Personal Essay: Have I ever been embarrassed before by what I used to like?

I’ve never been embarrassed by what I’ve liked before. Reading Captain Underpants under a table while being wracked with paranoia in first grade is the only exception I can think of. So it’s more about being embarrassed by how I expressed my enjoyment of my passions. Such as displaying my “martial arts” to the world.

I’ve always loved WuXia heroes. Martial arts are a source of national pride to China, and the stories of heroes learning ancient arts and flying across buildings were the comfort food and inspiration of my childhood. Inevitably, being one of these boulder-splitting heroes became my dream. Thus, I passionately trained every single day with whatever I could find: chopsticks became my daggers, drumsticks were my swords, and I always had my fists for hand-to-hand combat. My parents egged on my practice and told many of their friends about my surely overwhelming martial potential. 

Thus, when my parents' friends came to see my skills, I couldn’t just leave them waiting. I beat down opponents with my ruler-staff, and properly pummeled them with my hand to hand combat. After all were appropriately routed, I displayed my evasive techniques, which meant rolling on the ground. All this was met by the cheers and laughter, until I accidentally hit my head on the table. After making sure I was okay, they laughed even harder. But I was thoroughly embarrassed. What kind of master martial artist hits their head? I could see myself rolling around on the ground and waving random sticks around. Nobody believed I was going to be the next Bruce Lee - people just found my antics interesting. I think that was the moment when I became aware of how others perceived me. 

However, hands down, the most embarrassing moment of my martial arts career was when I was in China. I remember groggily waking up to my grandparents, who insisted I don a white traditional suit and headband. As I was forced to clamber outside in my scratchy new clothes, I realized what must have been my entire extended family was waiting. As we marched out 40-strong, I felt like a mob boss leading his gang to war. I even got to throw these fun little white paper things along the way. 

The fun didn't last. Marching lasted an eternity, and throwing paper can't stay fun forever. I was dying to go hom, but my complaints fell on deaf ears. I convinced myself that the destination must be fantastic for us to trek this far, so I was positively writhing when the destination was a random rock in the middle of nowhere. However, I soon realized that my cousins, uncles, and aunts weren’t too happy with the situation either. In fact, they were so upset that they started kneeling down and wailing in a circle before the rock. Soon, I was the only one left standing as I watched my family cry around me. As I descended to a crouch, listening to the despair, I realized something. Isn’t this what a hero is for? A hero comes when all hope seems lost. My path seemed clear. I had a duty. I slowly rose to my feet, the weight of all my family on my shoulders. As I began to wave my arms and gather my chi, I watched as the tear-streaked, bewildered faces of my family rose to meet me. Fear not, I thought. For I am here. Every punch, every kick, every roll was instilled with purpose. My power reverberated across the field, touching the heart of every mourning soul. As I finished my performance, sweat rolling off my face, breath ragged, I realized it was dead silent. Nobody was crying anymore. I, Zhaohan Sun, had saved my family. 

When I got back to America and was told that was my great-grandfather’s funeral, I was so embarrassed I couldn’t sleep for a week.