Me: “Hi! I’m Mei-Jing!”
You: “I’m sorry, can you
say that again?”
Me: “It’s like Beijing
with a ‘m’.”
So how did I end up with
a Chinese name when I was raised in America? The answer is this: when my
parents started my adoption and naming process they wanted me to stay connected
to my cultural roots, but also wanted my name to reflect their values. The intended
meaning of my name was “beautiful essence” and for years my parents have
reminded me that it’s what’s on the inside and not the outside that matters.
But there was a mix up and my Chinese characters, instead, translate as “lush
green grass”! You might laugh now but wait until I explain. In farming
villages, which is where I assume I was born, lush green grass is culturally a
good omen and a symbol of prosperity. Today, all you can see on the outside of
me is an Asian girl who likes math, gets good grades, and enjoys building
robots. Which is correct, but it’s not the complete picture. I’m not fluent in Chinese, I have two
Caucasian moms, and I’m homeschooled. All of these things become evident after
a few minutes of talking to me, but my true essence is hidden deeper still.
When people meet me they
have to look beneath the surface to really get to know me. Not only do I not
fit many of the Asian stereotypes, but I don’t fit the mold of the typical
American teen either. Same for the typical geek. I don’t like shopping or pop
music, I’ve never been to prom, and I love bushwhacking my way through the
woods looking for edible plants. I often notice people making incorrect
assumptions about me and this observation has encouraged me to be more
receptive and to look below the surface of others to get to know them on a
deeper level. If I am a combination of often contradictory traits, I figure
others probably are, too.
When I meet someone new,
I try to look past race, class, reputation, and what someone looks like or what
they are wearing. Instead, I try to find out the raw essence of who a person
is. I want to know what makes them wake up in the morning and what passions
drive them. Too many times we avoid certain people because we have
misconceptions about them. I often wonder if nature lovers look at me differently
when I say that I like the environment and that I like to build robots, too. It
is easy to talk about accepting differences but not so easy to put this into
practice.
Some of my closest
friends are polar opposites of me. While I was at Conserve School last fall I
met Zeki, a practicing Muslim whose religious laws don’t allow him to touch
girls – not even a handshake – and Dexter, a devout Mormon and the eldest of 13
children. Had I been close-minded and immediately dismissed these people
because of my erroneous assumptions about them, I wouldn’t have these special
people in my life today. It is, in fact, this tendency to be open and receptive
to others that I believe is my true essence.
So perhaps the mistake
in my Chinese characters was not a mistake at all. I think that this positive
mindset directly relates to the “lush green grass” meaning. Imagine a giant
field ready for planting in a rural Chinese village. A field is a place for
seeds to sprout and lush green crops to take root. I am like this field: open
to new people, new ideas, and new points of view. I am Mei-Jing Bernard. One foot in Atlanta, Georgia, and the other in a field in Maoming,
China. I am lush green grass. I am beautiful essence.
Why the title you ask? Because I went through a gazillion copies of this. There were so many different permutations of this essay it would take me hours to read through them, but this was what came from the last Word document that I edited. "Me Copy #8" I am Chinese through and through with 8 as my magic number and not 3. My appologies School House Rock and Buffalo Springfield.
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