours in the gym and putting up shots. our teams are a close knit group of guys and time not spent in the gym we are usually hanging out playing basektball video games and talking about the NBA. basketball is a full time commitment and i play it year around. basketball being an indoor sport can be played anytime of any day. its a fun culture full of hard work

I belong to the culture of dedicated swimmers. Eat. Sleep. Swim. That's our motto. Don't believe it? Don't think it's tough? Nobody else in their right minds would pick this. I mean really, how fun is it to swim back and forth everyday doing killer sets while following a black/blue line on the bottom of the pool. No motivation but to work even harder so you can do a little better in the next meet. The only thing that holds most of us together is how close knit we are. Us swimmers, we have connection with each other like no other. How do we all stand being with one another so often in and out of the pool, whether it be at bonfires, al day sleepovers, or frequent team dinners? We know. We know that we all go through the same pain, we all understand the effort, the stress that we undergo. This family that we have, that's the only thing that gets us through; and we love it.

I'm a city girl; with the culture of bright city lights at night that compete with the stars, and tall buildings that umbrella the whole town with shadows. I come from a culture where before dawn wakes, streets are filled with cars exceeding the speed limit by at least ten plus, and the attempt of getting from point A to point B without spilling your overpriced Starbucks drink is mission impossible. I come from a culture where before dusk breaks, the rush to get home from being imprisoned in a box office is greater than an all-girl middle school being announced that they all have backstage passes to a Justin Bieber concert, or more thrilling than those sleeping over in the parking lot of Mall of America on Black Friday. My culture resembles me, and I resemble those who were born under man-made stars, who first learned to walk across a street after looking both ways, who drank coffee with their cereal instead of milk, and most importantly, those who never gave up on recycling and bettering their environment because they know darn-well that the tall, shadowing buildings aren't doing any justice towards the nature that was there first. I'm a city girl, but I would be more than happy to adopt a country culture.

I belong to a culture of music and jazz. I may not speak the language as well as others, but I still try to embrace the culture. The jazz culture is one of unspoken words and uplifting tunes. We laugh when we hear "the lick" and we may spend our weekends listening or playing at gigs. The music propels us forward, but the community keeps us together.

I am part of a culture that is referred to as skiers. A season that most people see nothing but bitter coldness in, I see a way to escape the city and rip down steep faces of mountains. When the snow starts falling, the season turns from dark to light. This culture is filled with outdoor enthusiasts who know the feeling of blowing down a mountain at above human speeds. Or snow blowing in your face as you push turns. This culture is great to be a part of and I will be a part of it for a life time.

I belong to the culture of overachievers. Not just any type of overachiever, but a pressured to be overachiever. People of my culture all have parents that have face hardships when they were young, and therefore expects their children to become as successful as much as the hardships they have suffered through. We are not only expected to do better than others in both academic and athletic fields, but others also have to fail. A+'s on report cards are considered to be average, but anything lower is absolutely inacceptable. The consequences of getting grades lower than A+ is usually getting all your electronics taken away plus a few additional hours of study everyday. Not to mention sitting through hours of meaningless lectures about grades and college. Being an overachiever sucks.