Cecilia Cheng
|
Personal Narrative
“Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped in a hole. Popped out on the other side strong and beautiful.” That is how I learned to tie my shoes back in second grade. My feet had gotten too big for Velcro shoes and my grandmother said that it was time for my first pair of big girl shoes. I vividly remember her going to the storage containers below my bed and pulling out a small cardboard box, so dusty it made her and I both sneeze. They were my dad’s old Nike Air Force 1s, ones that were yellowing so much that I thought I asked her if they were banana colored.
I eventually got my own fresh pair of AF1s in seventh grade. However, five years later, now as a senior in high school, I still wear the same pair of AF1s. They are, of course, yellowing, have a hole in the midsole, and are so worn out that my 10th-grade English teacher made a joke about them once. But no matter how dirty and yellow these Air Force's get, I refuse to throw them out and get a new pair. I believe shoes hold memories and stories that you can’t relive. Only ones that you can remember.
I own three pairs of shoes: grey hand-me-down Crocs from my mother, black Old Skool Vans, and my classic AF1s.
My Crocs. These are my work shoes; shoes I wear to my parent’s Chinese restaurant every day. I hated them for the longest time. They were "crusty,” dirty, and overall just not my style. But every time I put them on, I am reminded of my eight-year-old self.
I moved to the United States when I was seven and a half; I had lived with my grandparents in Hong Kong up until then. When I enrolled in school here, I was immediately put in English Language Learner (ELL) classes. My teacher told me to do one thing: to read more. Unfortunately, my parents did not have the resources to go buy me a new book every week. So, every Sunday, I put on my mom’s grey Crocs – ones three sizes too big – and ran down to the rusting news rack to pick up a copy of the Tampa Bay Times. Besides learning how to read from movie reviews and dog ads, this was when my interest in journalism sparked. As I became more fluent in English, I loved reading the variety of stories in these print issues and loved how they were able to inform an elementary school student so much about current events.
My Vans. I thrifted these at Goodwill the day before my first day of sophomore year. They were the pair of shoes I wore walking into Room 112 – our then-journalism classroom. I had spent my entire freshman year online due to COVID-19 and as I read my schedule on the neon orange paper, I was stoked to see “Journalism 2” written as my first class of the day. Scared and shy were two words my friends would use to describe me then, however, I immediately felt comfortable as I stepped inside the newsroom. With my mask on, I sat next to a blonde girl I went to middle school with – a familiar face I hadn’t seen since Mar.13, 2020. And the rest was history. Although that room is now demolished due to recent construction at our school, every time I walk into my journalism classroom, I feel a sense of purpose. I know I am able to amplify voices by telling the stories of underrepresented individuals; I have found my passion.
My Air Force's. Shoes that never go out of style. My favorite pair of shoes. These shoes go everywhere I go, from bike rides with friends to FSPA and NSPA conventions. If one pair of shoes were to represent who I am as an individual, it would be these. They hold the most important memories and stories out of all three pairs.
It is the middle of January of my junior year. As I pulled out my phone to check Instagram, I saw a post from the Washington Post that AP African American Studies has been banned in Florida. Shocked, I began to ask my peers around me, only soon to find out that it really was true. After doing much research, I decided to cover the story in newspaper. Squeak, Squeak, Squeak, went my Air Force's as I dragged my feet into different classrooms, searching for people I could interview. I was mortified, I feared that my questions or the topic would be too sensitive as the government was actively trying to suppress our voices. However, all the individuals I interviewed allowed me to look at the topic from a new point of view and learn things that could never been found in a Google Search. It is moments like this that inspire me to pursue Journalism as a future profession; our words have the power to expose the truth.
Although all these different pairs of shoes hold a different journalistic memory, they all have one thing in common: empowerment through storytelling. From learning how to read and write in English to interviewing my teachers and peers about controversial topics, journalism has taught me how to widen my perspective of the world as well as follow my passion and become my true authentic self. As I put on my Air Force's once more, I hope gain new perspectives about our world and look at it from a new position each time; I wish to use my storytelling skills to create a greater change in my community.
I eventually got my own fresh pair of AF1s in seventh grade. However, five years later, now as a senior in high school, I still wear the same pair of AF1s. They are, of course, yellowing, have a hole in the midsole, and are so worn out that my 10th-grade English teacher made a joke about them once. But no matter how dirty and yellow these Air Force's get, I refuse to throw them out and get a new pair. I believe shoes hold memories and stories that you can’t relive. Only ones that you can remember.
I own three pairs of shoes: grey hand-me-down Crocs from my mother, black Old Skool Vans, and my classic AF1s.
My Crocs. These are my work shoes; shoes I wear to my parent’s Chinese restaurant every day. I hated them for the longest time. They were "crusty,” dirty, and overall just not my style. But every time I put them on, I am reminded of my eight-year-old self.
I moved to the United States when I was seven and a half; I had lived with my grandparents in Hong Kong up until then. When I enrolled in school here, I was immediately put in English Language Learner (ELL) classes. My teacher told me to do one thing: to read more. Unfortunately, my parents did not have the resources to go buy me a new book every week. So, every Sunday, I put on my mom’s grey Crocs – ones three sizes too big – and ran down to the rusting news rack to pick up a copy of the Tampa Bay Times. Besides learning how to read from movie reviews and dog ads, this was when my interest in journalism sparked. As I became more fluent in English, I loved reading the variety of stories in these print issues and loved how they were able to inform an elementary school student so much about current events.
My Vans. I thrifted these at Goodwill the day before my first day of sophomore year. They were the pair of shoes I wore walking into Room 112 – our then-journalism classroom. I had spent my entire freshman year online due to COVID-19 and as I read my schedule on the neon orange paper, I was stoked to see “Journalism 2” written as my first class of the day. Scared and shy were two words my friends would use to describe me then, however, I immediately felt comfortable as I stepped inside the newsroom. With my mask on, I sat next to a blonde girl I went to middle school with – a familiar face I hadn’t seen since Mar.13, 2020. And the rest was history. Although that room is now demolished due to recent construction at our school, every time I walk into my journalism classroom, I feel a sense of purpose. I know I am able to amplify voices by telling the stories of underrepresented individuals; I have found my passion.
My Air Force's. Shoes that never go out of style. My favorite pair of shoes. These shoes go everywhere I go, from bike rides with friends to FSPA and NSPA conventions. If one pair of shoes were to represent who I am as an individual, it would be these. They hold the most important memories and stories out of all three pairs.
It is the middle of January of my junior year. As I pulled out my phone to check Instagram, I saw a post from the Washington Post that AP African American Studies has been banned in Florida. Shocked, I began to ask my peers around me, only soon to find out that it really was true. After doing much research, I decided to cover the story in newspaper. Squeak, Squeak, Squeak, went my Air Force's as I dragged my feet into different classrooms, searching for people I could interview. I was mortified, I feared that my questions or the topic would be too sensitive as the government was actively trying to suppress our voices. However, all the individuals I interviewed allowed me to look at the topic from a new point of view and learn things that could never been found in a Google Search. It is moments like this that inspire me to pursue Journalism as a future profession; our words have the power to expose the truth.
Although all these different pairs of shoes hold a different journalistic memory, they all have one thing in common: empowerment through storytelling. From learning how to read and write in English to interviewing my teachers and peers about controversial topics, journalism has taught me how to widen my perspective of the world as well as follow my passion and become my true authentic self. As I put on my Air Force's once more, I hope gain new perspectives about our world and look at it from a new position each time; I wish to use my storytelling skills to create a greater change in my community.