Jasmine’s Lifestyle Guest Perspectives
Jasmine Li is a Lifestyle Guest Columnist and second-year student in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at [email protected].
Two weeks ago, I lay face down, arms limp, seven needles in my neck. Fear not, I hadn’t fallen victim to an unfortunate attack; I was actually receiving acupuncture at a local traditional medicine clinic in China. My visit was meant to treat a stubborn headache – a souvenir from a summer sports concussion – but I left with a sense of relief beyond the physical.
As a child of Chinese immigrants, traditional Chinese medicine, or TCM, has been sunk into my roots and upbringing. My mom, who formerly worked at an apothecary, fed me herbal concoctions for every ache and pain. And every night at home, my living room is thick with the scent of herbs from my grandmother’s moxibustion seat – a therapy using the smoke from burning sticks of traditional mugwort. I was raised on goji berries, for good qi circulation; warm water for wei health; and mung beans to clear heat.
But as much as my childhood diet may beg to differ, I am a veritable banana. Growing up in Houston, I asserted my American identity from middle school by rejecting the conservative Chinese remedies of my upbringing. I definitely crunched ice cubes and inhaled Texas-sized meal portions. I outright refused to take the herbal capsules and tonics that filled our home medicine cabinet: Tylenol and Tums reigned supreme. And as I grew older and began to love biology, my skepticism of TCM grew beyond a rejection of my cultural roots, justified by my commitment to scientific rigor.
This summer, I returned to China after a year away. Stepping off the plane in Xi’an after 30 hours of travel, I was greeted by my grandfather’s brewed goji berry tea; my aunt’s familiar suggestions to try cupping; and my parents’ . Being away from home for so long, I began to see my family’s care in a new light – that their love shows in the traditions they grew up with. I drank my grandfather’s tea, and a few days later, I accepted my grandmother’s suggestion to visit the acupuncturist – which, to my surprise, worked wonders for my gnarly head symptoms.
I don’t wish to legitimize the aspects of Chinese medicine that are pseudoscientific or politicized. I don’t believe that wood ear fungus nourishes my yin, or that qi flows through meridians in my body. I will continue to advocate for evidence-based treatment and rigorous research into the efficacy of TCM practices.
But I’m committing to no longer blanket dismissing traditional treatments, both as a patient and a human. TCM has yielded great medical discoveries – most notably artemisinin, an anti-malaria drug derived from ancient herbal therapy. And alternative therapies like acupuncture have shown benefits for some, including me. More significantly for me, I’m connecting with my family, and accepting my Chinese identity and tradition. Through acupuncture, I began healing in a double capacity: physically, yes, but more importantly, engaging with and my relationship with China and my family members in the process.
So, a plea and lesson to the Cornell community – one I am still learning myself. Be kinder towards alternative worldviews and traditional beliefs. Hold progress in high importance, but do so with compassion. Building a better future, I’m realizing, doesn’t require ridiculing the past – and, perhaps surprisingly, a kindness towards tradition can reveal wisdom that can guide us into the future as well.