Undergraduate / Everybody is different; "People whose beliefs differ from your own" [4]

This essay is due in two days and I was really looking for some feedback on it before I submitted it! Anything would help really, thanks in advance. The prompt is:

Describe a setting in which you have collaborated or interacted with people whose experiences and/or
beliefs differ from yours. Address your initial feelings, and how those feelings were or were not changed
by this experience.

Everybody is different. I learned that in elementary school. Actually, I probably learned that before elementary school. It's a basic idea that everybody understands. We are all you unique - diverse, uncommon - and while that seems like a straightforward concept to ingest, we often let it slide when it comes to our roots. But, is everyone's family the same? I don't know anybody that would be able to say yes to that. As for my own family and line of heritage, I've noticed that we are completely different. As I have grown, matured, and taken my own future into consideration, I've noticed contrasts in traditions and values within my own roots.

For the longest time, the only kind of family I ever knew was my own. Now, I don't mean this literally, but as far as family structure and beliefs go, I would always default to my own immediate family. Here, I was always raised to follow my interests. Whether it was music, swimming, or being a scientist, my parents were never hesitant in encouraging and enabling me to pursue my passions. With that, I was allowed to participate in things like summer camps, piano lessons, swim teams - the list goes on. With that encouragement, though, came the silent expectation that I would make the most of these opportunities given to me, each and every time. I learned to be grateful because of this, and I grew up with an appreciation for working my hardest. As years have passed, I've really embraced this idea of encouragement and expectations, always pushing myself out of my comfort zone with new people, instruments, and even workplaces.

The way my dad raised me is not the same way he was raised, and the way my grandfather raised his kids was not the same in following his own siblings. Of the members I have met in my lifetime, I am able to trace the Alvarez family back two generations, following the roots of our tree from Austin, to Houston, then to Corpus Christi. That is where a big part of my family started - Corpus Christi - and that's where a big part of my family has stayed. Although I had made visits to them as a toddler, I didn't truly meet them until I was a teenager, and, upon doing that, I noticed that the family atmosphere was completely different from what I had in Austin. Even something as simple as how many people were there - how many of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and now even their kids had decided to stay in Corpus Christi. And, just being there, I could tell that this was not the first weekend cookout my Uncle had had, after my parents and I were the only family members there that were introduced. It was obvious to me that this part of my family was closely tied together, and while it sounds heartless, that was something unfamiliar to me, at least with my extended family.

When I finally got to sit down and open up, I felt pretty welcomed to this side of the family. Needless to say, the appearance of a close family was genuine. One of the stories that really clashed with me was about my cousin, Mia, who had turned down a paid internship in Florida. "We just want her to stay around the house," my aunt told me. Stay around the house, I thought, now that is not happening. Hearing that made me imagine myself in her place - having to stay at home instead of taking ahold of an opportunity like that. An adventure like that. But, even though it did not click in my brain, it was pretty clear why she stayed in Corpus Christi: to stay with her family. It wasn't that her parents wanted to hurt her, or hold her back; they just wanted her to hold on to the family tradition, and the family value of taking care of one another even if opportunity knocks.

And, while that is heartening to think about, it's something I wouldn't want to happen to me. As much as I love my family, I have always expected that day that I leave the nest, that day that I create my own opportunity to pursue my interests. Being a part of that branch of the family in Corpus Christi and being able to contrast myself to it is something that has motivated me to stick with that pursuit, wherever it may take me. I take value in my family, but I want the opportunity to shine my best; I want to follow my interests, stretching the Alvarez name just a little further. And I know - when I start my own branch on the tree - that I want to continue that belief for generations to come.

Undergraduate / I remember the first time my lung collapsed; CENTRAL TO IDENTITY [3]

Please be harsh on my writing, I really appreciate any sort of feedback. I chose the second prompt: 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 story.

I gently trace the IV tubing bandaged onto my hand as I wait for the door to shut. Still staring at the lumps of my feet under the layers of blankets, I hear the final confirmation from the door that I am alone. Click. I slide my fingers past my boiling temples to the back of my head, doing my best to fix my blurring vision. Operating room in forty five minutes. I let the doctor's words repeat through my head, shocked and disappointed.

Two years ago I started having problems with my lungs. Because of my bean pole build and rapid-growth my lungs would develop holes, causing them to deflate and collapse. Though I became quite familiar with surgery and x-rays, most of my treatment and healing took place outside of the hospital. The problem made it difficult to stay active at first, holding me from things like swimming, traveling, and playing saxophone. Despite the initial setbacks it became clear that I could choose how the ailment affected me. I learned that I can be interrupted, but I will not be stopped.

I remember the first time my lung collapsed. I was in a History test when I stretched my back over the chair a little too far. The resulting chest pain put me in a rather chaotic visit to the hospital filled with x-rays, stitches, and scars. That fall I entered a five month recovery period, with strict instructions to avoid any strenuous breathing. I was immediately prohibited from playing the saxophone, causing me to lose my spot in the marching band show, miss concert performances, and fall behind on practice and improvement on the instrument. As I looked past my recovery I realized that I would miss the annual jazz auditions I had prepared for, going from fourth in the state my junior year to not competing at all my senior year. It was an awkward period of adjustment that threw off my routine, but, with the newly found free time, I decided to swallow my self-pity and adapt to the circumstance.

Consequently, I began spending more time with the piano and the guitar. They were instruments I had never really focused on and instruments that didn't require, well, air. Even though I was still playing music, it was a disappointment not to be a part of the marching show. That was until one morning I noticed the group of percussionists that stand at the front of the band: the front ensemble. The idea of playing percussion had been in the back of my mind since elementary school - It was the whole reason I had started taking piano lessons as a kid. After I suggested the change to my teachers, I eagerly took up the task to catch up on the percussion music. I spent time in class and after school practicing the instruments and gradually switched my role from playing saxophone to playing cymbals, drums, and piano in the front ensemble. It was foreign yet engaging and, despite the initial setback, the change allowed me to branch out while still practicing and developing my musicianship.

What brought me to make the change was not how I missed the saxophone; rather, it was the idea of being held back and the fear of becoming obsolete that motivated me the most. It is the idea of restrictions that really gets under my skin, especially as a jazz musician. The circumstance provided an excuse for why I don't play music. It presented itself as a barrier to make me turn around and give up, but I learned that is not the kind of person I am. I learned to push through the things that stack up against me, and that is how I choose to define myself: by what I do, not by my setbacks. I learned that I can be interrupted, but I will not be stopped.