Here's an essay I wrote for one of my college applications about any additional essays/info I would like to include. What do you all think? Thanks! :)
Ten years ago, early on an autumn morning, a breeze woke me up with a kiss. The window had been opened, and a fresh wind blew into the room, bringing with it the scents of the morning dew that covered every surface outside and the hybrid roses that thrived under my window. The diaphanous curtains, fluttering, glowed with the first golden rays of the rising sun, which clung to the far wall and lit up the room. It seemed like quite a dream, cozy and inviting, and I wanted nothing more than Mickey Mouse to perfect it.
After a few minutes of reveling in my blanket, I relinquished its warmth to the wind and slowly wandered upstairs, to my mother's room. I crawled into her blanket, and as was habit, she switched to the cartoon channel. Only there were no cartoons. Instead, there was a disturbing movie about an event that caused national panic. After switching more TV channels, we learned that it wasn't a movie; something horrifying really had happened. Two planes had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York City.
Little did I know, at the age of six, that more than just New York's skyline had been permanently altered. I never realized it as I grew up either; I was always given the same kindness and courtesy that everyone around me received. I had heard stories of people whose lives had been dramatically changed for the worse by 9/11, and after initially pitying and grieving for them, I forgot the stories.
Except that I never forgot them. Subconsciously, they lurked in the back of my mind, teaching me to never judge a person without knowing him or her. Three years ago, I decided to attend my cousin's middle school basketball game wearing a scarf. It was the first time I had ever attempted to don the hijab, or headscarf, in public. As I sat beside my cousin, laughing and chatting with her friends, a boy sitting in the row in front of us turned around. His eyes scanned our group and then lit upon me. They narrowed in distaste, and loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "You f****** terrorist!"
I was stunned. Who was he? I didn't know him; I had never seen him before, much less spoken with him. I glanced around; people were either staring at me openly or politely averting their gazes. I turned back to the boy; before I could say anything, he got up and walked away, out of the gymnasium. The rest of the game was a blur; I once accidently cheered for the wrong team and stared ahead motionless the rest of the time. When the game ended, I scanned the exiting crowd for the boy, but he was nowhere to be found. I had so many questions for my mom when I went home. Why would anyone call me a terrorist? I hadn't done anything. In fact, I condemned those who were responsible for 9/11. Why would the boy associate me with them?
My mother didn't have the answers, and I have not ever found them. I never wore a headscarf in public again, first out of fear and then later because I never again felt the compulsion to. In the days following the basketball game, I came to forgive the boy and everyone since who has held my religion against me. Maybe their love or their relatives were killed in the Twin Towers; maybe they themselves were unfortunate enough to have been there when the Towers fell. I will never know. Whatever the reason, I have never again allowed others judge me by the atrocious actions of a few.
So, what do you think? :) Let me know!
Ten years ago, early on an autumn morning, a breeze woke me up with a kiss. The window had been opened, and a fresh wind blew into the room, bringing with it the scents of the morning dew that covered every surface outside and the hybrid roses that thrived under my window. The diaphanous curtains, fluttering, glowed with the first golden rays of the rising sun, which clung to the far wall and lit up the room. It seemed like quite a dream, cozy and inviting, and I wanted nothing more than Mickey Mouse to perfect it.
After a few minutes of reveling in my blanket, I relinquished its warmth to the wind and slowly wandered upstairs, to my mother's room. I crawled into her blanket, and as was habit, she switched to the cartoon channel. Only there were no cartoons. Instead, there was a disturbing movie about an event that caused national panic. After switching more TV channels, we learned that it wasn't a movie; something horrifying really had happened. Two planes had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York City.
Little did I know, at the age of six, that more than just New York's skyline had been permanently altered. I never realized it as I grew up either; I was always given the same kindness and courtesy that everyone around me received. I had heard stories of people whose lives had been dramatically changed for the worse by 9/11, and after initially pitying and grieving for them, I forgot the stories.
Except that I never forgot them. Subconsciously, they lurked in the back of my mind, teaching me to never judge a person without knowing him or her. Three years ago, I decided to attend my cousin's middle school basketball game wearing a scarf. It was the first time I had ever attempted to don the hijab, or headscarf, in public. As I sat beside my cousin, laughing and chatting with her friends, a boy sitting in the row in front of us turned around. His eyes scanned our group and then lit upon me. They narrowed in distaste, and loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "You f****** terrorist!"
I was stunned. Who was he? I didn't know him; I had never seen him before, much less spoken with him. I glanced around; people were either staring at me openly or politely averting their gazes. I turned back to the boy; before I could say anything, he got up and walked away, out of the gymnasium. The rest of the game was a blur; I once accidently cheered for the wrong team and stared ahead motionless the rest of the time. When the game ended, I scanned the exiting crowd for the boy, but he was nowhere to be found. I had so many questions for my mom when I went home. Why would anyone call me a terrorist? I hadn't done anything. In fact, I condemned those who were responsible for 9/11. Why would the boy associate me with them?
My mother didn't have the answers, and I have not ever found them. I never wore a headscarf in public again, first out of fear and then later because I never again felt the compulsion to. In the days following the basketball game, I came to forgive the boy and everyone since who has held my religion against me. Maybe their love or their relatives were killed in the Twin Towers; maybe they themselves were unfortunate enough to have been there when the Towers fell. I will never know. Whatever the reason, I have never again allowed others judge me by the atrocious actions of a few.
So, what do you think? :) Let me know!
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