Undergraduate / "I used to think life was different" - Harvard supplemental essay for fall admissions [4]

I will be applying to Harvard this fall and I was hoping to receive some feedback on my rough draft. Any criticism is more than welcome. The essay is meant to inform the school of my hardships or "unusual circumstances in my life." It is approximately 880 words, which I thought was a little lengthy. I do not see how I can shorten it. PLEASE help me out here!

"Yo pensaba que la vida era distinta. Cuando estaba pequeńito, yo creía que las cosas eran fácil como ayer." (I used to think life was different. When I was small, I believed things were as easy as yesterday). This quote from the song "Los Caminos de la Vida" (The trails of life) has never failed to make me bawl. The hardships that I have come cross and continue to endure make my early infancy days seem impeccable.

When I look back upon my situation, it seems like everything collapsed within itself in a matter of seconds. It all started in Colombia when I was eight years old. My parents were supporting my maternal family with politics related affairs. The "guerrilla" warned my parents to stop the support of my uncle's campaign for mayor of Pivijay, a small town in Colombia. My parents failed to react, causing death threats to infiltrate our home. The decision made was for my dad to leave the country as soon as possible. He decided to move to Elizabeth, NJ, where he had a couple of friends. My mom and I kept a low profile in Colombia until meeting up with my dad in the states less than a year later. My sister, Melissa, remained in Colombia to finish her undergraduate degree before fleeting the country to France. How much it would have hurt me to know that I would not be seeing her until seven years later. I left everything I knew and loved for an unfamiliar abyss.

As an innocent eight year old, I was making the best out of the opportunity to come to the states. I enjoyed the trajectory until we got to JFK International Airport. When I finally got to see my father, he looked disheveled and weak. I thought things were going to get better since he had us now. My mom promptly started working night shifts cleaning airplanes in Newark. The surveillance that my parents always kept on me would be removed for an undefined amount of time. I was starting third grade in a new school with no friends or a common language. The financial situation was rough so we resorted to renting out rooms in our rented apartment. The apartment had four rooms; three of which were occupied by couples. I had to share a room with my parents, who I barely came across with, until the unexpected occurred. One day after school, a group of reporters crowded the front of the apartment's door. It turns that one of the couples had passed away after an inebriated off duty cop collided with them on route 1-9. My parents had to work even longer now that there was a new deficit in the household budget. As time passed, it seemed like I was making more wrong decisions. At the end of sixth grade's first semester I had skipped ten days of school. I also started hanging out with the wrong kids and made a habit out of smoking cigarettes, or bogies as we used to call them. On the average day, I used to return home at ten o'clock. My parents would not suspect a thing due to their lack of presence. At the end of sixth grade, my parents became aware of the situation and chose to move to Georgia where they hoped to start fresh.

My dad remained working in New Jersey while my mom and I settled in our newly purchased house. When my dad joined us, he immediately enrolled himself in a full-time and part-time job. We were still not able to make ends meet and decided to rent one of the rooms of the house. I saw that my parents were making this sacrifice for me. During my seventh and eight grade years, I helped my dad every night cleaning the local Ford dealership. Despite how tired I was, I would work as fast as I could knowing that the faster we finished, the longer he would get to sleep before his full-time job. The recession would create a new struggle for us. The renter moved out of our house and my dad lost his part-time job. The mortgage payments were being neglected and we soon went into foreclosure. My dad used our savings and hired a lawyer to appeal. Luckily for us, we qualified under Obama's plan for mortgage bailouts. I shortly got a job in order to buy necessities and commodities such as leisure books, test preparation books, and to pay for club membership fees. Today, my dad holds two full-time jobs and my mom work six days a week. We also recently took in another renter to try to make the finances breakeven.

All I want to do is make my parents proud. I hate walking in my mom's room after work and hearing her crying about the overwhelming pain in her hands. I hate knowing that my dad has to work sixteen hours straight just to get us by. I hate being aware that my parents are in their mid-fifties and will not be able to handle the factory life for much longer. I see them falling apart under my own eyes every single day. I cannot do anything about it and it kills me little by little.

Writing Feedback / "make my parents proud" - Unusual Circumstances Essay [4]

It was linked to my first draft but the reply box was closed. I am just looking for some feedback. All comments are welcome.

I told him I would be back, but when I returned from purchasing the now-bitter yogurt he was gone. My father had left for his flight with extreme paranoia. The happiest man in the world had become filled with sadness and terror. He was on his way to the "land of opportunity" where he would soon be enslaved to long hours of labor. Even though I was aware of the circumstances and the reason why dad left us, I expressed my feelings with anger, rebellion, and later deep devotion to erudition.

I wish the paranoia, sadness, and terror was because of the fear of a new country. In reality, it was because of my dad's involvement in my uncle's political campaign and its complications. The guerrilla warned my parents to stop the support of my uncle's campaign for mayor of Pivijay, a small town in Colombia. My parents failed to react, causing death threats to infiltrate our home. My dad became aware of the risk and decided to move to Elizabeth, NJ, where he applied for political asylum. My mom and I kept a low profile in Colombia until meeting up with my dad in the states less than a year later. My sister, Melissa, was older than eighteen so she was not able to be included in the political asylum. The growing relationship between us was compromised since I would not be seeing her for another seven years.

As an innocent eight year old, I was making the best out of the opportunity to come to the states. I enjoyed the trajectory until we got to JFK International Airport. When I finally got to see my father, he looked disheveled and weak. I thought things were going to get better since he had us now. My mom promptly started working night shifts cleaning airplanes in Newark. The surveillance that my parents always kept on me would be removed for an undefined amount of time. I was starting third grade in a new school with no friends or a common language. The financial situation was rough so we resorted to renting out rooms in our rented apartment. The apartment had four rooms, three of which were occupied by couples. I had to share a room with my parents, who I rarely saw. One day the unexpected happened. One of the couples passed away in a severe car accident. My parents had to work even longer now that there was a new deficit in the household budget. As time passed, it seemed like I was making more wrong decisions. In sixth grade's fourth quarter alone, I had skipped five days of school. I also started hanging out with the wrong kids and made a habit out of smoking cigarettes, or bogies as we used to call them. On the average day, I used to return home at ten o'clock. My parents would not suspect a thing due to their lack of presence. Report card day came and my parents became aware of the circumstances. They chose to move to Georgia in hope for a fresh start.

My dad remained working in New Jersey while my mom and I settled in our newly purchased house. When my dad joined us, he immediately enrolled himself in a full-time and part-time job. We were still not able to make ends meet and decided to rent one of the rooms of the house. I shortly realized my parents were making all the sacrifices for me. I had to do something to repay them. During my seventh, eight, and ninth grade years, I chose to help my dad every night cleaning the local Ford dealership. Despite how tired I was, I would remove the trash bags as fast as I could, knowing that the faster we finished, the longer he would get to sleep before his full-time job. Even though my grades were slipping and I was feeling selfish for playing sports, I figured helping my dad was the least I could do. The recession would create a new struggle for us. The renter moved out of our house and my dad lost his part-time job. The mortgage payments were being neglected and we soon went into foreclosure. My dad used our only savings and hired a lawyer to appeal. Luckily for us, we qualified under Obama's plan for mortgage bailouts. I decided to make things easier for my parents and quit playing sports. Before long, I got a job in order to buy necessities and commodities such as leisure books, test preparation books, testing fees, and the now affordable extracurricular activities. My new passion and obsession became knowing more than the next guy. My peers have always known for my outstanding wit and knowledge, but it was not until the beginning of my junior year that I had a surge in academia. My physics teacher, Mr. Ames, opened my eyes. It was not the regular non-challenging boring "gifted" classes that I was used to. I became intrigued by demanding but manageable topics. I found myself spending hours reading and researching a broad range of topics. It is said that physical exercise relieves stress, but I say mental exercise leads to understanding stress and finding ways to eliminate it.

Today, my dad holds two full-time jobs and my mom work six days a week. They have recently separated, as you can guess, because of the situations. My dad and I recently took in another renter to try to make the finances breakeven. I go see my mom after work, and hear her crying about the overwhelming pain in her hands. I know that my dad has to work at least sixteen hours straight just to get us by. I am aware that my parents are in their mid-fifties and will not be able to handle the factory life for much longer. They make these efforts not for me to get a full-time job after high school, but to pursue my dreams that have now become theirs. As I have gotten older and wiser, I have come to realize the faults in my actions. They have always been based on what is good for my parents or what is good for me. I have never implemented them simultaneously. All I want to do is make my parents proud.