Undergraduate / Johns Hopkins Supplement Essay - Undecided - "My Calling" [8]

THE QUESTION MARKS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HYPHENS, but they didn't show up on the preview for some reason...

MY CALLING

"And when you're successful enough, you'll start your own clinic in Bangladesh." "And help all the poor people!" I replied enthusiastically to my mother. I was five then, aspired to become a doctor, eager to change the world through medicine. Little did I know that it was my mother's dream as well.

For years, my parents have encouraged me to study medicine and to pursue a career in health as a physician or surgeon, and I consented. Why not? I had nothing better in mind, and my parents were overjoyed; I was their ideal son - at the time being. It wasn't until my sophomore year in high school that my interests began to differ from that of my parents'. During my spring term, I was required to take "Technical Drawing" as a core technology class. As the lessons progressed, I became very interested in the class - I was skilled at it, too. During my Junior year, I took its supplementary course, "Advanced CAD", to promote my interest and am now currently taking "Architecture" in my Senior year. As a Junior, I began making plans on studying around the area of my interests; I knew what I planned to study on - somewhere along the lines of civil engineering. The only problem was getting my parents' approval.

As I had thought, my parents didn't see eye to eye on this idea; they - mostly my mother - were still deeply determined to make their eldest son a doctor. For months my mother persisted on trying to change my mind. Finally, I chose to ask her, "Why? Why do you want me to be a doctor?" She replied that it was her dream to study medicine. Intrigued, I listened. "How old am I?" Thirty-six, I guessed. "Thirty-five. I was nineteen when I was pregnant with you. I was nineteen when I came here, to America, in hopes that you, Fahim, would have a better future."

Nineteen? I had never realized how young my mother was when she immigrated to the United States gave birth to me - only two years older than my current age. At the age of nineteen, my mother left everything - her friends, her family, her mother - for my sake. To make things worse, my mother had to cease her studies because she was on the verge of conceiving a child. "Just try it. See if you like studying medicine. You'll never know unless you try." I wasn't sure what I would do.

Johns Hopkins had always been a preference of mine, but it wasn't until its Summer Pre-College Program that I realized that the university was the right choice for me. During the program, a current student at Hopkins stated, "I've gone through four majors already. I'm not sure if I'm going to sticky by this one either." The comment was received as humorous to the audience, but it caught my attention. The freedom to change your major - and then change it again - without any serious consequences; I need that. There was an account of a man at JHU who was majoring in Mathematics, and yet was preparing for his MCAT as well, as a Premed.

I've decided to remain undecided for my major for the present time. As a Johns Hopkins student, I will be able to take classes that satisfy the interests of both my parents and myself, without having any hassle in taking such varied classes. In doing so, I'll be able to keep my options open, and find my true calling. Whether I decide to study in civil engineering or medicine, only time can tell.

Alright guys, please be as critical as possible in regards to my essay. I'm not very articulate when it comes to writing, so please give your best suggestions in how I can improve on my essay. Is the why I transitioned JHU into the essay alright? Negative and positive comments are both welcome, so long as it helps =]

Also, is my title alright? I'm not very creative when it comes to titles either.

Undergraduate / Common App Essay - A Fatal Mistake [3]

Prompt #3:
Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.

A Fatal Mistake

I remember first meeting Turjoh in my brother Mahir's class when I was fourteen; I was dropping my brother off on his first day of school, where the students were lined up according to their assigned homerooms. Seeing a boy shorter than average height with spiked hair, I knew at an instant that he was Bengali. I had never seen Turjoh before, and there being very few Bengali students in the school, I told my brother to take his place on line beside the child, urging him to make a new friend. Turjoh seemed very friendly; the two got along quite well.

Later that day I found out that Turjoh had just recently moved to our neighborhood. "He moved from Queens two weeks ago!" my brother exclaimed enthusiastically. "He has a PSP and a Playstation 2 and like every game! His mom lets him do whatever he wants, too. He's my new best friend." For days, my brother spoke of nothing but his new friend Turjoh and I was happy my brother had made a good acquaintance. I saw very little of the boy, until my mother told me that Turjoh's family was having a few problems with their computer.

"His mother called me today, and asked if you could see what's wrong with it." I couldn't say no to my mother, and headed out to his house. That day, while fixing Turjoh's modem, I found out the reason why his family had moved to Parkchester; his parents were separated and eventually divorced two months before.

"Turjoh is all I have now. I'll do anything to keep him happy."
Throughout the school year, Turjoh visited my house numerous times and during those months, a brotherly bond formed between us. He frequently asked me for help on his homework, respected me for my prowess in Mortal Kombat and was amazed by my ability to solve a Rubik's Cube in under a minute. At times, he would tell me how much he missed his older brother, who lived with his father in Queens. I tried my best to fill in that hole.

A few years passed, my brother moved onto middle school, and Turjoh visited less and less frequently. Being very busy with high school, I didn't notice the sudden change at first. When I asked my brother what was wrong, he replied, "Turjoh changed. He only hangs out with girls and the older kids now." I laughed at this, finding it comical to picture an eleven-year-old boy with his arms draped around girls his age.

The next time I saw Turjoh, his appearance was completely different from before, sporting a leather coat with his hair slicked back. As he approached me casually as I walked down the street, I greeted him, and asked him how he was. Our conversation was ended abruptly when he asked me something very unexpected: "So, can I get a joint?" I stared at him with awe.

"No," I replied. "I don't smoke, and even if I did, I wouldn't give you one." With that said, I walked home in disbelief. The next day, I saw my cousin strolling down the block. I told him about the conversation I had the evening before, and laughed at how ridiculous it was.

"Haha, yea. He asked me the same thing yesterday, too. I didn't have a joint, so I gave him a smoke instead." It took me a moment to realize what he had said. Not caring to say a word to him, I ran toward Turjoh's house to inform his mother about the predicament. After knocking on the door for quite some time, I realized no one was there. When I arrived at home, my mother came to me, her face stricken. Turjoh was in the emergency room in the hospital.

It turned out that he had asthma, and was lucky to be alive, since he was at such a young age. His mother found out from the doctors that her son had been smoking, and soon decided to return to Bangladesh in order to "restrict him".

Turjoh's actions were outrageous, but they succeeded in making me aware of my own responsibilities as both a brother and as a young adult. If I had thought of his intentions in a more serious manner, the problem could have been avoided. At times, I think of what I would have done if my own brother had asked me the same question. Would I have treated the request in the same manner? I had thought of myself as a logical and rational person. Turjoh reminded me that there is still a lot to learn before I reach that status.

Poetry / "Harsh Moments" - A Poem For School... [6]

Please comment on this. I would love both negative and positive comments. The more the merrier!

Harsh Moments

Coat hanger, wooden spoon,
belt; your tools of discipline.
My friends still joke of memories
of hearing my screams
from a block down.
Hearing my screams for mercy.
I laugh with them,
but inside I wince
as I remember your beatings, my screams.
The crack of leather on my flesh.

I remember the days when you screamed at me,
threatened to kick me out of the house,
into the streets.
I remember when you locked me
in that dark stuffy closet.
Sitting there for hours and hours
I cried for help,
scared of what was inside with me.
I remember when you ripped my report card,
called me worthless.
I remember.

I try to remember the good moments,
the times when you were gentle, heartwarming.
Motherly.
Sitting, I close my eyes and think.
Nothing.

Undergraduate / "Arabs are the new blacks"; CUNY Mac Honors / Local, National, International problem [2]

So...I submitted this essay a couple of days back, BUT I would still like to hear some opinions. Both negative and positive are welcome! =]

Describe a local, national or international problem and how it's personal to you (not exact words of essay prompt).

"Arabs are the new blacks."
Many people have heard this comment over the past few years. As one reads this essay, he or she may think, What does this have to do with you? It is true that I am not an Arab. On my application it says that my parents are of Bengali descent, and I was born here, in the United States. So how does this statement pertain to me? My belief lies with the teachings of Islam. Yes, I'm a Muslim.

In truth, the statement that was mentioned above applies to not just Arabs, but all Muslims and even people who are thought to be Muslims, for that matter. In the recent years, many have looked down upon Muslims due to the actions of September 11, 2001 as well as the war in the Middle East. As the years have gone by, the discrimination against Muslims has escalated as the war dwindles on. At times, I wonder why such a few number of miscreants seem to be the display label for such a peaceful religion.

I remember an event that had occurred a few years ago, soon after 9/11, after it was declared that the attack on the World Trade Center was caused by Muslim extremists. My father came rushing home one afternoon, his face stricken with fear. My mother asked him what had happened, and I listened intently.

"I saw a taxi cab driver beaten senseless today," my father said. "He was pulled right out of his car into the streets. He kept screaming, 'I'm not Muslim! I'm not Muslim!' He was Sikh, for god's sake! And no one even helped him until after the men left." I later realized that the man was targeted because he wore a turban, a typical stereotype of Arabs. The men's intentions were to beat a Muslim. Why would another Muslim ï or in this case, a Sikh ï have to pay for the actions of a few individuals?

The answer is simple: ignorance. At times, it is bewildering at how obtuse and narrow-minded some people are. Islam is a religion of peace, yet ï in my opinion ï when most people hear of Islam, the first thought that comes to mind is Jihad, suicide bombing, or terrorism. If I were to ask someone what he or she thought Jihad was, they would ï of course ï reply, "a holy war." That is not entirely true. Jihad is an individual's striving for spiritual perfection. The question is, how many people view the term as such?

In reality, most Muslims hate extremists as much as any other person. Not only do they create havoc, but they also give Islam a bad name. It isn't pleasant when people view Muslims as radicals setting the US flag on fire.

The disregard of Islamic traditions is only one of the many things the public seems to overlook. Any culture or religion that isn't one's own seems to be criticized. Until this crudeness is overcome, problems will continue to arise. Although there is no real solution to this problem, one can only hope that through time, these indifferences will be quelled.