fdodi1
Nov 30, 2016
Undergraduate / In the Eyes of My Siblings - ESSAY for UCLA: Freshman Application [2]
Please, any feed back on where to cut and where to keep! PLEASE and thank you!
Prompt: Tell a story from your life, describing an experience that either demonstrates your character or helped to shape it. (600 words max;)
In the Eyes of My Siblings
I am not someone who runs away from home. I never planned to run away from home, but the words uttered by my 6 year old brother strike me so deep in my heart, I will never ever forget.
"Why are you leaving Fatima? Please don't run away."
I had turned from my suitcase to see him standing with tears brimming in his eyes, blinking so I won't notice. I reached out to him and wiped his tears with my scarf. I whispered in his ear, "I promise we'll be together soon." Obviously as an inquisitive child, he asked when and how and more questions after, questions I couldn't possibly answer.
My siblings have burned from me all selfishness and entitlement. I have 8 younger siblings and one older sister. The summer after my 7th grade when we moved to Somalia, my Dad and sister stayed behind, so I had to buckle up and fold my skirt up high to assure that my brothers and sisters weren't neglected. Hours were spent on washing clothes by hand, gathering coal to cook, and reading to the ones who couldn't read. I didn't understand why we continued to stay if life was considerably harder and when I pestered my mother she would jokingly say, "So you won't turn out like Madonna." She was never explicit, but I had some notion that she feared I would change and assimilate into an unfamiliar culture and she was unable to prevent that. I realized how much they needed guidance and encouragement to explore and help others, and I started by taking initiative to role model exactly that.
Living with my siblings, I began to endure their arguments and love their questions. Of course they couldn't hit each other or scream, but I encouraged structured arguments in unraveling the opposing sides point while acknowledging that there are 2 sides to every argument. I would intently listen and answer their questions on anything reasonable they asked, or tell them to search for the answer themselves.
One day, after walking from afternoon Islamic School, my sister wasn't her chatty self. At home, when everyone was asleep, she confined in me that her Quran teacher told her and her friend from Ohio that they aren't really American. "He said we're Somali, Black, and Muslim and even if we went back, nobody considers us American and the majority hate us so we shouldn't desire to be American or love America," she said quietly, next to me in bed. I could imagine her heart breaking as we all prided in being both American and one day going back. Anger had risen in my chest and had filled my head, clouding my thoughts. I remember telling her that he is immature, deserved no respect, and for her to not listen to him.
It wasn't that easy though, as Quran teachers wielded so much respect and influence, my mom would surely dismiss it or believe Amina misquoted him. She fell back asleep and I remember going to the bathroom to close the door to cry, feeling like a failure for not giving her a better response to wash away her doubts. Who was he to define her identity, our identity? Who was he to turn her against her own people? He has never even left Hargeisa! What I needed was something that will easily convince Amina, something she will relate to and be equipped with to handle moments like this in the future.
You know those moments described as "light bulb moments"? They always seemed so cliche' to me, but as a programmer I came to realize these are wonderful moments to be earned through critical thinking and resilient searching. As we walked to Islamic School in the afternoon, I grabbed her arm and shared with her my light bulb moment. I voiced my reflections on the Prophet Muhammad, and how even when he was hurt by those who didn't follow him, and was forced to migrate to Madinah, he still loved his people. "I am not saying we have to start preaching to show love nor are we outcasts. My point is just because all Americans aren't Muslims doesn't mean they are hateful and disrespectful, just like we aren't of others," I said, looking her in the eye. We talked during the whole way and even missed the first class, but I didn't care. Reassuring her from such misguiding thoughts was so much more important to me at the moment. I'm also glad to say she was switched out from that horrible teacher.
This moment is forever branded in me. My defenses have been alerted and I am constantly aware of how I influence my siblings, how they synthesize my actions to their world. They say one bad apple spoils the rest. I'm the second oldest apple and through them I have learned to be driven, to seek solutions, to never give up. When I was leaving Somalia, my brother's words made me question myself. I knew hadn't been running from difficulty, but heading towards challenges and opportunity. I am stronger than ever.
Please, any feed back on where to cut and where to keep! PLEASE and thank you!
Prompt: Tell a story from your life, describing an experience that either demonstrates your character or helped to shape it. (600 words max;)
In the Eyes of My Siblings
I am not someone who runs away from home. I never planned to run away from home, but the words uttered by my 6 year old brother strike me so deep in my heart, I will never ever forget.
"Why are you leaving Fatima? Please don't run away."
I had turned from my suitcase to see him standing with tears brimming in his eyes, blinking so I won't notice. I reached out to him and wiped his tears with my scarf. I whispered in his ear, "I promise we'll be together soon." Obviously as an inquisitive child, he asked when and how and more questions after, questions I couldn't possibly answer.
My siblings have burned from me all selfishness and entitlement. I have 8 younger siblings and one older sister. The summer after my 7th grade when we moved to Somalia, my Dad and sister stayed behind, so I had to buckle up and fold my skirt up high to assure that my brothers and sisters weren't neglected. Hours were spent on washing clothes by hand, gathering coal to cook, and reading to the ones who couldn't read. I didn't understand why we continued to stay if life was considerably harder and when I pestered my mother she would jokingly say, "So you won't turn out like Madonna." She was never explicit, but I had some notion that she feared I would change and assimilate into an unfamiliar culture and she was unable to prevent that. I realized how much they needed guidance and encouragement to explore and help others, and I started by taking initiative to role model exactly that.
Living with my siblings, I began to endure their arguments and love their questions. Of course they couldn't hit each other or scream, but I encouraged structured arguments in unraveling the opposing sides point while acknowledging that there are 2 sides to every argument. I would intently listen and answer their questions on anything reasonable they asked, or tell them to search for the answer themselves.
One day, after walking from afternoon Islamic School, my sister wasn't her chatty self. At home, when everyone was asleep, she confined in me that her Quran teacher told her and her friend from Ohio that they aren't really American. "He said we're Somali, Black, and Muslim and even if we went back, nobody considers us American and the majority hate us so we shouldn't desire to be American or love America," she said quietly, next to me in bed. I could imagine her heart breaking as we all prided in being both American and one day going back. Anger had risen in my chest and had filled my head, clouding my thoughts. I remember telling her that he is immature, deserved no respect, and for her to not listen to him.
It wasn't that easy though, as Quran teachers wielded so much respect and influence, my mom would surely dismiss it or believe Amina misquoted him. She fell back asleep and I remember going to the bathroom to close the door to cry, feeling like a failure for not giving her a better response to wash away her doubts. Who was he to define her identity, our identity? Who was he to turn her against her own people? He has never even left Hargeisa! What I needed was something that will easily convince Amina, something she will relate to and be equipped with to handle moments like this in the future.
You know those moments described as "light bulb moments"? They always seemed so cliche' to me, but as a programmer I came to realize these are wonderful moments to be earned through critical thinking and resilient searching. As we walked to Islamic School in the afternoon, I grabbed her arm and shared with her my light bulb moment. I voiced my reflections on the Prophet Muhammad, and how even when he was hurt by those who didn't follow him, and was forced to migrate to Madinah, he still loved his people. "I am not saying we have to start preaching to show love nor are we outcasts. My point is just because all Americans aren't Muslims doesn't mean they are hateful and disrespectful, just like we aren't of others," I said, looking her in the eye. We talked during the whole way and even missed the first class, but I didn't care. Reassuring her from such misguiding thoughts was so much more important to me at the moment. I'm also glad to say she was switched out from that horrible teacher.
This moment is forever branded in me. My defenses have been alerted and I am constantly aware of how I influence my siblings, how they synthesize my actions to their world. They say one bad apple spoils the rest. I'm the second oldest apple and through them I have learned to be driven, to seek solutions, to never give up. When I was leaving Somalia, my brother's words made me question myself. I knew hadn't been running from difficulty, but heading towards challenges and opportunity. I am stronger than ever.
