Turning in my application tomorrow, any feedback is MUCH appreciated!
Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you
The past weekend, I was fundraising for my nonprofit at an event held by the Indian community of Austin. The party was winding down, families strolling out, when an old man came up to me. He was stooped, and it seemed he could not see well as he squinted at my sign. "Do you speak Guajarati?" he asked me. "No, only a little Hindi" I replied, and nodding his head slowly, he began to talk to me in English, throwing in Hindi words and phrases here and there. "You know India's problems," he told me, "they are too big. There are too many people, and each believes a different thing. It is nice that you try to help, but you know you cannot fix them. Am I right Miss? Do you agree with me?" I respectfully shook my head. "No sir," I said, "no, I don't".
A year ago, I arrived in New Delhi, both excited and terrified. I was there on the State Department's YES abroad program, one of five students who had been awarded a ten month study abroad scholarship to travel to India. We were the first group of Americans in the program, so no one really knew what to expect. I had just left behind every bit of routine and certainty in my life, left behind my friends and family, and was headed into unknown territory. I couldn't sleep at all on the twenty one hour flight. Getting off the plane the first things that hit me were the heat, an oppressive wave of humidity, and the constant buzz of sound. Though we arrived in the middle of the night, during the cab ride to the hotel my eyes were wide open. There were as many people on the street at one in the morning as I usually saw during the day at home. Every truck we passed was beautiful, elaborately painted in vibrant colors. There were cows in the road, goats, even a camel. I saw people, children, sleeping on sidewalks and curled under overpasses. We passed slums, homes built of piled cinderblock, plastic tarps, and not much else. The sight was shocking to me, but everything was so overwhelming, that I could barely register it.
The next day I met my host family- the most caring, forgiving, and generous people I have ever encountered. The idea that these people could open their home to me for an entire year, and include me in their lives was the most profound act of kindness I have ever witnessed. It was because of their hospitality that I soon found myself settling in. As my year progressed in Delhi, I became more patient. In hopes of repaying my hosts for their extreme kindness, I worked to make myself as flexible as possible- not wanting to disrupt their routine, as I was so appreciative just to be a part of it. I studied harder than I ever had before, finding that the same amount of effort I exerted in the US would only make me a fraction of the grade in India. I made friends, and bonded with my host sister who is my age. I became more accustomed to the volume of people, the constant buzz and the array of colors, but my uncomfortable feelings when confronted with poverty never ceased. When going out with my host sister or my friends, I couldn't shake a sense of guilt, a wave of the injustice at my extravagance compared to others need. I felt helpless in the face of so much suffering. One day on the way back to my host family's house I passed a man- he couldn't walk, and limped towards me using both his hands and one of his feet. He had no shirt, and his ribs were completely visible through the thin sun weathered skin of his chest. His feet seemed far smaller than they should have been, crushed in, every toe undoubtedly broken, and covered in sores. He didn't ask for money, didn't address me in any way, simply made eye contact. His spine was completely twisted into a lopsided C shape. It was obvious that it had never been possible for him to stand.
Growing up in a middle class family in the US, it's hard to have an understanding of what poverty truly is. At the time I left for Delhi, I wanted to be a social worker, but I don't think I truly understood what it would take for me alleviate suffering. I didn't realize how difficult it is to be faced with the reality of destitution. I had never seen someone starve. Facing this was both the hardest and the most valuable thing I have ever done- because it was only in looking closely that I could overcome this feeling of powerlessness. I met children from a neighborhood slum through my school's outreach program. The children came to the school every day after class had ended, and were taught by the students. The kids' parents' sent them dressed in their best clothes, hair combed, because they valued the chance for their children to improve their lives. The fact that they set aside time for their kids to go to school- time when the kids could have otherwise been helping their parents- was a testament to the fact that they believed that someday their children would have a better home, more food, a higher paying job. If they had faith that change could come to their lives, there was no reason for me not to try and help them affect it.
Upon returning home, my dedication to my dream of becoming a social worker, devoting my life to helping others was still intact- but now, it is more realistic, and more specific. I know how hard it will be to spend each day acknowledging the struggle of thousands of people- but I also know, that many of these people struggle with the faith that one day things will get easier. I also know what a strong tie I feel with India itself, and have decided that I want to work in South Asian development, in order to give back to the country that gave to me the most challenging, enlightening, and in the end, rewarding year of my life. I started a non-profit about a month ago called the Downstream Foundation (downstreamfoundation.com), with the aim of raising $20,000 and purchasing 500 no maintenance water filters to distribute in slum communities in and around Delhi. Before education, shelter, or even food, access in to clean water is absolutely essential to improving quality of life, and as such, I hope that providing it can be the first step in a chain of initiatives which will fulfill basic needs for underprivileged families in Delhi.
The old man looked taken aback by my answer. I suppose he was used to people agreeing with him, or at least pretending to for the sake of manners. There was an awkward silence in the moment after, he seemed as though he didn't quite know how to respond. He settled on "I wish you best of luck", dropped a crumpled five dollar bill into my collection bowl, and shuffled away.
Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you
The past weekend, I was fundraising for my nonprofit at an event held by the Indian community of Austin. The party was winding down, families strolling out, when an old man came up to me. He was stooped, and it seemed he could not see well as he squinted at my sign. "Do you speak Guajarati?" he asked me. "No, only a little Hindi" I replied, and nodding his head slowly, he began to talk to me in English, throwing in Hindi words and phrases here and there. "You know India's problems," he told me, "they are too big. There are too many people, and each believes a different thing. It is nice that you try to help, but you know you cannot fix them. Am I right Miss? Do you agree with me?" I respectfully shook my head. "No sir," I said, "no, I don't".
A year ago, I arrived in New Delhi, both excited and terrified. I was there on the State Department's YES abroad program, one of five students who had been awarded a ten month study abroad scholarship to travel to India. We were the first group of Americans in the program, so no one really knew what to expect. I had just left behind every bit of routine and certainty in my life, left behind my friends and family, and was headed into unknown territory. I couldn't sleep at all on the twenty one hour flight. Getting off the plane the first things that hit me were the heat, an oppressive wave of humidity, and the constant buzz of sound. Though we arrived in the middle of the night, during the cab ride to the hotel my eyes were wide open. There were as many people on the street at one in the morning as I usually saw during the day at home. Every truck we passed was beautiful, elaborately painted in vibrant colors. There were cows in the road, goats, even a camel. I saw people, children, sleeping on sidewalks and curled under overpasses. We passed slums, homes built of piled cinderblock, plastic tarps, and not much else. The sight was shocking to me, but everything was so overwhelming, that I could barely register it.
The next day I met my host family- the most caring, forgiving, and generous people I have ever encountered. The idea that these people could open their home to me for an entire year, and include me in their lives was the most profound act of kindness I have ever witnessed. It was because of their hospitality that I soon found myself settling in. As my year progressed in Delhi, I became more patient. In hopes of repaying my hosts for their extreme kindness, I worked to make myself as flexible as possible- not wanting to disrupt their routine, as I was so appreciative just to be a part of it. I studied harder than I ever had before, finding that the same amount of effort I exerted in the US would only make me a fraction of the grade in India. I made friends, and bonded with my host sister who is my age. I became more accustomed to the volume of people, the constant buzz and the array of colors, but my uncomfortable feelings when confronted with poverty never ceased. When going out with my host sister or my friends, I couldn't shake a sense of guilt, a wave of the injustice at my extravagance compared to others need. I felt helpless in the face of so much suffering. One day on the way back to my host family's house I passed a man- he couldn't walk, and limped towards me using both his hands and one of his feet. He had no shirt, and his ribs were completely visible through the thin sun weathered skin of his chest. His feet seemed far smaller than they should have been, crushed in, every toe undoubtedly broken, and covered in sores. He didn't ask for money, didn't address me in any way, simply made eye contact. His spine was completely twisted into a lopsided C shape. It was obvious that it had never been possible for him to stand.
Growing up in a middle class family in the US, it's hard to have an understanding of what poverty truly is. At the time I left for Delhi, I wanted to be a social worker, but I don't think I truly understood what it would take for me alleviate suffering. I didn't realize how difficult it is to be faced with the reality of destitution. I had never seen someone starve. Facing this was both the hardest and the most valuable thing I have ever done- because it was only in looking closely that I could overcome this feeling of powerlessness. I met children from a neighborhood slum through my school's outreach program. The children came to the school every day after class had ended, and were taught by the students. The kids' parents' sent them dressed in their best clothes, hair combed, because they valued the chance for their children to improve their lives. The fact that they set aside time for their kids to go to school- time when the kids could have otherwise been helping their parents- was a testament to the fact that they believed that someday their children would have a better home, more food, a higher paying job. If they had faith that change could come to their lives, there was no reason for me not to try and help them affect it.
Upon returning home, my dedication to my dream of becoming a social worker, devoting my life to helping others was still intact- but now, it is more realistic, and more specific. I know how hard it will be to spend each day acknowledging the struggle of thousands of people- but I also know, that many of these people struggle with the faith that one day things will get easier. I also know what a strong tie I feel with India itself, and have decided that I want to work in South Asian development, in order to give back to the country that gave to me the most challenging, enlightening, and in the end, rewarding year of my life. I started a non-profit about a month ago called the Downstream Foundation (downstreamfoundation.com), with the aim of raising $20,000 and purchasing 500 no maintenance water filters to distribute in slum communities in and around Delhi. Before education, shelter, or even food, access in to clean water is absolutely essential to improving quality of life, and as such, I hope that providing it can be the first step in a chain of initiatives which will fulfill basic needs for underprivileged families in Delhi.
The old man looked taken aback by my answer. I suppose he was used to people agreeing with him, or at least pretending to for the sake of manners. There was an awkward silence in the moment after, he seemed as though he didn't quite know how to respond. He settled on "I wish you best of luck", dropped a crumpled five dollar bill into my collection bowl, and shuffled away.