Roknod20
Dec 23, 2013
Undergraduate / Birth mortality rate in Ghana; Central to Identity [2]
I know my work is not the best and I hope you guys can give me advice on how to make it better
Common app essay one
Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their
application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your s
tory.
They came carted in black polythene bags; grisly cadavers, en route to an even more horrifying grave. With every step their undertaker took, my urge to vomit became even more overpowering. "Eleven babies in all this week," I had overheard the head nurse tell the undertaker. As I observed the grim spectacle from the hospitals tinted windows, I wondered whether my stillborn sister was buried among the poor souls. Soon the undertaker arrived at the makeshift grave and without ceremony threw in the bags of dead babies. This scene might have reduced many twelve year olds to tears, yet I hardly blinked. Not that my heart was made of stone but like the undertaker I had witnessed this scene too many times to be affected.
Suddenly the hospital's supper alarm rings loudly, jolting me from my reminiscence. Sluggishly, I get off the visitors bench and remember with dread that it's six pm- an hour past supper at home. Though I know my mother will throw another dangerous fit at my lateness, I still perform my daily predeparture "ritual". Grabbing my school bag, I bid farewell to my friends, the hospital staff, farewell and leave via the maternity ward exit. I intentionally do so to sneak a peek at the heartwarming sight of rows of sleeping babies. Holding that image in my head, I make my way to the hospital's grave yard to complete my ritual. There I solemnly drink in the chilling and conflicting image of mounds of buried infants. It is here, in my daily juxtaposition of these opposing images, that I unusually renew my mental peace and sense of purpose. When I appreciate again and again, the fine line between life and death children born in my community have to face.
The World Health Organization estimates the birth mortality rate in Ghana, my country, as 39 deaths per 1000 live births a day. That estimate is practical in our better developed cities where healthcare is easily accessible. However, in my underdeveloped hometown Koforidua, things are quite the opposite. With just two hospitals and one maternity home, we are often found wanting when serious birth problems arise. I really understood the extent of deterioration. Losing a loved one after month's anticipation nearly tore me apart with sorrow. Yet in as much as I suffered from the harrowing experience, I gained in kind. Through my loss, I gained my consuming passion to change things in my hometown. It was this passion that drove to volunteer at our Central Hospital. I so desperately wanted to help that I willingly washed their towels and scrubbed the delivery room floors. In my little mind, I believed I was indirectly saving the children. However as I matured, I realized I had to do so much more. That was when I made a decision I knew had been coming for a long time; I would dedicate my life to treating children.
Gautama Buddha once said "Your purpose in life is to find your purpose and give your whole heart and soul to it." I found mine and it defines me in inexplicable but powerful way. And one day when I have the skills and power, I will return to fulfill that purpose.
I know my work is not the best and I hope you guys can give me advice on how to make it better
Common app essay one
Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their
application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your s
tory.
They came carted in black polythene bags; grisly cadavers, en route to an even more horrifying grave. With every step their undertaker took, my urge to vomit became even more overpowering. "Eleven babies in all this week," I had overheard the head nurse tell the undertaker. As I observed the grim spectacle from the hospitals tinted windows, I wondered whether my stillborn sister was buried among the poor souls. Soon the undertaker arrived at the makeshift grave and without ceremony threw in the bags of dead babies. This scene might have reduced many twelve year olds to tears, yet I hardly blinked. Not that my heart was made of stone but like the undertaker I had witnessed this scene too many times to be affected.
Suddenly the hospital's supper alarm rings loudly, jolting me from my reminiscence. Sluggishly, I get off the visitors bench and remember with dread that it's six pm- an hour past supper at home. Though I know my mother will throw another dangerous fit at my lateness, I still perform my daily predeparture "ritual". Grabbing my school bag, I bid farewell to my friends, the hospital staff, farewell and leave via the maternity ward exit. I intentionally do so to sneak a peek at the heartwarming sight of rows of sleeping babies. Holding that image in my head, I make my way to the hospital's grave yard to complete my ritual. There I solemnly drink in the chilling and conflicting image of mounds of buried infants. It is here, in my daily juxtaposition of these opposing images, that I unusually renew my mental peace and sense of purpose. When I appreciate again and again, the fine line between life and death children born in my community have to face.
The World Health Organization estimates the birth mortality rate in Ghana, my country, as 39 deaths per 1000 live births a day. That estimate is practical in our better developed cities where healthcare is easily accessible. However, in my underdeveloped hometown Koforidua, things are quite the opposite. With just two hospitals and one maternity home, we are often found wanting when serious birth problems arise. I really understood the extent of deterioration. Losing a loved one after month's anticipation nearly tore me apart with sorrow. Yet in as much as I suffered from the harrowing experience, I gained in kind. Through my loss, I gained my consuming passion to change things in my hometown. It was this passion that drove to volunteer at our Central Hospital. I so desperately wanted to help that I willingly washed their towels and scrubbed the delivery room floors. In my little mind, I believed I was indirectly saving the children. However as I matured, I realized I had to do so much more. That was when I made a decision I knew had been coming for a long time; I would dedicate my life to treating children.
Gautama Buddha once said "Your purpose in life is to find your purpose and give your whole heart and soul to it." I found mine and it defines me in inexplicable but powerful way. And one day when I have the skills and power, I will return to fulfill that purpose.