Opinion
Opinion editorials, reviews and personal essays
By Kenneth Shu
Over the past few weeks, lunch lines have seemingly gotten longer and longer. More so than often, many of us find ourselves waiting in line for more than 20 minutes just to obtain our food. It wasn’t like this before. It was much more manageable then; we weren’t spending a third of lunch waiting to get lunch. So what happened? Why have the lunch lines gotten longer? It’s because of one thing. The freshmen. As part of Dr. Lee’s emphasis on building communalism, the administration chose to incorporate the freshman into the high school cafeteria, rather than the elementary cafeteria they were previously assigned in. As result, a logistical nightmare was born. The high school cafeteria, before the freshmen invasion, could barely sustain all the upperclassmen combined. With this new addition of some 100 to 150 people—which doubled the cafeteria occupancy—came an issue of space and distribution. Like the issue of overpopulation, it all boils down to a discussion of sustainability. Can the high school cafeteria sustain the freshmen, or can it not? To understand the question we must consider this in three perspectives, one of the upperclassmen, one of the other of the freshmen, and that of the administration. For the upperclassmen it is all about a matter of convenience. Most of us just want our food and peace during the meager few minutes allotted to us during lunch, so standing in excruciatingly long lines or having to find new spaces to sit isn’t that far from our list of dreadful irritants. For the freshmen, it is all about status. Being in the high school cafeteria gives them a sense of maturity and distinction--that they are no longer a group of isolated juveniles. To them it is a sense of gratuitous validation to be in the high school cafeteria, and to dine with the rest of the high school. For the administration, the entire question rests on the notion of building communalism. In a general sense, combining high school into a single cafeteria seems to achieve this. Yet conflict has seemingly arose due to the prolonged difficulties of this decision. Whether that conflict promotes factionalism and hostilities between the freshmen and upperclassmen, or unifies them in a single growing contempt against the administration, is still an ambiguous question. So thereby exists a conundrum. Should communalism and validation triumph over convenience and efficiency, or vice versa? Evaluating the situation in materialistic sense, it appears so that reverting back to the previous status quo is beneficial to all groups as everyone gets enjoy their lunch conveniently, and administration receives less criticism from inconvenience that is caused. However with an idealistic approach, it stands that the emasculating notion of being contained in the elementary cafeteria for the freshmen, and the reduced sense of communalism, could be a bit cumbersome on its own. Whether such notions change will largely depend on any future events that may alter such a conviction. But as of yet the lines still remain long, and many groups are still displeased with this unexpected inconvenience. Editor's Note: The opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not reflect the view of Pudong Press.
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By Amy Yang
Membership into the National Honor Society is an honor. The Faculty Council is charged with selecting students who have outstanding achievement in the four pillars: Leadership, Scholarship, Service, and Character. In order to help the faculty council better understand the strengths of your candidacy, write a short essay addressing how you fit the ideals of NHS. Let me begin by addressing my achievements in the pillar of scholarship. I am very smart, smarter than almost everyone else in my grade; that’s why I belong in NHS. I also work very hard. I have a 4.0. Some people ask me, why do you work so hard? Well, I enjoy smiling smugly when I tell people that I have a 4.0, like I am doing right now. Scholarship is very important to me, but my outstanding achievements don’t stop there. Did I mention that I’m in nine clubs and a sports team? I am an exec for five of them, too. Look at this, I am pure leadership material. Everyone wants me to lead (that is, until I got elected and stopped being responsible). But it’s the title that matters, right? It’s fine to ditch a meeting or two here and there... or all of the meetings... As long as I don’t lose my position, I can still reference them when I talk about what a great leader I am. On the downside, you probably haven’t heard of any of these clubs because they are practically nonexistent—except on my resume. Of my nine clubs, most of them are service-related because I’m a selfless altruist. (Look at my use of the word “altruist;” it’s proof of my outstanding scholarship.) This aspect of my character makes me fit the NHS ideal of service. I am joining NHS out of my love of serving others. It means nothing to me that NHS is a prestigious-sounding club that looks terrific on my college apps. I’m not sure what NHS does, but you should admit me because I love to serve. You may also notice that I am very ambitious from my outstanding achievements in scholarship and leadership. One day, I want to graduate from a top-notch college, earn lots of money, and spend my days climbing the corporate ladder. NHS’s structure echoes my elitist values, and joining this organization is my first noble step in life. Thank you for considering me as an applicant. After you have read this application, I am sure you have realized that it is not I who need you, but it is you who need me. Editor's Note: This satirical piece was written in response to the essay question for NHS applications in the 2016-2017 school year. The opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not reflect the view of Pudong Press. By Grace Deng
From January 19 to 26th, SAS PD National Arts Honor Society (NAHS) hosted an event called “Teacher For A Day,” where NAHS members taught an art lesson for a group of SAS PD 4th graders. As a newly initiated NAHS member, I had the opportunity to participate in this annual event for the first time. Members were divided into several groups. Each group created their own art lesson to teach the 4th graders. My group decided on a lesson about batik art- we used white oil pastels and watercolor to teach the 4th graders about how oil and water don’t mix. It was also a lesson on negative and positive space, as well as the large array of watercolor techniques possible. Lesson planning is much harder than it would seem! We had to create a prototype to show the 4th graders what a finished product would look like, research batik art, order the materials needed on TaoBao, and actually plan- step by step- the lesson we were teaching! Our plan was rejected several times by Ms. Moore because it wasn’t specific enough. After a stressful after school planning session, we were able to turn in our complete lesson plan just before the deadline. Due to a scheduling conflict, I was not able to attend the first lesson in my group. However, on Monday, January 23rd, I reported to Ms. Moore’s room at 8 AM sharp in preparation for the lesson. At 8:45 AM, we headed down to the elementary school to teach the 4th graders. Upon arrival, we quickly set up the materials and the 4th graders arrived. Since the first lesson had already happened, the 4th graders were ready to continue working on their projects after only a quick briefing. Eager and enthusiastic, the kids painted their watercolor paper with the kind of earnest excitement that only an elementary school kid could have about a school project. There really wasn’t much for us to do- the 4th graders had it covered! Once we cleaned up, the students left and we were left to bring the leftover materials back to the high school art room. Leaving the elementary school almost felt like coming back to reality. Gone were the miniature furniture and art covered walls, leaving me staring at the cold metal lockers and dark hallways of the high school building. This experience was much more fun then I was expecting. Although we only taught for a day, I have a greater appreciation of my teachers and their job. If planning an art lesson once for a couple of 4th graders was hard, I can only imagine what planning lessons every day for weeks on end is like. On a final note, I would like to thank the 4th grade teachers and students we interacted with during this event. I look forward to NAHS’ next Teacher For A Day event! By Katrina Cherk Dreaming of owning my own fashion line, I registered for AP Economics, hoping that it will instill some business sense in me. After two months in the course, I was stuck with an F. As if this wasn’t enough, my math course also slapped me in the face with a flunking grade. It was October and I had 2 F’s. When I came out of my counselor’s office, I was drowning in news that didn’t make my day any brighter. Holding a sheet with “Course Drop Form” printed at the top, I felt conflicted. One factor that prevented me from dropping the course was pressure. I didn’t want to let my teacher or my classmates down. I especially did not want to confirm the doubts my father showed about my course selection: “Are you sure you want to take this course? Okay. Just know that you may be immensely challenged.” Though I handed back the form, unsigned, the devastation within me began to grow. I was sinking into despair. The looks on my Asian parents’ face didn’t make me feel any better. Forced out of my math class with a standing F for three whole months, many nights I prayed that days would get better. Comparing myself to other classmates would make my eyes droop even lower than it already was, so I forbade myself to think like that. Homework piled, and when I was about to crack, I felt the waters beneath me rise. D- was my first semester grade in AP Economics. I was at least treading water. Through constant pestering and guidance from my parents and teacher, perusing the textbook daily, answering practice questions online, and working through extra practice tests, I worked my way up. I realized that it was my struggle to learn equations and theories that made me fail in the beginning months. I was having one of my toughest battles, trying my hardest to comprehend the more “logical” side of the world with my abstract and artistic brain. Though I did not soar as high as others and stumbled from time to time, I slowly struggled upwards. As I reached higher and higher, a smile not only showed on my face, but on the faces of those who helped me. By Amy Yang
Last Sunday, while I took a break from AP Econ reading, I laid out an outfit to start the new week off with. I don’t usually do this; organization is only necessary when I want to wear something complex (in this case, sweater cardigan, shirt, skirt, and knee-high socks). But when I loaded the Schoology home page later, I saw the Student Council announcement: it’s Spirit Week. Begrudgingly, I considered putting all of it away, and going with the easy outfit suggested by StuCo: pajamas. School Spirit is important, right? I should at least make an effort. I care about SAS. In past years, I mostly followed along with Spirit Week because dressing up in strange outfits seemed like a fun thing to do. Yet when I looked at my skirt that’s laid over my chair, and at my pajamas sitting on my bed, I found it hard to see how choosing one outfit over another benefits the school. As someone who has never went to school in the US, the idea of Spirit Week was actually quite foreign to me when I came to SAS in eighth grade. In my first year here, I staunchly resisted any opportunity to show spirit—mostly because I didn’t want to transfer to SAS. Since then, I have changed a lot, and have grown fond of this community. It played a big role in shaping who I am. I’d love to show my appreciation—but is wearing pajamas really the way to do it? As someone prone to overthinking—after all, the unexamined life is not worth living—I decided to examine the concept of School Spirit. Wikipedia isn’t much help. Its definition reads quite vaguely: “school spirit is emotional support for one's educational institution.” (The sidebar shows a photo of cheerleaders and the caption: “Cheerleaders are an important[citation needed] part of the expression of school spirit.”) I do emotionally support SAS—but is that all there is to School Spirit? Another description lies in the description of the SAS Senior Awards in the Student Handbook. With the scholarship of $1000, “The SAS Pudong Spirit Award is presented to a Senior who has demonstrated through his/her extra-curricular activities an attitude of enthusiasm and support for the greater good of the school body.” (“The greater good” is ambiguous; I assume that it means the good of the entire student body in contrast to the good of oneself.) Ironically, nowhere in the award description is school spirit events mentioned. According to the handbook, spirit is showed through the “participation in or attendance at a wide variety of sports and fine arts events.” I don’t entirely agree with this definition—watching sports and practicing arts don’t necessarily contribute to the good of the entire student body. By no means do I oppose Spirit Week. Themed dress-up days sound fun. It shows unity and creativity of students. How does it bring good to the student body? Spirit Week takes something profound and dumbs it down to wearing pajamas, like measuring love by counting the number of flowers one sends. Flowers are nice, but they are, after all, superficial. We should recognize that Spirit Week is not a real measurement of each student’s contribution to the school. How should we measure school spirit, then? Actions speak louder than words. “Participation in or attendance at a wide variety of sports and fine arts events” is one way to show spirit, but I think it goes beyond that. School honor seems to be a big deal here, but when I brought home APAC trophies with the table tennis team, I could not see how that was for the “greater good of the school body” rather than a temporary glory of the team. Instead, “enthusiasm and support for the greater good of the student body” brings to my mind the students who went out of their way to improve the school. I think of the students who founded a club to teach our faculty Mandarin to get around Shanghai. Yichen, who volunteered to create a club matrix for every club’s benefit. Last year’s StuCo execs, who transformed the organization’s role into something more meaningful. The first step to celebrating school spirit is recognizing what it is. The above is merely an incomplete list of what I think embodies school spirit—it is way more than screaming and cheering during sports and spirit events. I have no qualms about not dressing up for spirit week, because I know that’s not what really matters. I do hope that one day, Spirit Week at least attempts to honor those who bring good to the school. By Prashanth Ramakrishna
We’ve reached that sacred, semi-annual occasion once again: Finals. For almost all of us, finals are important. They can bump our grades up to an 89.5% or, even better, up to a 92.5%. But, just as easily, they can drop us five percent, destroying all our hard work for the past three months. So, it wouldn’t be remiss to say that with finals approaching in less than two weeks, many of us are beginning to stress. For seniors, however, these finals hold more than just mere doses of concentrated anxiety. They represent a series of dualities of heightened emotion: dread and euphoria, horrifying anxiety and excitement, hatred and odd sentimentality. This set of finals will be our last chance to raise our GPAs before applying to university. But, at the same time, this will be our final final exams at the Shanghai American School. It’s bittersweet, with a whole lot of pressure tossed into the mixer and a sprinkle of looming nostalgia. I say bitter, because “who likes finals?”; sweet, because we’ll never have to sit through perhaps the most arbitrary measure of intelligence that has ever existed; pressure-filled because of college; and nostalgic because even though finals suck, deep down, we’re all a bit sad that high school is coming to an end. Converging with mid-December exams is the first dreaded “Decision Day,” more affectionately known as “D-day” for those who applied “early” to university. Because of this, senior conversation over the past two weeks has been less about finals and more about getting accepted into college. College is a disease at SAS, a disease that lasts from freshman year until senior year, and worsens with time. By first semester of senior year, students are obsessed. Students underhandedly compete with one another by comparing GPA’s, test scores, and extra curricular activities. I am not exempt. I am guilty as well. Perpetuating this college crazed culture, are teachers, who after four years of watching seniors from uncertain freshmen into near adults, I would argue, are equally if not more interested in who’s applying where and who will be accepted where. For many of us, the worry of D-day has invaded our dreams, laid siege to our study time, and left us in tears. “I have nightmares that I won’t be accepted anywhere. It’s a legitimate concern. I’m actually afraid. What happens if no school wants me?” lamented senior Brian Saldana over lunch. Saldana, applying early to Harvard, suffers from the same malady that my sister did when she was applying. My sister would wake up in the middle of the night, crying in worry that she wouldn’t get in anywhere except for community college. Despite her incredible credentials, the stress of college admissions made her doubt herself. My sister ended up attending Duke University. Senior Allison Fu expressed similar concerns. “Deep down, I know that the chances of acceptance are slim, but somehow I’m still banking on getting in. That’s going to make the rejection so much worse – that I was expecting an acceptance. I’m definitely going to cry if I don’t get accepted.” said Fu who is applying early to Stanford. This anxiety about early decision college acceptances and the effect of final exams on college admissions translates to a heightening of the most feared affliction of students: senioritis. After semester exams, when everything that could possibly affect our chances of acceptance has been tied up neatly in a bow and sent off to universities, we will have absolutely no reason to continue consciously striving for academic excellence. All we need to make sure of is that we don’t fall so far beneath our standards that our college acceptances are rescinded. According to senior Samson Wang, “Second semester is going to be smooth sailing. I’m going to be at school, but I’m not really going to be at school, if you know what I mean.” This is more than just to say that kids are stressed about college and finals, and that senioritis is a thing. Why are these all true? And, why are they true to such an unhealthy extent? Because the Shanghai American School perpetuates a culture of college obsession. We are driven to take AP and IB courses because they look good on our transcript, those same AP and IB courses are taught to the test because good scores help college admissions, success is measured by GPA, and getting into college is put on a pedestal as the sole purpose of highschool. Because of all of this, once college decisions are out and the “purpose” of highschool fulfilled, students no longer feel compelled to work, at least not with the same rigor and conviction as they did before. Last week, I was speaking with a few friends of mine about the ridiculous amount of work we have as homework compounds with finals, which are both compounded by college applications. We agreed that school shouldn’t be so miserable. Learning shouldn’t be so miserable. We felt as though the past four years had been nothing but a means to an end. We were all just biding our time, biting our toungues and waiting to get out. It shouldn’t be that way. School should be fun, learning should be fulfilling and college should be all but an afterthought. College is just the next step, not the end game. It’s the responsibility of the Shanghai American School to help its students understand that. |
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October 2018
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