Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you. (500 word limit)
As soothing as the A/C breeze felt against my sun-scorched skin, all I wanted was to run after my mother's minivan and leave the white-bleached walls behind. The soft squeak of nurse shoes filled the lobby as pink uniformed nurses dallied about amongst the fumes of disinfectant. I stood awkwardly near the entrance in a bright orange t-shirt, faded jeans, and messy ponytail. I really don't want to be here.
I would have preferred staying home hiding in my room reading Jane Austen. Mother insisted, however, that I start doing some community service and "live a little," which I found ridiculous considering how much I lived through my books. At age fourteen, socializing was not a priority, for I, Ilse Becerra, was a cavewoman. I made myself that way. While other kids ran around scraping their knees and climbing trees, I confined myself to the four walls of my room. Why expose myself to perilous bike rides and jeering children? I did not take risks, because after ten years of stuttering and mispronouncing the English language, I had finally found my haven. Books allowed me to gossip with sheiks and interview presidents all without the jabs of mocking peers. Papercuts would never compare to the emotional gashes made by xenophobic children who teased me for the accented rolling of my Spanish tongue. I was alone, but I was safe. Mother sought to erase my solarity, however, and eagerly snatched me out of my sanctuary, offering my services at a senior home.
A nurse eventually took mercy on me and guided me through the barren halls towards the room of my first companion. The gears in my brain strained to connect to my mouth, which was used to being kept quiet. As I reached the doorway, I took one last gulp of the chlorinated air and...
Avocado-colored eyes pierced my own. I nervously walked towards her, unsure of how to interact with this woman--a woman who has known English all her life. A woman who has never doubted a single phrase, a single pronunciation. Her magnetizing gaze gripped my body and locked me into place. I felt her rough, wrinkled hands gently cover mine.
ă
ăHer knuckles were angled, and her fingers twisted in ways only those of a wise hand could, while my own hand remained polished and unmarred. My brown eyes met hers once more, but to my surprise their color had transformed from dull avocado to brilliant lime. Her loving smile calmed the flutters of my stomach. In a slight Russian accent she said: "You're strong, and you are beautiful. You are a child of God, and a child of God is never alone." Behind the mask of years, she too was an immigrant girl who had once cursed her native accent. Just as she was strong and fearless, I too would grow to view life through confident eyes, for I, Ilse Becerra, am not alone. Thanks to her words I would never feel alone again.
As soothing as the A/C breeze felt against my sun-scorched skin, all I wanted was to run after my mother's minivan and leave the white-bleached walls behind. The soft squeak of nurse shoes filled the lobby as pink uniformed nurses dallied about amongst the fumes of disinfectant. I stood awkwardly near the entrance in a bright orange t-shirt, faded jeans, and messy ponytail. I really don't want to be here.
I would have preferred staying home hiding in my room reading Jane Austen. Mother insisted, however, that I start doing some community service and "live a little," which I found ridiculous considering how much I lived through my books. At age fourteen, socializing was not a priority, for I, Ilse Becerra, was a cavewoman. I made myself that way. While other kids ran around scraping their knees and climbing trees, I confined myself to the four walls of my room. Why expose myself to perilous bike rides and jeering children? I did not take risks, because after ten years of stuttering and mispronouncing the English language, I had finally found my haven. Books allowed me to gossip with sheiks and interview presidents all without the jabs of mocking peers. Papercuts would never compare to the emotional gashes made by xenophobic children who teased me for the accented rolling of my Spanish tongue. I was alone, but I was safe. Mother sought to erase my solarity, however, and eagerly snatched me out of my sanctuary, offering my services at a senior home.
A nurse eventually took mercy on me and guided me through the barren halls towards the room of my first companion. The gears in my brain strained to connect to my mouth, which was used to being kept quiet. As I reached the doorway, I took one last gulp of the chlorinated air and...
Avocado-colored eyes pierced my own. I nervously walked towards her, unsure of how to interact with this woman--a woman who has known English all her life. A woman who has never doubted a single phrase, a single pronunciation. Her magnetizing gaze gripped my body and locked me into place. I felt her rough, wrinkled hands gently cover mine.
ă
ăHer knuckles were angled, and her fingers twisted in ways only those of a wise hand could, while my own hand remained polished and unmarred. My brown eyes met hers once more, but to my surprise their color had transformed from dull avocado to brilliant lime. Her loving smile calmed the flutters of my stomach. In a slight Russian accent she said: "You're strong, and you are beautiful. You are a child of God, and a child of God is never alone." Behind the mask of years, she too was an immigrant girl who had once cursed her native accent. Just as she was strong and fearless, I too would grow to view life through confident eyes, for I, Ilse Becerra, am not alone. Thanks to her words I would never feel alone again.