Narrative Argument

April 12th, 2022 - Reflection

I think narrative argument writing was very helpful for me as a writer in being able to connect narrative with argument. I remember that in a debate competition, we were told never to use anecdotes because they aren’t really fact. However, I think in this type of argument, the narrative provides the emotional aspect and the “so what” aspect of an argument. For example, in my piece specifically, I want to talk about the stigma against limb disabilities and disabilities in general, with a highlight of how the Asian American community treats people with disabilities. I think my narrative is essential for talking about why this topic is important for me and for other people like me. I highlight the effect the interaction with those kids teasing me had on me for the rest of my life. Without this story, I don’t think the argument would’ve been as strong as readers won’t be able to see why I personally have an investment in this topic. Another reason why a narrative can be important for an argument is helping the audience relate to the writer. I think that a narrative is a good way for the audience to sort of be transported back in time and experience what I feel. This is a strong move because having that relatability makes it easier for the audience to trust and support your argument.

Narrative arguments are also important in developing my storytelling skills for a purpose. Most of the time, students are told to write analytical arguments, etc. and if someone really wanted to pursue narrative writing, they would take a creative writing class. In most normal English classes, argumentative writing and narrative writing are separated. As I mentioned above, people don’t treat narrative writing as a good support in an argument. However, I think having that storytelling skill is important in convincing people of your argument. While it may not be the sole support for the argument, it is important for conveying why your argument is important. In this paper, I emphasized a lot on my elementary school story. I even included minute details like the blue chair I sat in, the emotions I felt when they read my card aloud, and specifically how the insults impacted my life. When I talked with my peer review group about emphasizing too much of that story, they told me that it was their favorite part of the story and shows why education about disabilities is important. I think this comment shows the impact of emotions on people’s view of arguments. I can even bring this concept to a larger scale. For example, in political elections, a lot of candidates focus on appealing to their base and use narrative argument to convince people to vote for them. If they don’t have the emotional appeal factor, they aren’t as convincing. 

I think this class ultimately showed me multiple ways to present an argument. Maybe even the best argument is a mixture of fact and storytelling. I found that it was harder to express the so what in my primary research and definition argument, but in my narrative argument it was much easier to show why this topic is important. However, narrative arguments also weave in facts from research, etc. which the primary research project was mainly about. I think just stating one instance such as my story of my disabilities is a good way to tie in the pathos element but without the facts and statistics about how many people are affected worldwide, the argument isn’t as impactful. Similarly, when I’m talking about what people think about the word “significance,” I don’t have that “so what” factor. These reasons are why I think combining multiple elements of narratives and facts are essential for a strong and compelling argument.

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April 28th, 2022 - Final

About nine years ago, I attended after school day care, basically the gym where many students stayed when parents who worked full time were unable to pick up their children right away. We would usually have recess outside and study hall time inside, while waiting for our parents to walk through the doors to pick us up. However, we did something new that day,  a “get to know each other” activity, and everyone had to write a couple of facts about themselves on a notecard. I remember that I had written a couple of true but surprising facts about myself. I thought that this notecard would remain between me and two or three other students. Unbeknownst to me, that particular day made a huge impact in my life and how I perceived myself forever.

I sat in the tiny blue chair chatting with my friends around me at the end of a long table. We were waiting to go outside for recess and play on the playground and do what kids usually do. To my surprise, the daycare organizer walked to the front of the room with the note cards in hand. She had started reading the cards one by one and asked kids around the room to guess who wrote these cards. The sweat was running down my head as I realized that she was getting closer and closer to my card. 

Then, she read the card: “I have four fingers and three toes.”

Even now, thinking back to that time, I felt so embarrassed and in shock that I can’t remember the emotions running through my body. The audible gasps filled the gym, and I felt my face getting really hot. My friends glanced at me with worry, and one of them volunteered my name to move the activity on. 

I was always proud of myself for achieving so much — playing instruments, taking art classes, swimming, attending soccer practice, defending my place as the fastest typer in my grade — and essentially living the life of a normal kid. But, others commented on my appearance and a girl younger than me went so far as to call me “alien.” The feeling of shame enveloped my body. Luckily, my friends immediately came to my defense, but I’ve reflected back on this incident many times.

When entering middle school, I held this memory very closely when interacting with others. I thought a lot about which hand to raise in class, covering my left hand with a sleeve and never bringing attention to my left arm. As a result, I became more withdrawn and introverted, contradicting the nickname I earned in elementary school, the “social butterfly.” I was too scared to let people see my hand, lest someone called me an alien again. It’s actually terrifying and appalling how much someone’s name calling affected my self-esteem. It’s easy to make an ignorant comment about somebody, but it’s difficult to be the one micromanaging every little action in your life because of that.

Throughout my lifetime, I’ve only voluntarily brought up my disability while speaking to others once. Most of the time I answer questions as I receive them: “how did it happen?” and “does it hurt?” (Yes, it’s possible to be simply born with limb disabilities” and “No, it does not hurt”). Everyday I desperately hoped that nobody’s gaze would last too long on my hand. It was only until the later half of high school that I started to feel more comfortable and even proud of my own body.

In May of my junior year, I received an email from Cleveland Clinics, the hospital I frequented for my hand and feet check ups. I could barely contain my excitement when I read that they wanted to do an interview with me playing the piano. For the past several years, my parents consistently sent in my recitals to the doctors to show my progress with my left hand. Since the hospital’s newsroom happened to come across my story, they wanted to do a full coverage and share it along with other inspirational stories about people who pursue their dreams despite being born with disabilities. 

In early spring, a camera crew along with an interviewer went to my house and set up their equipment all around my house. In the first segment, the interviewers asked me about what it’s like to perform and also asked my parents about their experiences. It was the first time that I heard my mom talk about what she felt after learning about my condition through the ultrasound. My heart felt like it was stabbed. She had fallen into depression because she was worried that I wouldn’t be able to live a normal life. Furthermore, my left hand had a huge gap that separated my pinky and ring finger from my pointer and thumb. My parents had gone to several doctors for a consultation about what to do, and they were horrified with one doctor’s suggestion to cut off the two offending digits sticking out from my hand. When there almost seemed to be no hope, they found my current hand doctor, Dr. Seitz, at Cleveland Clinic who sewed up the gap in my left hand and continued to check up on my bone development for years. Dr. Seitz was also the one who encouraged my parents to sign me up for piano lessons, which was how I started to love myself and my body.

At first piano seemed like an obligatory chore — practice, learn a new piece, perform at recitals. A boring and predictable cycle. Whenever I learned a new song, my teacher and I would have to spend the first 15 minutes of the lesson altering notes so my left hand could play them. I first started getting more invested when I spent hours learning how to play movie soundtracks in the summer. When I auditioned for my middle school’s jazz band, I was hit with the reality that I could probably never reach my full potential performing the piano because I didn’t have enough fingers. Seeing my competitors effortlessly crush out one of Chopin’s difficult etudes, I took a longing glance at my own hands. I could never reach the success meant for me because I was just born behind in the game.

My piano teacher always said playing the piano was about being able to express to the audience the composer’s intentions. If you played every note perfectly but lacked the nuances in the dynamics and rhythm, the audience will feel that something’s missing. She tells me that every performer makes mistakes, and the greatest performers are the ones who hide them behind the musicality. With this new mindset, piano became less about “perfecting” the sheet music, but more about expressing a message. 

At the Cleveland Clinic Gala for Pediatric Research, I had the opportunity to perform for an audience of doctors and families. I chose Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata 3rd Movement because of its thunderous confidence that I aspire to have. Three years before, I thought it would be impossible for me to learn the piece. At the beginning of the piece were the ascending and descending arpeggios, repetitive left hand notes — the moments of anxiety and uneasiness I had about my future with disabilities. But at the finale, my left hand and right hand worked together to end the song with a resolute chord. I took this performance as a way to show that I have overcome the uncertainty of my piano career and, even more importantly, the uncertainty about myself. Despite the hardships and doubt I had at the beginning of my life, I learned to live and cherish being born different. And, I couldn’t have done it without the support I’ve received from my current friends, piano teacher, doctors, and parents.  

I’m very grateful to have supportive and loving parents who have encouraged me to challenge my limits and love myself. I’m also very fortunate that I was able to find something that I love and boosted my self-esteem and perception of myself. However, for many people born like me, their experience is not the same.

Disability isn’t something rare. Over 1 billion people in the world experience some sort of disability and this number is only increasing (WHO). The CDC claims that 1 in 10 Asian Americans have a disability. However, the stigma towards others with disabilities is very prevalent in society and specifically for some cultures. 

Someone with a disability is “three times more likely to be denied healthcare, four times more likely to be treated badly by the healthcare system, and 50% more likely to suffer a catastrophic health expenditure” (WHO). Racism also plays a part in this issue. Jennifer Lee, the founder of Asian Americans with Disabilities, was told that she couldn’t possibly have Crohn’s Disease because she’s “Korean-American.” Among Asians and Asian Americans, the model minority myth also prevents a lot of people from seeking help. The Model Minority idea creates unrealistic expectations for Asian Americans to succeed under duress, internalize their struggles, and causes many to be overlooked with regards to assistance and resources (Shih, 2019).

The biggest issue that needs to be addressed is the stigma starting from the next generation. In childhood. That’s the delicate period of time where someone builds their confidence and learns more about themselves. That period of time was when I lost a bit of my self love because I was told that I was weird and disgusting for being born the way I am. 

It’s time that we incorporate more education about disabilities in our school systems. We need to teach children that being different is okay. And for children who have disabilities, we should celebrate their differences and encourage them to pursue their passions. 
Currently, it is our social responsibility to make the world more accessible. Organizations like the American with Disabilities Act National Network, American Association of People With Disabilities, and National Organization on Disability are working to raise more awareness about disabilities and empower those with disabilities.

 
You, the reader, can do your part by making sure you treat everyone equally and be mindful about what you say around someone with disabilities. Stop the insensitive jokes when they happen. Show your support and love to those who are navigating the world differently from you. 

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Citations:
https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/disability-and-health#:~:text=Over%201%20billion%20people%20live,health%20conditions%2C%20among%20other%20causes.
https://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/disabilityandhealth/materials/infographic-disabilities-ethnicity-race.html
https://www.researchgate.net/publication/333878732_Impacts_of_the_Model_Minority_Myth_on_Asian_American_Individuals_and_Families_Social_Justice_and_Critical_Race_Feminist_Perspectives
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/asian-america/asian-americans-disabilities-are-often-overlooked-new-youth-led-group-rcna11832
https://ncdj.org/resources/organizations/

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