Undergraduate / Growing up with a single, military mother- PENN STATE ESSAY REVIEW [4]

Since I got so many helpful responses on my last post, I figured why not post again? I will take all the feedback I can get, especially with the looming deadlines.

I really need help with the ending, as I have no idea on how to wrap this up.... (NOTE: I am going in Undeclared!) I feel as though this essay is really messy but I have no idea how to make it stronger...

Here is the prompt for Penn State's Personal Statement:
Please tell us something about yourself, your experiences, or activities that you believe would reflect positively on your ability to succeed at Penn State. This is your opportunity to tell us something about yourself that is not already reflected in your application or academic records. We suggest a limit of 500 words or fewer.

Growing up with a single parent is an experience that causes many to feel a little rushed in their race to maturity. However, growing up with a single mother who is in the military, I had to reach that finish line with record-breaking time. When I was a child, my mother would deploy often, I would stay with my daycare lady. I came home to good meals, a warm bed, and people I considered family. My only responsibility was to do well in school so that my mother could come to Honor Roll achievements on the fridge and smiles on our faces. My mother missed out on some birthdays, some laughs, and some tears, but overall I would say that my childhood was fulfilling. As I got older, however, my list of chores grew, and so did my struggles. When my mother deployed for 6 months when I was 16, I was on my own. It was up to me maintain my grades. It was up to me to walk to work in order to put a little bit of food on the table. It was up to me to take care of my handicapped sibling. It was up to me to understand and work with my mother's PTSD. But most importantly, it was up to me to become an adult. When my mother was gone, I increased my workload. I pushed myself. I wanted to overcome my personal and academic barriers. Luckily, I met this goal and came out stronger than before. Despite how difficult this was for me initially, that experience taught me perseverance, determination, independence, and gave me a newfound strength. These are important skills that I will carry with me forever, and that will prepare me for new environments and rigorous academics. I no longer cower at the idea of hardships, I instead welcome them. I believe that there is a level of growth that one can only reach when they are pushed to their limits. I know that leaving home and attending college is most likely going to be a hardship. But I am prepared to be pushed, pulled, and to come out stronger. When looking at schools to apply to, I was looking for a school that offers a large, diverse community. I was looking for a school that would challenge me. I found these characteristics and more in Penn State. Although I am coming in as an undeclared major, I know that with Penn State, the academic opportunities are unlimited. I can study the deep effects of PTSD. I can work hard and in turn help people who struggled in the same way as I did. I know that by attending Penn State, my mother can come home to good grades and a smile on my face once again.

Undergraduate / Being biracial is like fighting a war within yourself - COMMON APP ESSAY REVIEW [12]

Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

My somewhat ambiguous ethnic appearance tends to be a hot topic to strangers in my life. Growing up being half white, half Afro-Latino, people apparently could not make sense of me. They were always unsure of what box to put me in. Everyone constantly tried to place me in whichever they saw fit, all while unknowingly stripping me of my identity. Feeling as if I had no place I fit in often made me feel lost. There were times where I felt I should deny parts of my ethnicity to make it easier for everyone around me and myself. To leave out these challenges I have faced as a result of my race would leave out a huge part of who I am.

Growing up with a single, Caucasian mother, I saw the discrepancies between our appearances from the beginning. I wondered why I looked nothing like my mother. My skin is very tan, and my hair is a mass of curls. Why my mother's and friends skin was so pale in comparison, and eyes so bright, and hair so straight, was a mystery to me. As I got older, however, people began to solve this mystery for me. My family and I would get strange looks from strangers on the street. My mother was insulted by her white coworkers for bearing children with such a dark skinned counterpart. Every time a friend from school met her, I had to explain how someone like me could be related to someone that looks like her. I began to feel like I had no place in my own skin. It started to feel like my genetics were a double edged sword- that was creating a wound I could not heal.

To add insult to injury, I felt completely disconnected to the half of me I was most ostracized for. My father was out of the picture, and with him was my chance to experience black culture firsthand. As a result, I was often deemed "not black enough" for my black peers. I could never figure out what they meant by "enough." I searched myself to find the answers, but could find none. It was all so confusing to me; as soon as I revealed that I was also white, my blackness was erased. Upon the recent emergence of movements such as the Black Lives Matter movement, the feelings for confusion increased. Watching people who looked like me, my siblings, my father, being murdered is still unnerving to me. I worried that my voice would not be heard in this movement, and my experiences deemed invalid as a result of the other half of me. This movement brought a strong sense of pride, but along with it a small twinge of uncertainty.

Over time and a lot of self searching, that twinge of uncertainty turned into acceptance. It took me years of the constant guessing game strangers created from my ethnicity to realize I did not have to choose. Despite what strangers insisted, my identity is not an "or" question. The answer is not A, not B, nor C or D. It is all of the above. I began to love and accept every part of myself. I am thankful to have endured the struggles I have, as they have helped me find myself and grow. I love my family, every part of it. I love my curly hair, brown eyes, and my tan skin. More importantly, I love the genetic makeup behind all of these traits. I can support the Black Lives Matter movement and come home to my mother smiling. There are no criteria or guidelines to being myself. Without all of the inner struggles I faced, I would not have come to this place of self-acceptance.