Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Blog #20: Reflection
I think this blog experience has been pretty fun. It has definitely made me think about who I am writing too, because I can't put things on here that I don't want others to read. Talha's experience has really made me be careful, because even people who I don't intend to read this might. Although other people are reading this blog, it is nice to have a place to write stuff down and figure out things a little better. Sometimes I don't understand what I am thinking until I put it into words, and this is a great place for me to do that. This is something I definitely plan on continuing, because it will help me to clear my mind by writing down some things and give me extra space in my head.
Blog #19: Waking Up
I have a ridiculously hard time waking up in the mornings for class. I don't know what it is, but seven in the morning is the worst time to try to get up. If I have to be up by six or earlier, no problem. Same story if it is ten or later. But those few hours in between are awful. So of course I have class at eight every day, which means trying to get up and get ready before then. I used to wake up to my phone alarm, but then started sleeping through it. So I switched to my alarm clock, and that worked for a while. Then it took both alarms to wake me up. Now I have to use both alarms and put them across the room so I have to get out of bed to turn them off. I guess if it works it's what I should do, but really? It should not be this difficult.
Blog #18: Our Religion
Tonight my roommate and I watched a documentary on the National Geographic Channel about Cain and Able. One of the ideas being presented is that many ancient cultures carry a story similar to the one found in the Bible. Those civilizations that were among the first to write had the oldest records of these writings, so some believe that the Bible was influenced by these ancient civilizations. After a few other points, my roommate pointed out that much of what was being discussed was what we as Mormons already believe, but we understand it on a deeper and more correct level. This lead us to a discussion about how many people say that all the LDS gospel is, is a compilation of bits and pieces of other religions. But actually it is the other way around. So many people and religions have parts of the truth, but they lack the whole picture and all of the different aspects that make our Church complete. We are the only true church of God because we are the only ones with a fulness of knowledge. Other know some, but no other religion has all of the truth. I am extremely grateful for the fact that I do have all the truth in my religion, even if I don't know or understand it all, because this is how I will make sure to keep myself on the right path to return to Heavenly Father again.
Blog #17: Distractions
I have decided that I get distracted way to easily. I try to work on a homework assignment, but I also want to be checking facebook or reading my life is average. Great website by the way. But the problem is that I spend way too much time not doing my homework, so then I am up forever late every night to finish up. I have a roommate who can buckle down and finish his homework so easily. It is rather impressive. I'm sure it's not nearly as fun as doing it my way, but that is probably a good thing. Maybe I just try to have fun while doing homework, and those two things generally are not a good mix. But with the semester winding down and finals looming (I love that word, it sounds so foreboding) I have to learn to focus. We shall see if it actually happens, but I really hope it does. Because I think that being able to study and do well on finals would be tight.
Blog #16: Reflection on Personal Narrative
This was definitely the hardest paper to write all semester. It was a style I have never used before, and one that didn’t come naturally to me. However, I think I learned the most about myself, not only when it comes to English, but as a person. As far as English is concerned, I learned a new way to write, and I think I got the hang of it nicely. Between my rough draft and my final paper, I know I improved a lot. I learned how to adapt to something new, to work on it until I was happy with it, and then to apply it until I had my final product. I honestly think that I did a good job on this paper, and I don’t mean that to sound prideful at all. I am just very happy with how I did. I also learned more about myself. I came to better appreciate all my experiences now that I have had the chance to look back on them. I realized how much I learned from living in Russia, and I have come to realize what a blessing that truly was. I have met many people who do not understand other people, religions, cultures, traditions, and ways of thinking, simply because they have never been exposed to any of them. It makes me sad to realize how blind so many people are. I am so grateful for everything I learned from my time in Russia, and how that has helped me to not only further my own education about the world, but to help others learn more, become more aware, and become more tolerant.
Blog #15: Final Personal Narrative
To Russia and Back
“Family meeting! Everyone come to the family room!”
“Great. Another family meeting. It’s not like any of us actually pay attention.”
I roll my eyes as I drag my feet into the family room. My dad always called these meetings to discuss what was important for all of us to know. Usually that meant talking about what was going to happen in the week, or telling us to stop playing tic-tac-toe on the baby’s diaper, or something like that. To me it was time to see how much I could goof off with my brother Jake before we got in trouble. But my parents were insistent that we have these meetings, so we gathered together distractedly.
“Well kids, your mother and I have been meeting with some leaders of the Church, and now we have permission to tell you that I have been called as a mission president to the Russia, Moscow mission and in June we will be moving to Russia for the next three years.”
I had been lying on the carpet, but before my dad could finish his sentence I was sitting upright. This was kind of a big deal. I had never been to Russia, never even really heard anything about the place, but that was the country I would call home for the three years of my life. Three years was a long time, I had only even been alive for twice that. My parents tried to explain what this calling and this move meant and why it was all happening. I could faintly hear their voices, even though they were talking normally and we were in the same room. I was still dazed by the news, and I turned attention to my own thoughts. My brain was pounding against my skull as I tried to take in this information.
“Russia. Three years. Russia. Three years.”
The next few months were extremely busy, and I felt like my life had become a whirling twister of events. My parents had to pack up everything they needed for themselves and their six kids for the next three years, fly all of us over the ocean to a new country, and live for three years in a foreign place. With the oldest of these kids, my sister Annelise, being nine years old, and the youngest, my little brother McKay, having yet to hit the one year when the call came, this task was extremely difficult. My mom, while recovering from surgery, would slowly make her way around the house, carefully packing the belongings we needed to take with us, wrapping the fragile ones in newspaper and bubble wrap. My dad spoke to us in Russian, trying to give us a head start on learning the language.
“Priviet!” My dad spoke crisply with no trace of an American accent. “That is how you say hi to kids your age. Make sure you roll the r nicely.”
“Priviet!” Somehow I could never make it sound as good as my dad, although I did learn to roll my tongue the right way.
When the time finally came to leave, relatives were sobbing in the airport. Everyone was hugging, talking frantically about how much we were all going to be missed and what a great experience we were about to have. My legs were tired, so I sat in the baby’s car seat waiting to leave. I watched with disgust at all the kissing and the crying. Of course I acted all nice to everyone because my parents were around and I wasn’t going to see these people for three years anyways.
“Can we get on the plane already? I’m tired. This is ridiculous. I swear, if one more aunt tries to kiss me I am going to scream!”
When it finally came time to load the plane I was relieved. I could sit down and finally get moving. Patience has never been my strong point, and moving to a new country definitely would not be something I could wait for well. When we finally got to our seats my brother and I took the two seats by the window. My mom passed around gum for us to chew on so that our ears would pop when the plane took off. I pressed my face to the glass as the plane taxied down the runway and began her ascent. As the ground slowly receded from view, I took my last look at America, the land I would not see again for three years, then turned towards the front of the plane and started playing the games I brought in my carry-on.
I started my elementary school experience in Russia. Day one of first grade. As if the transition to a real school wouldn’t have been hard enough, I was going in without any of my old friends and I knew that I would be alone. My school, the Anglo-American School of Moscow (AAS), was the top international school in the area. The school attended by the children of ambassadors and business men alike. What I saw was a building much bigger than any elementary school I had seen at home, where the tallest was only two floors. Next to this building easily double the size of my old school, I felt myself shrink smaller and smaller, until I was sure I would slip between the cracks in the sidewalk. It didn’t help that I had made us all late either.
“Mom do I have to go to school today? I won’t know anybody! What if I don’t make any new friends?”
“Honey, you are going to love it! Just get in there and make some new friends.”
“Mom I really don’t want to. Please don’t make me go. I don’t want to!”
“Get in there now or I will hold your hand, walk you in, and sit with you the whole time.”
And thus started first grade. I came into my classroom alone after class had already begun, so all eyes were on me. A brilliant way to start off. I looked at all the faces, and I was shocked at what I saw; the skin tones ranged from white like me to very dark brown, with every possible tint in between. I had come from Utah, where everyone I knew was white. I didn’t even know that all these different ethnicities even existed. Russia was a much stranger place than I had imagined.
This initial shock did not last long, however. Although meeting new people of different races and cultures was new to me, it was not frightening. My curiosity was very much aroused, so I set out to make new friends in this new school. One of my first friends was Dylan, the kid I sat next to on my first day of school.
“Hi I’m Spencer. Who are you?”
“My name’s Dylan. I am from India. Where are you from?”
“I am from Orem, Utah, in the United States.”
I soon learned that my classmates were from all over the world including India, China, the United States, the United Kingdom, Egypt, Canada, Pakistan, Korea, and many other places. In fact, throughout all of AAS there were kids from 46 different countries. To me it was a tantalizing blur of colors, cultures, and traditions. Being so young, I really had no trouble adapting to this new situation. In America, all the people I knew were white and Mormon. Here people were Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and many other religions. Most people dressed the way I did, jeans and a t-shirt, but walking the halls of school I passed people wearing strange clothes. One girl wore clothes that wrapped her whole body, a boy wore a strange hat on the back of his head, some girls always kept their heads covered by a shawl.
“Well if that’s what they are supposed to wear, then that’s fine by me. A little weird, but hey that’s their deal.”
My fourth grade year, my last year in Russia, was a time when I learned the most. I had to very good friends, but their backgrounds were quite different from mine. C.J. was a fellow American, but he came from Texas and was a Catholic. Salim was from Egypt, and he was a devout Muslim. To those looking on, this surely was an unlikely trio. Our backgrounds had very little in common. This did not matter to us in the slightest. We were three rowdy young boys who had common interests. We spent our time playing video games, going bowling, playing racquetball, getting into trouble, and doing what normal elementary school kids do. However, there were times when our differences were discussed. One particular instance, we were discussing the idea of Christ and His return to the earth.
“I think that Christ was a good prophet. But He wasn’t a Savior, He didn’t come back from the dead, and He won’t come back to earth,” was Salim’s answer.
C.J. thought that “Christ has already told us when He is coming again. My parents know the exact day He is coming, and I will be ready.”
I told them what I believed, that “no one knows when Christ will come again, but we should be ready for Him whenever He does come.”
As we resumed our games, I thought about how we all think differently. No one of us was exactly the same.
“It would be kind of boring if everyone thought exactly the same. No excitement at all, and no one to talk about different ideas with.”
Three short years after that plane landed in Russia, I planted my feet firmly on American soil, breathed the American air, and basked in the American sunlight. It felt good to be home. However, in talking to my friends, I was alarmed at how little they knew about the world. Telling them my stories over the years often leads them to ask what I found to be obvious questions.
“Why do Indian women put dots on their foreheads?” “Why do Muslims all want to blow up Americans?” “Don’t people dress funny over there?” How could you stand living in such a cold, dirty, poor place?”
I smile as I answer as best I can. These people have never been east of the Mississippi, some never even outside the state of Utah. How are they to know? Over the years my answers have become more and more knowledgeable, as I learn more than I ever knew. Pouring over pages of books, watching news and informational programs, looking at artwork, I try to learn more about these cultures. Not the facts, the information, the statistics. The people I knew who came from these different heritages. I established my global roots eleven years ago. Maybe now I can plant that seed in someone else.
“Family meeting! Everyone come to the family room!”
“Great. Another family meeting. It’s not like any of us actually pay attention.”
I roll my eyes as I drag my feet into the family room. My dad always called these meetings to discuss what was important for all of us to know. Usually that meant talking about what was going to happen in the week, or telling us to stop playing tic-tac-toe on the baby’s diaper, or something like that. To me it was time to see how much I could goof off with my brother Jake before we got in trouble. But my parents were insistent that we have these meetings, so we gathered together distractedly.
“Well kids, your mother and I have been meeting with some leaders of the Church, and now we have permission to tell you that I have been called as a mission president to the Russia, Moscow mission and in June we will be moving to Russia for the next three years.”
I had been lying on the carpet, but before my dad could finish his sentence I was sitting upright. This was kind of a big deal. I had never been to Russia, never even really heard anything about the place, but that was the country I would call home for the three years of my life. Three years was a long time, I had only even been alive for twice that. My parents tried to explain what this calling and this move meant and why it was all happening. I could faintly hear their voices, even though they were talking normally and we were in the same room. I was still dazed by the news, and I turned attention to my own thoughts. My brain was pounding against my skull as I tried to take in this information.
“Russia. Three years. Russia. Three years.”
The next few months were extremely busy, and I felt like my life had become a whirling twister of events. My parents had to pack up everything they needed for themselves and their six kids for the next three years, fly all of us over the ocean to a new country, and live for three years in a foreign place. With the oldest of these kids, my sister Annelise, being nine years old, and the youngest, my little brother McKay, having yet to hit the one year when the call came, this task was extremely difficult. My mom, while recovering from surgery, would slowly make her way around the house, carefully packing the belongings we needed to take with us, wrapping the fragile ones in newspaper and bubble wrap. My dad spoke to us in Russian, trying to give us a head start on learning the language.
“Priviet!” My dad spoke crisply with no trace of an American accent. “That is how you say hi to kids your age. Make sure you roll the r nicely.”
“Priviet!” Somehow I could never make it sound as good as my dad, although I did learn to roll my tongue the right way.
When the time finally came to leave, relatives were sobbing in the airport. Everyone was hugging, talking frantically about how much we were all going to be missed and what a great experience we were about to have. My legs were tired, so I sat in the baby’s car seat waiting to leave. I watched with disgust at all the kissing and the crying. Of course I acted all nice to everyone because my parents were around and I wasn’t going to see these people for three years anyways.
“Can we get on the plane already? I’m tired. This is ridiculous. I swear, if one more aunt tries to kiss me I am going to scream!”
When it finally came time to load the plane I was relieved. I could sit down and finally get moving. Patience has never been my strong point, and moving to a new country definitely would not be something I could wait for well. When we finally got to our seats my brother and I took the two seats by the window. My mom passed around gum for us to chew on so that our ears would pop when the plane took off. I pressed my face to the glass as the plane taxied down the runway and began her ascent. As the ground slowly receded from view, I took my last look at America, the land I would not see again for three years, then turned towards the front of the plane and started playing the games I brought in my carry-on.
I started my elementary school experience in Russia. Day one of first grade. As if the transition to a real school wouldn’t have been hard enough, I was going in without any of my old friends and I knew that I would be alone. My school, the Anglo-American School of Moscow (AAS), was the top international school in the area. The school attended by the children of ambassadors and business men alike. What I saw was a building much bigger than any elementary school I had seen at home, where the tallest was only two floors. Next to this building easily double the size of my old school, I felt myself shrink smaller and smaller, until I was sure I would slip between the cracks in the sidewalk. It didn’t help that I had made us all late either.
“Mom do I have to go to school today? I won’t know anybody! What if I don’t make any new friends?”
“Honey, you are going to love it! Just get in there and make some new friends.”
“Mom I really don’t want to. Please don’t make me go. I don’t want to!”
“Get in there now or I will hold your hand, walk you in, and sit with you the whole time.”
And thus started first grade. I came into my classroom alone after class had already begun, so all eyes were on me. A brilliant way to start off. I looked at all the faces, and I was shocked at what I saw; the skin tones ranged from white like me to very dark brown, with every possible tint in between. I had come from Utah, where everyone I knew was white. I didn’t even know that all these different ethnicities even existed. Russia was a much stranger place than I had imagined.
This initial shock did not last long, however. Although meeting new people of different races and cultures was new to me, it was not frightening. My curiosity was very much aroused, so I set out to make new friends in this new school. One of my first friends was Dylan, the kid I sat next to on my first day of school.
“Hi I’m Spencer. Who are you?”
“My name’s Dylan. I am from India. Where are you from?”
“I am from Orem, Utah, in the United States.”
I soon learned that my classmates were from all over the world including India, China, the United States, the United Kingdom, Egypt, Canada, Pakistan, Korea, and many other places. In fact, throughout all of AAS there were kids from 46 different countries. To me it was a tantalizing blur of colors, cultures, and traditions. Being so young, I really had no trouble adapting to this new situation. In America, all the people I knew were white and Mormon. Here people were Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and many other religions. Most people dressed the way I did, jeans and a t-shirt, but walking the halls of school I passed people wearing strange clothes. One girl wore clothes that wrapped her whole body, a boy wore a strange hat on the back of his head, some girls always kept their heads covered by a shawl.
“Well if that’s what they are supposed to wear, then that’s fine by me. A little weird, but hey that’s their deal.”
My fourth grade year, my last year in Russia, was a time when I learned the most. I had to very good friends, but their backgrounds were quite different from mine. C.J. was a fellow American, but he came from Texas and was a Catholic. Salim was from Egypt, and he was a devout Muslim. To those looking on, this surely was an unlikely trio. Our backgrounds had very little in common. This did not matter to us in the slightest. We were three rowdy young boys who had common interests. We spent our time playing video games, going bowling, playing racquetball, getting into trouble, and doing what normal elementary school kids do. However, there were times when our differences were discussed. One particular instance, we were discussing the idea of Christ and His return to the earth.
“I think that Christ was a good prophet. But He wasn’t a Savior, He didn’t come back from the dead, and He won’t come back to earth,” was Salim’s answer.
C.J. thought that “Christ has already told us when He is coming again. My parents know the exact day He is coming, and I will be ready.”
I told them what I believed, that “no one knows when Christ will come again, but we should be ready for Him whenever He does come.”
As we resumed our games, I thought about how we all think differently. No one of us was exactly the same.
“It would be kind of boring if everyone thought exactly the same. No excitement at all, and no one to talk about different ideas with.”
Three short years after that plane landed in Russia, I planted my feet firmly on American soil, breathed the American air, and basked in the American sunlight. It felt good to be home. However, in talking to my friends, I was alarmed at how little they knew about the world. Telling them my stories over the years often leads them to ask what I found to be obvious questions.
“Why do Indian women put dots on their foreheads?” “Why do Muslims all want to blow up Americans?” “Don’t people dress funny over there?” How could you stand living in such a cold, dirty, poor place?”
I smile as I answer as best I can. These people have never been east of the Mississippi, some never even outside the state of Utah. How are they to know? Over the years my answers have become more and more knowledgeable, as I learn more than I ever knew. Pouring over pages of books, watching news and informational programs, looking at artwork, I try to learn more about these cultures. Not the facts, the information, the statistics. The people I knew who came from these different heritages. I established my global roots eleven years ago. Maybe now I can plant that seed in someone else.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Blog #14: Snow
Argh the snow finally came. I was hoping it would wait until school was out before it had to snow. But of course it decided to come before I wanted it. Actually I really don't want it ever. Snow is great when I want to have a snowball fight or go skiing or something. I even kind of like it when I am inside with hot chocolate and I can look out my window because then it looks awesome. Its when I have to walk around in it that I am not such a fan. But I guess I can be ok with it now, because it means that its almost Christmas.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Blog #13: Christmas Choir Concert
Last night was the first of the three Christmas concerts the BYU choirs are performing. I absolutely love to sing Christmas music, so all the practice and everything has been a lot of fun. One song in particular has really touched me. It is called Crown Him, and it is sung by all the choirs, which includes mens, ladies, concert choir, and university singers. It focuses less on the actual birth of the Savior, and more on who He is for each of us and what He has done for us. My favorite line says "He will come again to earth, every knee shall bow, every tongue confess." While I have read this in the scriptures many times, it never really hit me until now. Christ is our Savior, and while many people in the world try to fight the gospel and deny His existence, He will come to earth again to redeem His people, and when He comes in power and glory there will be no doubt. While this can be a scary thought, the song also teaches us that "He is the bread of life, the bright and morning star, the way, the truth, the life." If we come to Him we have no reason to fear, because through Him we will find eternal life. It is messages like these that make me love Christmas time and Christmas music, because it brings hope and peace to all of us.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Blog #12: Chemistry
So with a big chem test tomorrow, I have been studying hard because I really need to do well. Can I just say that chemistry and I do not got along? For some reason I can never wrap my mind around what we are even talking about. The concepts make sense, but when it comes time to actually using it and figuring out a problem, nothing seems to go right. It is really frustrating! The good news is that this is my last chem class. Hallelujah!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Blog #11: Getting ready for finals
Finals are still two weeks away, but already the stress is starting to kick in. All the little assignments and extra study time are starting to add up. I am really not looking forward to when they actually do hit, because I am sure sleep is going to be even harder to catch than it already is. I guess it is a good thing that I am starting to study now though, because then my cram sessions won't be quite so bad. But still, I can't even imagine how it is going to be later in school or in grad school, when this is the kind of stress I will probably be under all semester. One good thing coming out of all of this is that I am finally learning time management. I guess that when every second counts, you have to learn how not to waste any time. So hopefully that will carry over into next semester because this semester I know I have wasted lots of time. Oh well that's all part of being in college right?
Blog #10: Personal Narrative
To Russia and Back
The wheels set down gently as the plane finished her descent. My heart was beating rapidly as I gathered my carry-on bags and followed my parents through the portal into the airport. At six years old I hardly knew what I was really about to face, but I was nervous and excited. I didn’t fully understand why we had moved. My parents had done their best to explain to me that my dad had been called as a mission president for the church, and that the Lord needed our family to spend the next three years in Russia. I knew it must have been something important, because my parents had meet with Elder Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a few occasions, and even taken me and my siblings along once when they got set apart. Whatever that meant. While the extent of my father’s new calling escaped me, I did know what the immediate effect was for me and my family. My parents had to pack up everything they needed for themselves and their six kids for the next three years, fly all of us over the ocean to a new country, and live for three years in a foreign place. With the oldest of these kids, my sister Annelise, being nine years old, and the youngest, my little brother McKay, having hit the one year mark less than a month previously, this task was extremely difficult. However, the sacrifice became worth it for the entire family. The exposure to different peoples, cultures, races, and traditions proved to be one of the most valuable experiences of my life, something that I still remember fondly despite the general lack of diversity I have encountered since returning to Utah.
I started my elementary school experience in Russia. Day one of first grade. As if the transition to a real school wouldn’t have been hard enough, I was going in without any of my old friends and I knew that I would be alone. My school, the Anglo-American School of Moscow (AAS), was the top international school in the area. The choice school for the children of ambassadors and business men alike. What I saw was a building much bigger than any elementary school I had seen at home, and where I probably would only spend a day or two before I quit for good. It didn’t help that I had made us all late either. I came into my classroom after class had already begun, so all eyes were on me. A brilliant way to start off. I looked at all the faces, and I was shocked at what I saw; the skin tones ranged from white like me to very dark brown, with every possible tint in between. I had come from Utah, where everyone I knew was white. I didn’t even know that all these different ethnicities even existed. Russia was a much stranger place than I had imagined.
This initial shock did not last long, however. Although meeting new people of different races and cultures was new to me, it was not frightening. My curiosity was very much aroused, so I set out to make new friends in this new school. I learned that my classmates were from places such as India, China, the United States, the United Kingdom, Egypt, Canada, Pakistan, Korea, and many other places. In fact, throughout all of AAS there were kids from 46 different countries. To me it was a tantalizing blur of colors, cultures, and traditions. Being so young, I really had no trouble adapting to this new situation. In America, all the people I knew were white and Mormon. Here people were Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and many other religions. And that was fine with me. The idea of discrimination or intolerance never even entered my mind. Each person was a unique puzzle, and I got to learn about each piece that made them who they were.
My fourth grade year, my last year in Russia, was a time when I learned the most. I had to very good friends, but their backgrounds were quite different from mine. C.J. was a fellow American, but he came from Texas and was a Catholic. Salim was from Egypt, and he was a devout Muslim. To those looking on, this surely was an unlikely trio. Our backgrounds had very little in common. This did not matter to us in the slightest. We were three rowdy young boys who had common interests. We spent our time playing video games, going bowling, playing racquetball, getting into trouble, and doing what normal elementary school kids do. However, there were times when our differences were discussed. One particular instance, we were discussing the idea of Christ. Salim did not believe in Christ as a Savior, and did not believe that he would come again. C.J. believed that Christ would return on a specific date, one which he was looking forward to. I had no clue when Christ would come again, and I said so. We accepted that and moved on. An innocent discussion, no more, but this is how I learned about other people. This is how my exposure to other ways of thinking taught me to accept people and their cultures and religions.
When I returned to Utah, I was disappointed in the general religious and ethnic homogeneity I found. I returned to my friends who were all white and Mormon, just like me. It was so boring compared to what I just came from. Even more disappointing was the lack of integration between people who were different from each other. Walking down the halls of any public school I have attended, I would see white kids bunched together, talking and laughing. Across the hall was an almost identical picture, except all these kids were Hispanic. Further down was another cluster, this time the only members were Asian. People simply did not care to put in the time to make relations with people who were different. Unfortunately, this callous attitude is what I have seen reflected in many Americans since then.
The news flashes another story of a bombing in the Middle East, no doubt a Muslim extremist set out to kill all Americans, which is the final goal of Islam. Thank you news anchor for once again not having a clue what you are talking about. I have met Muslim people, I know what they are like, and I know enough about their religion to know that killing Americans is not part of it. And yet, what is common knowledge to me is information that some do not know or will not hear. Because sure enough, within the next week the news is playing a story of the retaliation of Americans against innocent Muslims in America. Such blind animosity and prejudice is all too common, because people simply do not know. Hate crimes, discrimination, and all racial, ethnic, or religious tensions, are brought about because people do not have exposure to what is different from them, and they do not seek it. The knowledge I gained in Russia has been extremely valuable, because it was shown to me that people everywhere are the same, just with variations. The diversity I immersed myself in has been a saving grace in a world so full of blindness and ignorance.
The wheels set down gently as the plane finished her descent. My heart was beating rapidly as I gathered my carry-on bags and followed my parents through the portal into the airport. At six years old I hardly knew what I was really about to face, but I was nervous and excited. I didn’t fully understand why we had moved. My parents had done their best to explain to me that my dad had been called as a mission president for the church, and that the Lord needed our family to spend the next three years in Russia. I knew it must have been something important, because my parents had meet with Elder Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a few occasions, and even taken me and my siblings along once when they got set apart. Whatever that meant. While the extent of my father’s new calling escaped me, I did know what the immediate effect was for me and my family. My parents had to pack up everything they needed for themselves and their six kids for the next three years, fly all of us over the ocean to a new country, and live for three years in a foreign place. With the oldest of these kids, my sister Annelise, being nine years old, and the youngest, my little brother McKay, having hit the one year mark less than a month previously, this task was extremely difficult. However, the sacrifice became worth it for the entire family. The exposure to different peoples, cultures, races, and traditions proved to be one of the most valuable experiences of my life, something that I still remember fondly despite the general lack of diversity I have encountered since returning to Utah.
I started my elementary school experience in Russia. Day one of first grade. As if the transition to a real school wouldn’t have been hard enough, I was going in without any of my old friends and I knew that I would be alone. My school, the Anglo-American School of Moscow (AAS), was the top international school in the area. The choice school for the children of ambassadors and business men alike. What I saw was a building much bigger than any elementary school I had seen at home, and where I probably would only spend a day or two before I quit for good. It didn’t help that I had made us all late either. I came into my classroom after class had already begun, so all eyes were on me. A brilliant way to start off. I looked at all the faces, and I was shocked at what I saw; the skin tones ranged from white like me to very dark brown, with every possible tint in between. I had come from Utah, where everyone I knew was white. I didn’t even know that all these different ethnicities even existed. Russia was a much stranger place than I had imagined.
This initial shock did not last long, however. Although meeting new people of different races and cultures was new to me, it was not frightening. My curiosity was very much aroused, so I set out to make new friends in this new school. I learned that my classmates were from places such as India, China, the United States, the United Kingdom, Egypt, Canada, Pakistan, Korea, and many other places. In fact, throughout all of AAS there were kids from 46 different countries. To me it was a tantalizing blur of colors, cultures, and traditions. Being so young, I really had no trouble adapting to this new situation. In America, all the people I knew were white and Mormon. Here people were Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and many other religions. And that was fine with me. The idea of discrimination or intolerance never even entered my mind. Each person was a unique puzzle, and I got to learn about each piece that made them who they were.
My fourth grade year, my last year in Russia, was a time when I learned the most. I had to very good friends, but their backgrounds were quite different from mine. C.J. was a fellow American, but he came from Texas and was a Catholic. Salim was from Egypt, and he was a devout Muslim. To those looking on, this surely was an unlikely trio. Our backgrounds had very little in common. This did not matter to us in the slightest. We were three rowdy young boys who had common interests. We spent our time playing video games, going bowling, playing racquetball, getting into trouble, and doing what normal elementary school kids do. However, there were times when our differences were discussed. One particular instance, we were discussing the idea of Christ. Salim did not believe in Christ as a Savior, and did not believe that he would come again. C.J. believed that Christ would return on a specific date, one which he was looking forward to. I had no clue when Christ would come again, and I said so. We accepted that and moved on. An innocent discussion, no more, but this is how I learned about other people. This is how my exposure to other ways of thinking taught me to accept people and their cultures and religions.
When I returned to Utah, I was disappointed in the general religious and ethnic homogeneity I found. I returned to my friends who were all white and Mormon, just like me. It was so boring compared to what I just came from. Even more disappointing was the lack of integration between people who were different from each other. Walking down the halls of any public school I have attended, I would see white kids bunched together, talking and laughing. Across the hall was an almost identical picture, except all these kids were Hispanic. Further down was another cluster, this time the only members were Asian. People simply did not care to put in the time to make relations with people who were different. Unfortunately, this callous attitude is what I have seen reflected in many Americans since then.
The news flashes another story of a bombing in the Middle East, no doubt a Muslim extremist set out to kill all Americans, which is the final goal of Islam. Thank you news anchor for once again not having a clue what you are talking about. I have met Muslim people, I know what they are like, and I know enough about their religion to know that killing Americans is not part of it. And yet, what is common knowledge to me is information that some do not know or will not hear. Because sure enough, within the next week the news is playing a story of the retaliation of Americans against innocent Muslims in America. Such blind animosity and prejudice is all too common, because people simply do not know. Hate crimes, discrimination, and all racial, ethnic, or religious tensions, are brought about because people do not have exposure to what is different from them, and they do not seek it. The knowledge I gained in Russia has been extremely valuable, because it was shown to me that people everywhere are the same, just with variations. The diversity I immersed myself in has been a saving grace in a world so full of blindness and ignorance.
Blog #9: Writing a Personal Narrative
When I was trying to write my personal narrative for English class, I used Russia which has always been my fallback for something interesting or exciting. This may have been unique, however, because it really made me stop and think about the differences between how I live here and how I lived there. I have come to appreciate Russia even more after thinking so hard about what it was actually like to live there. Even though I was pretty young, I still remember quite a lot, and it is something that I will always love and remember. Hopefully the personal narrative can portray that, even though this is absolutely not my favorite writing style.
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