My Grandmother’s Moonlit Yard

Personal Statement

My name is Xueji Xiao. Growing up in China, I’ve been a big fan of Chinese myths since childhood, inspired by the tales my grandma shared under her grapevine. These magical stories sparked my passion for writing, allowing me to express my imagination and curiosity about the world. After moving to the U.S., I embraced the challenge of writing in English, blending my cultural heritage with new experiences. Beyond writing, I find peace in gardening, especially cultivating orchids—flowers rooted in tradition and blooming beautifully in new soil.

It was a hot evening of the summer vacation. Just like every first grader in China, I had finished
a lot of homework—copying characters from an article, practicing pinyin, and solving math
problems over and over again. I didn’t understand why I had to do all of these things, especially
the copying part. I couldn’t even remember what the article was about, even though I had to copy
it many times to learn how to write and describe the moon. I just felt tired and frustrated. I put
my head down on the workbook and cried. My grandma, who had always sat behind me while I
did my homework, gently closed the workbook, took my hand, and led me to sit under the
grapevine in her small courtyard.

There was a big, round moon hung high in the sky. The moonlight fell through the gaps in the
grapevine leaves, shining on my grandma’s silver hair. The air was still as hot as smoke from the
oven, but I felt much cooler immediately. Grandma started with the tale of the ten suns. She told
me that there were ten suns in the sky, and no one could survive. A hero named Hou Yi tried to
save everyone by shooting down nine and saving all creatures on the Earth. But the Heaven
Emperor, angered by Hou Yi’s actions, punished him by separating him from his wife Chang’e
forever. The Emperor created a frozen palace in the sky, where sunlight never reached, and
named it the Moon. To punish her beloved husband, Chang’e was forced to live there alone with
her pet, the Jade Rabbit.

Grandma pointed to the shadows on the moon and said, “See? The shadows look like a dancing
woman with a rabbit in her arms.” I nodded and asked, “But there’s another shadow like a tree.

What is that?”

Grandma explained, “That is Wu Gang. He was punished by the Heaven Emperor too and sent to
the moon. He has to chop down a cassia tree, but no matter how much he chops, the tree grows
back immediately.”

Her voice was calm and gentle, painting pictures of how Chang’e flew to the moon, how the Jade
Rabbit made medicine, and how Wu Gang tirelessly chopped the magical tree. It was the first
time I felt that everything—whether it can speak or not—had its own story, and I liked all these
stories.

My grandma’s story time started from that night. As she waved her fan on a hot afternoon, she
told me about the tale of Sun Wukong borrowing the Banana Leaf Fan. As she drank tea, she
shared the story of Shennong tasting herbs to cures humans. My summer vacations with my
grandma became a living storybook, where mountains, rivers, birds all had magical tales hidden
within them.

All these stories and the books I read related to them really helped me in my Chinese writing.
My writing felt like telling stories, where I could easily express all my love and imagination
toward the world around me. So I often received high scores in Chinese literature at school and
even had some essays published in magazines in my hometown. However, I soon realized that
my writing lacked the structure crucial in English writing.

Years later, I experienced a near-fatal car accident, and my boyfriend—now my husband—
resolutely decided to give up his studies and career in the United States and return to China to be with me. After careful consideration, I chose to end our long-distance relationship and follow
him to the U.S. When I arrived, I had to write in English, and found out that English is a more
precise and structured language. With its rules and grammar, it felt like a wall I couldn’t climb,
especially when I faced the essays in the GRE tests—my first and toughest tests after coming to
the United States. My earlier education in Chinese seemed to offer little help with writing in
English, and I struggled and scored poorly on the GRE tests finally. English seemed plain and
dull. I lost confidence and interest. I feared that I might not be able to write good stories in this
new language.

One evening, after struggling badly with a GRE essay, I felt extremely frustrated. I called my
grandma, complained how hard and boring English was. Her voice through the telephone line
still warm and calm, “I do know a great movie in English.” So I watched that famous film, The
Lord of the Ring, and then couldn’t stop reading that book. It was not boring at all. The world of
Middle-earth felt so familiar to me—the bravery, love, and sacrifice, they were the same with
what I had heard in many of my grandma’s stories. The journey of Frodo and Sam reminded me
of the courage of Hou Yi and the devotion of Chang’e. And the most important thing, it had a
happy ending! Heroes should have a happy life instead of suffering and loneliness. I began to try
to study the history and culture behind English and fell into Western myths and legends just as I
had with Chinese myths. And I also tried my best to learn and practice writing English as often
as I could, hoping that one day I could share all my love and imagination with new friends in my
second home.

Now, I sit under the light in my room in the United States, far from that moonlit yard of my
childhood, using English—my second language— to share my story with you. I know the seeds
my grandma planted in me have grown, blossomed, and borne new fruits and seeds. One day,
when a big, round moon shines over my own little yard, I will tell the story of the moon to my
son. And perhaps add a happy ending to all the heroes protecting the world.