Prompt: We are interested in learning more about you and the context in which you have grown up, formed your aspirations, and accomplished your academic successes. Please describe the factors and challenges that have most shaped your personal life and aspirations. How have these factors helped you to grow?
Whenever I say that want to study history, I'm usually posed with the question "Why history?". I almost always say, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it", an overused quick and easy answer. What I hadn't realized until recently is that I've lived my life following this platitude. I've spent so much time, for so long, reflecting on my family's mistakes and learning from them.
Let's start from the beginning, i.e. when I was born: My mother was twenty-five, unmarried, but seeing my father, who was thirty-five. She was in the parish jail for the months leading up to my birth, but my grandparents had somehow scraped up enough money to pay off her bail, so she would be able to care for her newborn baby. But, she left. My parents left me with my grandparents when I was a couple of months old. They only came back when my mom gave birth my sister, and then, of course, left again after she felt she no longer had a responsibility to be there. Flash-forward to the present, my parents have been in and out of jail, as well as struggling with drug and alcohol addiction, for my entire life. They've been nothing but absent in my life. Neither of them attended a college or university, which, on top of their criminal records, makes it hard for them to get hired on at a steady job. This prevents them from giving my grandparents any money to assist them in raising us, though I'm not sure they would give them money if they had any to start with. That being said, the whole of my childhood was my grandparents telling me how my parents are no good, irresponsible, criminals, and that I "best not turn out like them". And though it hurt to hear, looking back on it, I appreciate their candor. Some issues have to be addressed laconically for one to understand the direness of it. "Don't become your mother, don't become your father" was the mantra I had on repeat in my subconscious at all times. To put it in perspective, I compare learning my family's history to reading a Greek tragedy. There's always a lesson to be learned, a point where you step back and ask, "Wow, ol' Oedipus has some wild family problems; what can the reader take away from his whole ... situation?". While the moral of Oedipus Rex is to not be overly-prideful (more appropriately, "Don't marry your mother, don't kill your father"), the moral with my family was to always acknowledge the consequences before you do something, and take responsibility once you've done it. But, as I've learned, there will always be exceptions.
As time has gone on, I've become indifferent to my parents. It's my reality now, one I've come to accept, one I don't necessarily want pity for. But, while my family openly reprehend my parents, they keep quiet on matters that actually genuinely affect me. When I was a child, around four of five, my older cousin sexually abused me. The whole of my family knows of it, but generally don't hold him accountable. At some point, probably when I was about thirteen, I fully came to terms with this, but for some reason, I was never able to process it and make peace with it as I had done with my parents. Upon introspection, I realized their feigned ignorance of the situation made me feel worthless, and as if my experience didn't matter to my family. My mental health suffered greatly because of this, and has never fully recovered. I withdraw in myself and struggle with regular tasks, but I slowly find the strength to pick back up and carry on for the time being. And though I wish I could press ahead and purge any negative feelings, I fear that I'll always hold sadness in my heart for the situation. But while I can't move on, for the time being, I can learn from it, as I've always done: If you can manage to hold yourself responsible for what you've done, you can hold others responsible, too.
I can't change the past; neither can I neglect it. All anyone can ever do with history-whether it be the history of a grandiose empire from a millennia ago, the history of the world's wars, or the history of their dysfunctional family-is learn from it. "Why history?", my grandmother asks me. "Those who cannot remember the past," I answer her, " are condemned to repeat it." The lessons I've learned guide me through my tumultuous life. Now all there is to do is hope that these lessons I've taken from my family throughout my life allow me to do better than my mother and grandmother could.
I can't change the past; neither can I neglect it
Whenever I say that want to study history, I'm usually posed with the question "Why history?". I almost always say, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it", an overused quick and easy answer. What I hadn't realized until recently is that I've lived my life following this platitude. I've spent so much time, for so long, reflecting on my family's mistakes and learning from them.
Let's start from the beginning, i.e. when I was born: My mother was twenty-five, unmarried, but seeing my father, who was thirty-five. She was in the parish jail for the months leading up to my birth, but my grandparents had somehow scraped up enough money to pay off her bail, so she would be able to care for her newborn baby. But, she left. My parents left me with my grandparents when I was a couple of months old. They only came back when my mom gave birth my sister, and then, of course, left again after she felt she no longer had a responsibility to be there. Flash-forward to the present, my parents have been in and out of jail, as well as struggling with drug and alcohol addiction, for my entire life. They've been nothing but absent in my life. Neither of them attended a college or university, which, on top of their criminal records, makes it hard for them to get hired on at a steady job. This prevents them from giving my grandparents any money to assist them in raising us, though I'm not sure they would give them money if they had any to start with. That being said, the whole of my childhood was my grandparents telling me how my parents are no good, irresponsible, criminals, and that I "best not turn out like them". And though it hurt to hear, looking back on it, I appreciate their candor. Some issues have to be addressed laconically for one to understand the direness of it. "Don't become your mother, don't become your father" was the mantra I had on repeat in my subconscious at all times. To put it in perspective, I compare learning my family's history to reading a Greek tragedy. There's always a lesson to be learned, a point where you step back and ask, "Wow, ol' Oedipus has some wild family problems; what can the reader take away from his whole ... situation?". While the moral of Oedipus Rex is to not be overly-prideful (more appropriately, "Don't marry your mother, don't kill your father"), the moral with my family was to always acknowledge the consequences before you do something, and take responsibility once you've done it. But, as I've learned, there will always be exceptions.
As time has gone on, I've become indifferent to my parents. It's my reality now, one I've come to accept, one I don't necessarily want pity for. But, while my family openly reprehend my parents, they keep quiet on matters that actually genuinely affect me. When I was a child, around four of five, my older cousin sexually abused me. The whole of my family knows of it, but generally don't hold him accountable. At some point, probably when I was about thirteen, I fully came to terms with this, but for some reason, I was never able to process it and make peace with it as I had done with my parents. Upon introspection, I realized their feigned ignorance of the situation made me feel worthless, and as if my experience didn't matter to my family. My mental health suffered greatly because of this, and has never fully recovered. I withdraw in myself and struggle with regular tasks, but I slowly find the strength to pick back up and carry on for the time being. And though I wish I could press ahead and purge any negative feelings, I fear that I'll always hold sadness in my heart for the situation. But while I can't move on, for the time being, I can learn from it, as I've always done: If you can manage to hold yourself responsible for what you've done, you can hold others responsible, too.
I can't change the past; neither can I neglect it. All anyone can ever do with history-whether it be the history of a grandiose empire from a millennia ago, the history of the world's wars, or the history of their dysfunctional family-is learn from it. "Why history?", my grandmother asks me. "Those who cannot remember the past," I answer her, " are condemned to repeat it." The lessons I've learned guide me through my tumultuous life. Now all there is to do is hope that these lessons I've taken from my family throughout my life allow me to do better than my mother and grandmother could.
