I would be lying if I told you that I was expecting this outcome. it would be dishonest if I told you that I didn’t experience a little flutter of excitement when I saw the notification letter in my email this morning. it would be inaccurate if I told you I wasn’t shocked when I read the words, “We regret to inform you…”
I didn’t get the fulbright. and, quite honestly, I thought I would. after spending months excitedly telling people about my post-grad plans, I suddenly have nothing to show for it. alas, my hubris is my downfall, yet again. instead of looking forward to spending the next year teaching english to students in vietnam, I’ll be scrambling to find job postings and logging into my since-abandoned linkedin profile.
it’s a shame, really. but don’t worry, I’ll get over it. I’ve come to learn that the price of confidence (particularly for women and women of color) is facing a severely devastating rejection every once in a while. and if that’s a price I have to pay in order to keep the fire going, then so be it. I’d rather be irrationally arrogant than insecure and unable to recognize my own value.
as I retreat into my cave to begin this mourning process (and, quite frankly, hide from the embarassment of it all), I can’t help but to feel a little unsatisfied. objectively, I had a good application. some would even say I had a great one. writing my personal statement was actually what got me to start taking my writing more seriously and start this blog in the first place. so, as mortified as I am by this rejection, I’m grateful for having gone through the process. I’m grateful for having had the chance to start writing again. I’m grateful to the mentors and professors who have been my biggest supporters along the way. I’m proud of the piece I wrote. and I still want to share it with you all. so, here it goes: the fulbright application that didn’t make it. enjoy 🙂
Personal Statement
Angel Lin, Vietnam, English Teaching Assistantship
The statement should be a 1 page narrative that provides a picture of yourself as an individual․ It should deal with your personal history, family background, influences on your intellectual development, the educational, professional, and cultural opportunities (or lack of them) to which you have been exposed, and the ways in which these experiences have affected you and your personal growth․ Include your special interests and abilities, career plans, and life goals, etc․ It should not be a recording of facts already listed on the application or an elaboration of your Statement of Grant Purpose․ It is more of a biography, but specifically related to you and your aspirations relative to the specific Fulbright Program to which you have applied․
“Em, I’ve already told you three times—call me Chị.”
Excuse me? Call her Chị? This woman who was three times my senior (and old enough to be my mother’s mother) was asking me to call her by a casual title meaning older sister? Never in my life had I addressed an adult as anything other than the most respectful honorifics: Cô, Bà, Chú, Ông. The Vietnamese people in my life were the aunties who had known me since I was a toddler running around my family’s restaurant belting out the lyrics to Barbie songs with my cousins. They saw me through acne-filled teen years and cheered as I became the first in our family to go to college; I wore the title of Cô Huyen’s daughter with pride. Naturally, when my county fellowship assigned me to work at the Vietnamese American Service Center for the summer, my ego inflated. After three years serving on the board of the Vietnamese Student Association and with several Asian American Studies classes under my belt, I prided myself on a comprehensive socio-political expertise on all things Vietnamese.
On the contrary, my first day was confronted with stunted conversations punctuated by awkward laughs and misused pronouns. My broken and coddled tongue could only take me so far. Needless to say, I was quickly humbled when it was clear that I couldn’t tell trái from phải in Vietnamese. It wasn’t until my manager insisted I call her Chị, that I identified a familiar feeling of displacement: my interactions within this cultural context have only ever been as a child to a mother, never knowing myself as anything more than an endearing Còn.
Now, don’t get me wrong—I know who I am. I am a stubborn daughter, an overbearing sister, a sympathetic lover, and a thoughtful leader. I carry myself with confidence in academic contexts; I maneuver the social dance of predominantly white spaces with charm; I am quick to take action when I detect unjust conditions. Playing this role of a fierce advocate came naturally as I came of age in environments where my identities as a queer, low-income woman of color were a constant point of contention. Admittedly, I struggle to reconcile this persona within my Vietnamese cultural context—a context which holds such high esteem for hierarchy and authority. Despite being quick to speak out against corruption and inequity in my role as Student Body Vice President, I am smart enough to only speak when spoken to at home. My sociology lends me a sensitivity to understanding the etiquette required for each context I am in.
To call a woman ‘Chị’ is to see her as an equal. This was how my manager wanted me to imagine the workplace: as a space where we could collaborate within a dynamic unconstrained by hierarchy. I could never have predicted how this subtle rhetorical shift would translate into a radical paradigm shift. I find that I am able to openly express my dissenting opinions to colleagues in meetings, empathize with coworkers who describe the frustrations of raising children in a country so different from their own, and passionately belt karaoke duets with elders who sing lamenting the loss of their loved ones. Being invited into my culture as an equal has opened the door for unprecedented empathy and compassion. The more I learn about these people, the more I learn about myself. I want to create spaces where this compassion can be reciprocated. I want my students to know me as Chị.
I want to continue knowing my Vietnamese identity outside of the context of an American-born child. I want to laugh with my culture, mourn with my culture, and love with my culture. Spending this fall semester abroad in Paris has already begun to provide me more insight into the contradicting paradox of my diasporic identity. From inside, Vietnam still intimately calls to me. It defines my values in ways I am not able to articulate but yearn to know. For a life dedicated to curiosity, education, and self-actualization, the Fulbright is my next step.
Statement of Grant Purpose
Angel Lin, Vietnam, English Teaching Assistantship
This one-page document should clearly describe what you will be able to bring to the classroom in the host country, as well as explain any ideas you have on how to reach students coming from a different pedagogical tradition.
A love ethic frames my perspective on all matters of importance. This paradigm calls for a radical understanding of the interconnectedness in relationships between all beings. It acts as an impetus for solidarity, dialogue, and mutual care. My love—for you, for my peers, for my mother, for this earth, for your brother, for my sister, and, most importantly, for myself—is what calls me to advocate for a higher quality of life. Committing to this love ethic means committing to a community of care. I see the classroom as the first step.
The classroom is never just a classroom: it’s a playground for ideas, facts, opinions, challenges, and (if you’re lucky enough) a taste of enlightenment. I want to create a classroom in Vietnam that acts as a site of socialization where my students can come to form their own concept of self. Inquiry-based Socratic seminars provide students the opportunity to present their own ideas—all of which are informed by each thread of their life experiences as unique persons—through conversation. My assessments will be an evaluation of my students’ ability to communicate their ideas. There is no purer expression of self love than to know yourself and to confidently articulate your beliefs. Conducting research on the significance of the Ethnic Studies classroom, I came to learn how classroom spaces were vital to students of color as catalysts for activism and racial identity development: students who are empowered by their education become their own advocates. Power dynamics shaped by inequality—whether this be characterized by gender or ethnic minority status within Vietnam’s cultural landscape—will inevitably affect the classroom. My hope is that these seminars will create spaces where students understand the value of their own perspectives to advocate for themselves. The skills developed by this love ethic-informed pedagogy will become praxis outside of the classroom; the key distinction between two students with the same qualifications when entering the workforce is one student’s ability to use their voice to critically think, ask valuable questions, express their ideas, and advocate for themselves. Love for oneself and knowledge of one’s value is a radical strength.
A love ethic seems almost intuitive for a Vietnamese classroom. In the Vietnamese language, our interactions are characterized by a meticulous dance of social status, rank, and relation that underscores the interconnectedness of all relationships; our learning, thus, is interconnected. Socratic seminars create non-competitive contexts in which students are invited to actively engage in the development of collective knowledge production: one’s education is made better when it is informed by pluralism. The task of creating the space for this collaborative learning is a delicate art. As Student Body Vice President, I saw firsthand how poor conditions outside of the classroom result in negative outcomes within the classroom after our community experienced a campus-wide mental health crisis. My research on the impacts of COVID-19 and remote learning for middle school students highlighted how a nexus of support rooted in the relationships between parents, teachers, and the student is vital to student engagement. Interconnectedness, then, is key. I am committed to working with local teachers in creating collaborative communities of care and holistic support; we are all mutual stakeholders in one another’s learning in our love for each other.
In the Vietnamese language, where there is no word for ‘you’ or ‘me,’ but only ‘brother,’ ‘sister,’ or ‘friend,’ how could I act with anything but love for every member of my extended family? Our underscored social roles enhance our seminars, highlighting our perspectives and relationships. Individual empowerment informed by American values and an appreciation for communal interconnectedness informed by a Vietnamese paradigm: these contexts will merge to create the ideal dynamics for the classroom informed by a love ethic.
nhiều chuyện, by angel lin 