Fostering student voices

The Game, consisting of performing various tasks in addition to answering challenging questions, occurred every other week in International Baccalaureate U.S. History class and provided students with opportunities to earn sought-after extra credit. I won the most, which was no easy feat, as each time the teams randomly changed. I had to strategize the di erent strengths of di erent sets of my classmates to bolster chances of winning each Game. I advised my classmates what to do, posing questions to help them formulate an answer to the given task. I was not the one who always answered the questions. I merely aided in the process of my classmates doing so, even when they went on to compete in other teams. Throughout the year and outside of the Game, I also aided classmates with upcoming history quizzes and essays. My help included particular ways to study, pointing out certain questions to be aware of, and sharing writing techniques. Every week, there were multiple painstaking quizzes we all had to take. The quizzes included several questions, yet they covered a vast number of pages, adding to the rigorous reputation of the class. Essays were no exception to the demanding pace of the class. We were required to write essays regarding the historical material of that week within 45 minutes. I began to assist struggling classmates with writing practice essays and advice on how to improve their essays in terms of structure, analysis, and style.

I am more than willing to aid fellow students, as this not only benefits them but myself. Understanding the perspectives of others provides additional insights, allowing for better comprehension. Near the end of the school year, my history teacher noted how the grades of the students I had most worked with improved significantly. It felt rewarding to not just help with my peers’ academics but to ease the stress many were experiencing. Through this leadership experience, I learned that I am a person who is invested not just in my own success but that of the entire group. By working together, everyone can achieve success.

My greatest weakness has become my greatest strength. I have 20/1000 vision. When I sit at the back of the class, the whiteboard is essentially over three football fields away, and when I soak in the bathtub, I can’t see my toes. Not even science can explain how I survived before my parents realized I was nearly blind. But my durable child body took enough running into walls and trips and falls that my parents eventually had my vision checked. When I was diagnosed with microphthalmia, my mother panicked, afraid I’d missed the first four years of my life, but the doctor assured her I’d simply experienced the world di erently.

My lousy vision couldn’t be surgically improved, so an assortment of glasses with Coke-bottle lenses became my lifeline. My bug-like eyes became the occasion for endless questions: How many fingers am I holding up? Are you blind? All people could see were my glasses — what they didn’t notice was that I could see things others couldn’t.

My unique experience of the world gave me the preternatural ability to see what was missing in the connections between people. At school, I saw new students struggling to integrate into the community, so I engineered the Student Mentorship Program to welcome and involve them. On the soccer field, I assumed the role of center-mid because of my ability to engage each player and read the entire field (the irony isn’t lost on me). In my town, I recognized that community members who help make others’ lives easier weren’t always appreciated the way they deserved to be, so I looked for ways to acknowledge them and give back.

Ultimately, I surrendered to vanity and traded in my glasses for contacts. And, while my near-blindness is less evident now, what I’ve gained from it I carry with me every day. Most people would consider themselves unlucky to be in the 0.001% of those with microphthalmia, but that’s not me. My near-blindness has given me the gift to see the things that can bring people together, and for that, I’m more than lucky.

First things first, how are we going to decorate our room? I’m thinking Polaroids and photobooth photos with friends — old and new — clipped to fairy lights along our walls. My posters of nebulae and black holes, vinyls of your favorite songs or jerseys from your favorite teams, and a flu y rug to do snow-angels on during all-nighters.

If anyone ever comes by looking for me, point to the ceramic pieces on every surface in our room and suggest checking the studio. Early in the morning, I’ll likely be out on a run — don’t worry, I won’t wake you. On the weekends, I might go stargazing in Yosemite or check out craft fairs in Santa Cruz. On slower afternoons, I could be skateboarding around campus or at the Cantor Arts Center getting inspired to paint a portrait or try out glass-blowing. Together, let’s join a fantasy football league. Host an NBA watch party. (Go Warriors!) Plan a picnic on Meyer Green — I’ll make spaghetti carbonara. Volunteer at Meals on Wheels. Share our favorite books and encourage each other to finish — I’ve been on page 318 of “Guns, Germs, and Steel” for far too long. Want to try skydiving? Learn Japanese? Train for a marathon? I’m open to just about anything new. So as we start this first year of college life, new and exciting, know that you can find me any time to vent about hard classes or share your joys as we start and end our days together.

The heart is a muscle, yet we ascribe much greater significance to what it really entails — e ort, sadness, courage, or how much we love something. The heart is like an empty vault, hollow to begin with, until a person fills it with something meaningful to him; perhaps treasure fills the emptiness. Often, people say, “follow your heart,” but what if it leads you in a direction you never anticipated?

All my life, basketball was my treasure. It helped me gain confidence when I struggled as a seventh-grader navigating a new life in an unfamiliar country. While succeeding in basketball, however, my cardiomyopathy caused many episodes of chest pain and shortness of breath. I tried to keep it to myself, but during a game, my heart was beating so hard it was almost out of my chest. Not only was I out of breath, my legs felt numb; it was a feeling I’d yet to experience before. Despite that, I made the league’s first-team, and more importantly, I captained our basketball team to the school’s first playo berth in 60 years.

A few coaches from local colleges attended my games, and I received inquiries from out-of-state schools from my highlight video. This meant that playing Division 3 became a possibility, which was meaningful to me because fewer than 20 players from Taiwan have played in the NCAA. I aspired to become one of those few, proudly representing my country. Yet, shortly after our loss to the eventual state champion, my condition had, unfortunately, worsened, and my dream of playing in college was over. The love for basketball was all I had known — I felt defeated. My heart felt empty.

I pondered for a while about what a defective heart really meant. Eventually, I saw an opportunity in this “heart problem.” what grateful passion a

In 2022, I started a nonprofit organization called TPE ELITE, to not only teach basketball skills, but also to advocate a healthy lifestyle for underprivileged teenagers. We then partnered with the Taipei Orphan Foundation, which serves teens who have lost both parents. For a completely di erent reason from mine, they are kids whose hearts have been broken by the loss of their loved ones.

If not for my defective heart, I never would have imagined, let alone actually created, an impactful nonprofit. It still pains me to think about what could have been, but I am grateful for the new opportunities to share my story and passion with others. The heart might be merely a muscle, but it has given my life a new purpose.