Growth
By Pagbatso (Cindy)
Pagbatso is from Gannan Autonomous Tibetan prefecture, Gansu Province, China. She graduated in 2005 with an Associated degree in English from Qinghai Normal University Nationalities Department's English Training Program. She is now pursuing a Bachelor's degree at Reed College in Portland, Oregon.
Childhood before attending school
There are four people in my family; my father, mother, younger sister and me. I'm six years old and my sister is still in bed. She is too young to walk and play. We have two neighbors. They are my two maternal uncles. The place where we live is beautiful grassland at the bottom of a short hill. A river flows before our tents. My father doesn't want to be a nomad, he wants to sell all our livestock, do business and live in the town, but all the relatives including, Mother, don't agree. “You will not have a good life, if you sell the livestock” is what they say to my Father. Still, he doesn't like to herd yaks and often goes to town and doesn't return for several days. Then, my two uncles must help Mother. She has to get up very early in the morning to milk, collect fuel, make breakfast, take care of my sister and herd. She is busy all day.
I saw her crying several times, but I don't know why. Probably, it is all too much for her to handle. I want to grow up quickly and help Mother. Sometimes I even hate Father a little. But this idea disappears when I think of Father bringing me gifts when he returns from the town.
I am still in my bed. It is early morning I turn to look at Mother and my sister's bed. I can see my little sister sleeping soundlessly, wrapped in a quilt. Mother is gone. Hearing the yaks moaning, I look at the adobe stove in the middle of the tent. There is no fire. Then I pull up my quilt (mother's old robe) and begin to wonder what Father is doing in town. Does he really have something important to do there? Are all men like that? Then why not my two dear uncles? I can't figure it out. I got outside to pee.
Summer mornings on the grassland are indescribably beautiful, giving a vibrant feeling of aliveness. There is still fog atop the mountains in the distance.
I see Mother milking. I go to her side and ask, “Are you nearly finished?”
“Yes, go back and sleep. I'll call you when breakfast is ready,” she answers with a smile.
“I want to herd yaks with you instead of herding calves,” I say impulsively.
“Don't be silly. Why?” She asks in surprise.
I want to say, “I want to help you,” but I swallow these words and go back to bed. Burying my head under the quilt, I have no idea what's going on in my mind. One thing is clear-I want to grow up. I want to be able to share Mother's happiness and sadness.
I hear footsteps approaching. I pretend to sleep. Mother is doing all the chores, as is her routine. I wonder what adults think about. After a while I hear tea boiling and the fire crackling. A bit later, Mother calls me to get up. By the time the sun rises from the distant mountains our yaks are already up in the mountains. The calves are left, tied to pegs in the pen we have. The breakfast is tsamba as usual. After breakfast Mother gives me a fist- size ball of tsamba , to eat if I get hungry while herding. She also hands me a folded plastic sheet in case of unpredictable rain. Instead of taking it I complain, “ Isn't it going to be sunny?”
“No, I don't think so, she says. “I saw rosy clouds this morning, which predict rain. And weather is changeable, especially in summer,” she adds.
Leaving me no peace until I consent, I take it reluctantly and put it with the tsamba ball in the bosom of my robe.
` Mother sets the calves free and helps me to drive my family's calves into the little herd of calves from my two uncles' families. Then I drive the calves with my two cousins onto the small hill behind our tents. We eat what we have as soon as we get our destination so we are hungry in the afternoon.
It is not very difficult to herd calves since some of the older calves are tied together by their front legs in pairs. Still it is not an easy job. The calves run and we have difficulty catching them. Compared to herding them in the afternoons, it is much easier to herd them in the mornings.
The three of us play games to kill time. My two companions are older than me, so they know how to play different games. My favorite game is ‘stick game,' which is popular among children like us, since we don't have any fancy toys. You get a handful of same-length sticks from bushes. Then you place the sticks in your palm horizontally and throw them in the air and try to catch as many as you can on the back of your hand. It is better if you can catch a pair in your hand because then you win the pair of sticks. If you get an even number of sticks on the back of your hand you win one stick, but if the number is odd, your turn is finished and it's your partner's turn to play. The one who gets the most sticks in the end wins. That's how we kill our time in the morning.
It is much harder to herd in the afternoon because the claves run to nurse their mothers' milk, and we have to race with them. If we lose and the calves drink their mother's milk, then the yaks won't have much milk when they are milked and we will be in trouble for neglecting our duty.
Today, we eat what we have as soon as we get to the destination, as usual. Cuomo, who is the oldest, says, “You go to the bottom of the flock and herd them a little up the hill. We are going to get some sticks and when you are back, let's play “stick game.” I am happy that we are going to play my favorite game, so I go herd the calves according to her direction. I herd the flock up to the hill until I hear Cuomo yelling “Enough!” I return and we play. We forget where we are and why we are here. An hour passes and then we hear Mother yelling my name from in front of out tent and pointing to the bottom of the hill. I look and see the herd descending the hill and getting near our tents. I understand the situation in sudden fear. We run down the hill to herd them back. Fortunately, it is still early and the female yaks are not around, so the calves couldn't nurse their mothers. That is the worst situation for which we'd surely get scolded or slapped. Soon we are on the hill and below the flock again. This time we don't play and pay attention to the calves because it is afternoon and the some of the female yaks, wanting to feed their calves, will come near the tent before they are herded back. The calves know this and will try to join them. We are in three different positions below the herd. I am in the middle and if calf runs in my direction, both of my cousins can help me.
I stand looking at our tent. Mother is spreading cheese on a sheet beside the tent to dry. After a while we herd the calves back to the tent before the female yaks are herded back. Afterwards, my younger uncle herds the female yaks back. I help Mother tie the female yaks away from the calves. Mother kneads a bowl of tsamba for me and leaves with the milk bucket in her hand. She says, “Pay attention to the cheese.” When I am almost finished eating, my little sister begins to cry. I go to her and make faces at her. She is laughing when Mother enters the tent with a bucket full of milk. She tells me to turn the milk separator machine. The first time I turned the machine I liked it, especially the special sound it makes, but now I am bored. But I still have to do it. I am looking in the pot on top of the machine to see how much milk is left. When only a little is left, Mother returns with a half bucket of milk and pours it into the pot. My family has fewer female yaks than my two uncles' families, so we also have less milk. Still, I feel like there is too much to be separated. While I am turning the machine, Mother goes to set the yaks free so that my younger uncle can herd them again. This time we herd the female yak and calves together, which means I don't have to herd calves in the late afternoons.
Finishing my job, I come out of the tent. Mother is collecting yak dung, putting it into her back basket, and then taking it to the place where we keep the yak dung and dry it so that we can burn it. It is near our tent. I say, “I finished. Can I go to uncle's family and play with Caibu?”
“Not yet. I'll come take the separator apart. You wash it. It hasn't been washed for several days,” she says.
I really don't want to wash it. I want to play, so I try to run. Knowing what's going on in my mind she says, “If you don't do it I will tell Father and he won't buy you candies when he goes to town.” I have no recourse but to wash it. By the time I finish washing it, it is early evening. I look down the grayish road leading to the county town hoping to see Father's figure. It has been four days since father left. He should be back today or tomorrow.
I get Mother's permission to find Caibu and play with her. I go to my younger uncle's tent to find her. As soon as I enter her tent, Caibu's mother asks, “Did your father come back?”
“No,” I say.
“I thought so. I was watching, but I didn't see him,” she says. Instead of saying something to her about Father, I say, “Is Caibu free?”
“Yes,” she says” “but only for a little while because she needs to help me collect fuel.” Caibu is threes years older than me so she can help her mother collect fuel. It is sunny outside and so I suggest playing “family. “We use small flat stones as plates. We smash different colored stones to represent different kinds of food and put it onto the “plates.” We make sounds, pretending we are drinking tea and eating different foods. I am the daughter and Caibu acts as my mother, talking in a way a parent talks to a child. We have a great time. Then her mother comes and says, “Don't you see it's going to rain? Come quickly and help me collect the dried yak dung and cover the rest of it. See Pagga, your mother is collecting fuel, too. Can you help?” Only then do we notice the sky is covered with black clouds. It really looks like rain. Cuomo follows her mother and say, “Let's play tomorrow”.
I go to Mother, who is piling yak dung and trying to cover it to prevent it from getting wet and ask, “What can I do, Mom?”
“Collect some stones if you can so we can hold the plastic sheet to the ground,” she replies. I collect some stones. We are almost done when it begin raining. “All right, go back to the tent,” Mother says. I follow her back to the tent. As soon as we enter Mother looks at the old alarm clock she uses to get up early in the morning. It sits in the cupboard right behind the big adobe stove in the tent center and in the line of Tibetan styled boxes lined along the tent. She says, “Oh. It's time to make dinner already!”
She makes dough, cuts a piece of meat, and chops several onions. She will make noodles. Then my younger uncle herds the yaks back. Mother needs to tie them and milk. It is raining hard. Mother tells me not to come out and keep the fire going. When Mother finishes all the work and come back she is soaking wet, but still she cooks noodles for us. We have dinner and go to bed.
This is my life as a nomad child on the grassland.
Paternal Grandmothe r
My mother is an orphan. Her mother was a widow and had two sons--my two uncles--before she had my mother. Unfortunately, she died when my mother was only and three years old then her aunt raised Mother until she was thirteen years old. Then Mother's older brother married and established a home, so she went to live with him. She had a difficult time living with her brother's wife.
My father's father died when Father was sixteen, so I never met him. The only grandparent I had interaction with was my paternal grandmother. She was not a part of my family until I was seven.
Father has seven siblings. He is the second youngest. When it was time for Father and his younger brother to establish a home, all the other siblings were married out. Then Grandmother decided to divide all the property between Father and his younger brother. Grandmother loved Father's younger brother the most and decided to live with him. Later, he sold everything, even the tent--their only shelter--leaving Grandmother and his wife with nothing. He took the money and went to Lhasa.
In Tibetan culture it is a very bad thing to leave your wife without shelter. Consequently, his relatives had to give property to his wife's family. It was also decided that Grandmother should live with Father, which is my family. Father thought he had a responsibility to take care of Grandmother. From then on, Grandmother was one of my family members.
When I am seven, my parents decided to send me to school and plan to build a house in town. Grandmother and I will live there to keep each other company. She can look after me while I attend school. Most households in the area who have old people and children who attend school have houses near the town. Local people mainly live on pastoralism, but we also practice agriculture, so each family owns a little bit of unirrigated land for growing barley and rapeseed.
A few days later, we are building the house. My two uncles are caring for our family's livestock. Father is famous of being handy in my village. He knows the traditional way of building a house. The house is adobe with three rooms and it is soon almost finished with neighbors' help. They help us do the most difficult job--put much soil atop the house. Mother tells me to take care of my sister as she smears mud on the roof. I put my sister on the ground and she runs away. Her hair catches a button on my coat. I don't notice this, I turn, looking for her and run. I feel something hanging to my waist and I can't really run. In fact, I am pulling my sister on the ground by the little plait caught on my button. I hear my sister wails and Mother shouts at me, shock on her face. I want to run hard because Mother is furious. But time doesn't allow. I am lashed by Mother's sash. It hurts so much that I begin to cry and beg her to stop. She doesn't. She lashes me three and times then Grandmother tells her to stop. I think Grandmother is kind, and I run into her arms.
The house is built now, and a new term will start soon. Mother and Father pack for Grandma and me. From today, we will live together in the town. I am excited about going to school, though I don't know what school life is. Sleeping in the newly built house beside Grandma the next day, I think “Tomorrow I'll go to school,” and I imagine “mysterious” school life.
The next day a cousin in middle school takes me to the local village primary school to register. The teachers ask, “How old are you?” My cousin answers “seven.” They say I am not old enough to attend school. They don't accept me. Learning that the school didn't accept me, Father thinks it is still better for us to live in town. I don't know why. Perhaps he thinks that if we live in town, Grandma can circumambulate the local temple every morning and accumulate more merit. After our relatives learn Grandma and I are living in town; they take the children who are already attending school and living in other homes and settle them in our home. In the end we have three more children--all my male cousins--living with us. They are from two families. In addition, the cousin I mentioned in middle school, and a female cousin come to stay with us on weekends. There are always fights between them because the two brothers from my oldest paternal uncle's family bully the one from the second paternal uncle's family.
It has been almost a year since we started living together. I am glad to have them as my companions. The relationship between Grandma and me is becoming closer. I am not concerned about my parents and I don't miss them. I am sort of forgetting them and feeling like we are from two different families. Grandma is good to me. She leaves whatever good thing she has for me, particularly candies that others give her and she takes me wherever she goes.
Again it is the start of a new term and I am enrolled in school very easily this time.
A Student
I care nothing about my grades in class. The only thing I care about is play. I enjoy reading the texts aloud on the roof of our house to make others think that I am doing a good job in school. I can fool Grandma very easily since she is illiterate. She thinks I am doing well in school. Everyday after school, Grandma sits on a big stone on the right side of our gate. She turns her prayer wheel and waits for me. As soon as I get home she offers me something to eat and than I go out to play. I'm mischievous and don't act like a well-behaved girl.
One day after school, many local children play a tug game. One girl from my opposing team stays in the circle that is the “home.” I push her and urge her to run, and finally she runs and we tug her. Then it is my team's turn to run. She urges me to run. I tell her “I have the right to decide when to run,” but she pushes me out of the circle and urges me on. I shove her back very hard and she falls to the ground. By coincidence, her aunt walks by and she says, “Don't beat her!” Then she takes her niece and leaves.
Everyday after school Grandma checks my school bag and my pencil isn't there. She asks, “Where is you pencil?”
I answer, “Isn't it in the bag? I remember putting it in the bag after class. If it is not in the bag then I don't know.” Without a better idea, Grandma cuts every pencil into two pieces. I take only one half each time. Now the pencils Father bought for me last longer.
I am in Grade Three. I wear an old Tibetan robe, which is too small. I have had it since Grade One.
It is still dark. It is winter. During the break we surround the stove in front of the class to get warm. We shove each other and shout. I am the only girl among naughty boys. The stovepipe is to my left. I am in front of the group. When I try to get out of the crowd, the boy on the right side pushes me hard and I burn the left sleeve of my robe. I am angry, I shout, “Please don't push me, I burned my sleeve”. A boy shouts back, “If you don't know the consequences, don't come here.” I want to shout something back but dare not.
Three years in school. I am now eleven years old. I understand I am not doing well in class. I lack confidence to challenge those who are doing well. I go live with parents during the holidays, but never for long. I don't like to go to live there. I don't like them making fun of my hair style by saying, “Your hairstyle is like an old woman's.” Grandma plaits my hair. There is a slight difference between braids for a younger person and an older one. Now my sister is nine years old. My parents don't plan to send her to school.
When she and Mother come to town, they always want to take some of our utensils. I don't like them to take whatever they like. I always tell my sister, “Don't take it. It's ours not yours.” She replies, “Then what about the milk?” And I give up the argument.
My family considers me to be a troublemaker and my other relatives agree. If Mother or Father gets angry with me and scold me, Grandma gets angry.
As a Grade Four student lots of things are changing. Father listens to nobody and does what he wants--he sells our livestock. Mother and my sister are living with us. The other cousins drop out of school, one by one.
Father is in the prefecture town and attending a school of driving.
A new teacher is in school. He is tall. He doesn't speak fluent Tibetan. We imitate his strange accent when he is not near. He teaches us math. He likes to whistle when he is walking in the schoolyard. As time passes discover he is a good teacher. He doesn't only care about the “good” students. I am a typical example. Whenever we have difficulties or problems he is very eager to help us. When we don't have class he invites us to his house and chats with us, which is unprecedented. In our mind, a teacher is someone who has power over us, with whom we have no common speech and can't be treated like friends who have the same position. I like him and the way he teaches.
Later on I like math, so I study math much harder than before and I make big progress in math and later, in all my courses. I begin to care about my grades and my study. I begin to believe that I can do as well as those who are considered “good” students. Without this teacher, I would have continued to separate myself from those who are “smart.” Now I really work hard on my study-many times harder than before.
When others are out playing, I stay at home reviewing. As a result, by the end of term I make much progress. Teachers choose me for a reward on Children's Day. I am so delighted. Usually students are excited on that day because we can wear new clothes and we have performances. And I am going to receive a reward from the school. Time passes slowly as I wait for the school headmaster to call my name. I know Grandma, Mother and my sister are somewhere in the crowd. I know they must be very proud of me. I am praised in the school for the first time. It is a big encouragement. I am more confident.
Unfortunately, this teacher leaves us the next term. I'll never forget him. He is a model in my heart. I want to be a teacher like him, to treat students equally, to be strict when it is necessary and to be friendly when the situation is proper, and to teach more children.
One day, one of my aunts visits Grandma-her mother. She asks me “How is your study going”?
I say, “It is going perfect. I don't have someone to teach me the lessons again or beforehand the class like one third of my classmates, but I can manage it,” very confidently.
I like collecting fuel in nearby mountains in winter. We must make a fire in winter so all the students collect fuel with small backbakests on their backs under the teachers' leadership.
We graduate from primary school and three of us get good grades. Sonanzhoma, a close friend, is leaving the county town because her father is going to work in the prefecture town. She is going to study there.
My father comes back and buys a small truck using the money from selling our livestock and from relatives' loans.
Being a middle school student is different then being in primary school. My favorite subject is chemistry. My study is going well, but my family business is not. Only a year after Father bought the truck there is an accident. The truck goes off a winding road. All of the relative happily say, “For Buddha's sake, he is not injured seriously.” Meanwhile they all pity the damage done to the truck. We must spend more money to repair it. Time passes quickly. In the next two years my family's economic condition deteriorates.
It's time for me to decide to go to normal school or study in senior middle school. I want to study in senior middle school and go to a university, but I know my family condition and the high tuition fee of universities. I tell my parents that I don't want to study in senior middle school. My parents say, “You can decide on your own. We'll agree with whatever you say and we'll try to support you. In the end, I decide to take the exam to normal schools, and Gannan Normal School accepts me.
Leaving home
I am excited about leaving home to study in a new environment. Grandma and Mother are worried and think of things I'll need in the new environment. Finally, the time comes. It is very early and I am in the bus in the station. The bus starts its engine and honks several times, calling passengers. Grandma, Mother, Father and my sister stand near the bus to see me off. I see them through the window. Grandma is very old now. She is seventy-nine. When the bus starts slowly forward, Grandma bursts into tears. I shiver. I turn to look at them. I see grandma's bended figure. Arriving at the prefecture town, I feel it is enormous compared to the county town. I am afraid of getting lost in the streets.
The teacher in charge of our class assigns me to be the study monitor because I got high grades on the entrance exams.
Our dormitory is specious. It is an old house in which there are sixteen beds. Fifteen girls live here. We are told that we can soon move to the new girl's dormitory when it is completed. There are thirty-nine students; twenty boys and nineteen girls in my class. I find many difficulties. I miss home, especially Grandma. The curriculum is completely different. I didn't learn art, which is mainly drawing and music. The study is quite challenging. Fortunately, I have a female cousin in the Medical College in the prefecture town. I spend most of my weekends with her and she gives me much comfort.
The school organizes a basketball competition and I am a player for my class. Though we don't win the competition I enjoy it. I like to play basketball. I also have the opportunity to play ping pong. I have wanted to play it since I was in the middle school. I admired the boys playing it on the concrete table in the schoolyard, but dared not play for there were no girls to play with. Here I see girls playing it with boys, so play, too.
It is nearly dark and it is raining. I still play ping-pong with some classmates. The concrete table for playing ping-pong is just below our classroom, so we can still see from the light in our classroom. I urge my opponent to serve the ball. I see hesitation on his face and then he tries to hide the racket and tries to run. With a surprise I turn my head and look behind me. Our teacher is standing behind me. I am in a panic. I don't know what to say. He says, “It would be my honor if you can put this commitment into your study.” I say nothing and follow him to the classroom.
I hear from my cousin that Grandma's health condition is not good. Finally we take the final exams and go home.
Mother and my sister are waiting for me at the bus station. Grandma is not there with them. I am very surprised and ask as soon as I get off the bus, “Where is Grandma. Why isn't she with you?”
“Ehh, she doesn't feel good,” Mother tells me.
My instinct tells me it is not that simple. When the three of us are walking side by side toward home, a neighbor ask Mother, “How is your mother-in-law? Is she better?”
“Not really,” says Mother. I understand now. She must have been sick for awhile. I walk faster and want to see her immediately. When I enter the room I see all my uncles and aunts in the yard. I know Grandma is seriously ill. I enter the guestroom where the uncles and relative are having dinner. I glance at my dear grandma through the window. I see her sitting up in bed, and looking in my direction. I can't believe she has become so skinny. I burst into tears as I stride into the guestroom and dare not go to her. I am crying. Mother comes and says, “Grandma wants to see you. She is asking for you. Go and see her.”
“Go and see her,” all the relatives suggest. I go to see her. She doesn't say anything. I am sure she wants to ask many things. I guess she doesn't have much energy to talk. She looks at me constantly while I eat dinner. I am a little bit to her side so she needs to turn her head to look at me. Mother tells me to change my seat.
I help my aunts and Mother serve Grandma. About a month later she passes away. I return to school and have the saddest days I ever had in my life. During the classes I think about her. Tears run out of my eyes. I dream about her almost every night. Sometimes I dream she is still alive and we are living together very happily, but when I wake up the next morning all I have are tears.
It has been five years since she passed away, but I still miss her.
Attending the English training Program
At the end of my second year in normal school we are about to have our finals. The students are assembled. We are told that someone from Qinghai Normal University is coming to select students to study there. There are scholarships. All the students are excited. The next day is Saturday. We wait until eleven o'clock. They don't arrive. The teachers tell us to sleep. There is a call at midnight. One of my roommates answers the phone. It is a teacher. He says the guests have arrived and we'll have the exams the next morning. We think all the students are allowed to take the exams, but the next morning, they don't let all of us take the exam. Instead, each of us has to choose the top ten students and the guests decide who has the chance to take the exam. After about twenty minutes they read the selected names. Only thirty students out of sixty are allowed to take the exam. We must write Chinese and Tibetan compositions. Next we have interviews. We are told the results will come in half an hour. We are chatting near the main building, waiting for the results. One student from our class runs to us and calls three names. Mine is one of them. He says, “Three of you are accepted.” After a while, eight of us meet with the guests and they say that five of us are really accepted, I am one of them and three are candidates. After that we have our finals we return home.
From the next term, I attend ETP. During the first class I don't know how to answer a foreign teacher's simple question such as,” How are you?” or “What's your name?” Some classmates know a lot of English compared to me, so our study is stressful, but I never have the idea to give up and I slowly catch up.
We are told that we have an opportunity to volunteer teach English and Tibetan. Many classmates volunteer. I am one of them. This Summer Teaching Program is supported by Trace Foundation.
This place is much hotter than my hometown. It is a big village. There are three of us student teachers in this village primary school. We have over 120 students. Half of them are primary students and the half of them are middle school students. We also have five college students and teachers from the primary school. We divide the students into four classes according to their levels. “You would have more if it was not harvest time,” says the site manager. We teach six hours per day. We also write three different lesson plans everyday and we keep journals, so it is a lot of work. One the other hand the students are eager to learn, which is a great comfort to us. I am afraid of the teacher platform at first, but later on I am used to it. I am glad that in the end I have the chance to apply my modern teaching methods to those of who are longing for knowledge. In our spare time the villagers invite us to their homes. We learn some children couldn't go to schools because of poverty I have a desire to help them because I am exactly like them; if there was no scholarship I wouldn't be in ETP. Though it is short, this teach practice is a very special experience.
A new term begins and we have to take the exam in three months. There is a new female teacher in our program. She is going to teach gender to the girls. I have no idea what is it about, but I join the class in curiosity. She is very prepared and responsible. Then I learn “Gender Studies.”
Later, I have an opportunity to act as a co-project manager with two other students on the Canada Fund Solar Energy Project with a budget of 300,000 rmb . The three of us are responsible to contact the factory, make sure solar cookers and solar electricity generating panels are delivered to the villages, monitor the project, and write a final report for the Canada Fund. All the students from our program are welcomed to write proposals and a teachers' committee approves them or not. In the end they approve thirty-three proposals for solar cookers and six proposals for solar electricity generating panels covering three provinces.
During the summer vacation in 2004, the three of us monitor the project in 44 Tibetan villages. We talk to village leaders to get overall information about the villages and interview recipients. We learn school enrollment rates are very low in all the places we visit, especially for girls. The families hold back their children to help them with housework. They are happy to receive help and appreciate it. I ask some of the recipients, “Will you send your children to school if there is a scholarship?” They all answer they would. My desire to help such children rises again.
An important first step to develop a community is education. However, even if Tibetan children are enrolled in schools; they usually cannot get a good education. Few qualified teachers are willing to teach in remote rural areas. Consequently, schools invite other nationality teachers and the students have a difficult time understanding them. In addition, there aren't many materials for Tibetan students. All these factors result in very few Tibetan students going to China's top ten universities for a good education. Their Chinese and English level is too low for these universities. It is not that they can't learn these subjects well; it is because they are not well taught in their schools.
Studying at one of American's best educational institutions can fulfill all my goals in terms of studying abroad. I have long hoped to have the chance of attending a university where every student has the opportunity to express what he or she thinks, instead of listening to the professors' lecture all the time and the hope that students and professors and seeking for deeper understanding together, and the belief that at I will learn not only much new knowledge, but new ways of thinking.
Generally school enrollment is low in Tibetan areas especially for girls because families tend to keep girls at home to do domestic chores. As a result, few Tibetan women receive a higher education, burying women's voices in ignorance. As a Tibetan woman college student, I want to prove women can do as well as men in academic fields. I want to prove that people who think that women are inferior to men are wrong. At the same time I also want to inspire other Tibetan women students. Those of us who got the chance to gain an American college education have a responsibility to speak for Tibetan women who have been ignored for centuries and this education and experience will empower us all.
|
