<p>Q: One of the core values of Villanova, as an Augustinian university founded on the teachings of St. Augustine, is that students and faculty learn from each other. As you imagine yourself as a member of the Villanova community, what is one lesson that you have learned in your life that you will want to share with others?</p>
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<p>We are all musicians. Even the tone deaf girl who goes up to sing every time theres Karaoke or the boy whose time with an instrument has been limited to Guitar Hero, we are all composers of a unique melody. Our lives are like songsthe crescendos and diminuendos of emotion, the staccatos of impatience and the legatos of love, the fortissimos of personal dramas and the mezzo pianos of average American life. If there is one lesson I would like to teach my prospective peers at Villanova, it would be to listen to every intricacy of the songs of others, and not just judge them by the overall tune.</p>
<p>Ostensibly, my song would appear to be Yankee Doodle Dandy. I am at first glance a typical white teenager from the New England suburbs; right down to the iPod headphones hanging lazily from one ear. However upon closer listening, one can detect an undercurrent of Salsa. Both my parents, along with my massive extended family, were born and raised in Peru. Although they eventually moved to America and had me, the ever present Latino melodies of their lives have greatly influenced my own.</p>
<p>In fact, my life can often be described as these two dissonant cultural halves trying to meld into a cohesive piece. Like a Rorschach blot, I appear to be many things at once to different types of people, but hardly ever have a singular definition that everyone can agree upon. The Latin portions of my anthem can be summed up by a dinner scene at my mothers house whenever we go to visit my relatives in Peru. As soon as you walk into the kitchen you are welcomed by a cacophony of sound and emotion. The percussion of pots and pans rattles your body with their metallic sound, the sultry aria of smells waft towards your nose, the chorus of voices arguing over the appropriate amount of lemon juice in the fish assaults your ears, and the symphony of mixing ingredients explodes in your mouth. This is the part of Hispanic culture that many do not experience. When people hear the word Hispanic, too often visions of enchiladas and Mariachis are the only things that come to mind. So many have only heard this overused facet of the Latino song that they sometimes deem thee music mediocre or low class. I would show them that while Latin melodies at times seem convoluted and out of sync, that they hold themselves together with a rhythm of family and caring.</p>
<p>However important the sound of Peruvian pan flutes is to my tune, I cannot ignore the presence of American rock in me. The chords of individualism and my strong sense of justice ring out through me like an E flat chord resonating through a stadium. The upbeat sounds of Dixie reveal my energy, enthusiasm, and humor. The slow, mournful tones of the blues rise and fall opposite the teeny bopper popan ever shifting, turbulent balance of emotion and hormones that come with adolescent life.</p>
<h2>I have sometimes felt like I am supposed to choose which part of my identity to embrace. I am not alone in this sense. Many athletes I know feel forced to stick with jock rock and are unable to enjoy the classical music of life when they want to. My African-American and Asian friends express discontent at how the music of their culture at times seems to overshadow their individual works. What I want to teach people is that we can be many things at oncethat we must not be forced to conform to a single mold. We must be open to unexpected rhythms and melodies and listen for the notes not played. Much like the five lines of the musical staff, we all have layers waiting to be discovered if those around us endeavor to look past superficial appearances.</h2>
<p>Thanks for any responses</p>