Empowerly

Student profile

Essay 1

Human skulls are the first decoration your eye catches here. There’s a huge one on the banner on the top of the building, they’re painted in floor to ceiling murals on the jet black walls inside, and small silver and gray ones are placed thoughtfully around the tiny check in area. 

Welcome to Studio V SF, where V stands for villains, not 5, and our actual location is in Redwood City, not San Francisco. But then again, San Francisco sounds much cooler, and we’ve never been one to be typical.

Studio V is a garage-turned-dance studio, and home to my youth hip hop dance team, Young Skull Club, and our overarching adult company, Academy of Villains. Although all the dancers carry themselves extremely professionally within the dance industry, the companies themselves are in no way polished. Self-dubbed the “bad guys” of hip hop, they’re definitely a little rough around the edges, representing more of an underdog, underground style: hard hitting, aggressive, and full of passion. 

It might be strange to think about how I ended up at this crazy place. But I guess the company stuck with me, and it fit, because I saw its values reflected in myself.

I had always felt insecure in my dance ability. I started my dance training extremely late, and I couldn’t help but feel frustration whenever I thought about all years I missed.

Most people start their dance training at the age of 3 or 4. I started in the 8th grade, and had to take a full year off in 9th grade because I broke my foot in the worst way possible after falling in dance class. My doctor told me that I needed surgery to place a long screw through the bone to hold my foot together, and that I would likely never run again, let alone dance again. I felt my life crumbling to pieces right in front of me. 

But after the initial shock and emotion of the diagnosis, I refused to let his words dictate my future. 

I lead the entire spirit week dance committee that year by myself, gigantic cast, crutches and all. Two weeks after my second surgery to remove the screw, I went to the dance audition for my school’s annual musical, and was cast as a dancer shortly thereafter. 

So I guess I liked that little bit of rebellious attitude that came with the Villains, the idea of wanting to prove everyone wrong. 

My first few months on the team were a whirlwind, having never done hip hop before in my life, but still finding myself training among some of the most insane dancers I’d ever seen. I was quickly thrown into my first competition only three months after joining. 

Our director, [name], takes no excuses and no complaining. If you can execute, you get a good set in the set, and if you can’t you won’t. If you’re not pulling your weight, she won’t hesitate to pull you out. But she does so in a way where the “yet” is emphasized. You don’t have the choreo yet. You’re not out of the set completely yet. You’re never made to feel like you can’t do it, but it’s left completely up to you to change her mind. 

Being a member of Young Skull Club is by far one of the hardest things I do. But I come back to practice, again, and again, and again.

Why? Because it’s addicting. The rush from growing, getting better, and constantly learning is something I love. 

And when you don’t know what the choreo is, where you’re supposed to stop and where you’re supposed to flow, the only thing you can do is go off. 

So whether life puts me in the front or in the very back corner, know I’m going to hit it just as hard. 

But I’m still coming for that center spot. 

Essay 2

My birth certificate is full of lies. Technically, the person listed as my mother did not give birth to me. The date April 18th, my legal birthday, is a guess. The time is blank, simply because no one knows. The reasons for these discrepancies, and my resulting insecurities, stem from a single event in my past: I was left as a baby at an orphanage in China. 

Growing up, adopted in the US, I disliked not having an answer to the question, “Where are you from?” It’s always bothered me that I will never look like my parents, and I’ve often wondered if the reason my sister and I don’t have a close relationship is because we’re not biological. 

My friends were well aware of my background (or really, lack thereof) so they gifted me a DNA test. Though they didn't know it, this test gave me a chance to finally gain closure. The results I initially received expressed that I was 54% Chinese, 46% Filipino. Thrilled, I quickly told everyone I knew. A wave of support immediately followed from my Filipino peers as they exclaimed, “I’m so proud you’re one of us!” However, my parents remained less than convinced. My mom began to send me articles that derided the reliability of genetic testing services, as my dad reasoned I looked more like someone from a smaller Asian country that had probably been misidentified as the Philippines. I was angry and frustrated. Suddenly having a culture to connect with and a global community to explore had allowed me to develop a new sense of identity. But as soon as I’d found belonging, my parents were trying to take it away. 

Everything shifted 2 months later when I was emailed a message stating that my results had been changed due to an analysis update: 71% Chinese, 29% Vietnamese. 

The new report hit me hard. Not only was it humiliating that I had put so much faith into incorrect results, but the change was also a direct message that I would likely never know where I “really” came from. The next few weeks were a blur as I slowly came to terms with the fact that I was not going to get the answers I wanted. After a period of reflection struggling over what the test meant to me, I was eventually able to see the results as more of a release from myself. I realized I had been holding myself back by focusing on where I had already been. I decided instead to start looking toward where I wanted to go. 

Because of this, my mentality has transformed, and I feel like I’ve began to discover who I am for the first time through immersing myself in my passions. I chose to enter a speech competition as a junior, encouraging others to question why we’ve allowed societal labels to become so divisive. This year, I refused to let my counselor tell me that the Film and Media class I’ve always wanted to take wouldn’t fit into my schedule. After reaching out to the teacher, asking if there was a way I could learn without being in class full time, I’m an “honorary” crew member, working the live TV broadcasts and prepping during lunch. Lastly, no longer will I be standing on the side during Culture Week: I’m learning tinikling, a Filipino folk dance. 

There’s no way to predict how the internal shift caused by the test will continue to impact me in the future. What I do know, though, is that embracing the freedom in my ambiguity keeps me constantly pushing to be better and always moving forward—even if I’m not quite sure exactly where I am headed yet. 

I still haven’t told anyone about the new results. I don't need to. Although my genetics will always be a part of me, they do not define who I am. I do.