Personal Narrative-Cultural Analysis

Eight lanes, jammed with cars, span five thousand one hundred and eighteen feet. The small rental car we’re in is tainted by the slightly sickening smell of heaps of food that my mom has packed for the nine hour journey from Istanbul to Izmir. I’m surrounded by the sounds of upbeat Turkish pop songs made unfamiliar by my two-year absence. We are on the Bosphorous bridge, connecting Europe and Asia, right in the middle of it. I often find myself stuck: between cultures, between disciplines. This is who I am: always straddling two worlds.

Culturally, being in the middle is a variety of experiences: awkward, happy and even dark.

My first day of kindergarten, I spoke minimal English, and upon entering my classroom, my teacher introduced to me my first task: ordering lunch. I had two choices: pasta or nachos. I obviously wanted pasta, why wouldn’t I? I spent the entire morning fantasizing about my meal. I had never been allowed to have pasta as a meal by itself!

By lunchtime, I simply couldn’t wait. What was presented wasn’t what I expected. Pasta in Turkish means cake, but sitting in front of me was not a rich slice of chocolate cake- but rather a misshapen square of lasagna. To this day, I cringe whenever I hear the word pasta.

Lighter cultural moments have also dotted my life. I get to not only celebrate Thanksgiving, but also Eid. I have the

I understand the importance of social justice and equality. I sign petitions and attend riotous protests encompassing reproductive rights and islamophobia. I spend hours after school sorting through books to gift to children in impoverished areas. I know that there was truly no reason to make someone else 's life difficult in order to make yourself feel better. These moments push me towards believing that everyone deserves the same opportunities. I am highly committed to making sure those around me experience as little adversity as