Here are my supplements. I'm not sure if I like the first one, but I'm trying to get the whole "international" thing across. Eh. Be harsh, criticism/suggestions would really really be appreciated.2.There is a Quaker saying: ''Let your life speak.'' Describe the environment in which you were raised-your family, home, neighborhood, or community-and how it influenced the person you are today. (200-250 words)
My family is a big melting pot. We're American, Mexican, Turkish, Swiss, Spanish, Colombian, German, and Argentinean. We're Jewish, Muslim, Catholic and Atheist.
I am who I am because of the marvelous experiences and opportunities my family has given me. Every little memory brings me to where I am today; even the smallest ones had an impact on my life.
I'm standing in the market by my grandmother, staring up at an inside-out cow carcass hanging from a hook. The place is covered in flies and my grandmother looks down at me, seeing my concern for the dead cow, says "No pasa nada. Tienes hambre?" Everything's fine. Are you hungry?
My aunt and I weave through the crowds in the Grand Bazaar, looking for the jewelry shop she had just been in a few days ago. I slip away to explore a small passageway that caught my eye, and stop at a small shop to look at a bracelet of the Evil Eye. A boy pops out of the shop, and with a big smile pushes the bracelet into my hands, repeating in broken English "have, have." I smile and say one of the few things I can in Turkish, "Ăok merci."
I'm wandering downtown Basel at night with my cousin, and this Swiss city is full of Spaniards happy to have won the World Cup. They dance and chant in a mix of German and Spanish, and we join them. "Spanien, Spanien, Spanien!"
I was raised never to understand intolerance and not to see diversity as a plus, but a must.What makes you happy?
Down by the river, there's a little place that looks like it's about to slide right into the water. From the outside it looks like it's falling apart, more like a shack than an actual place of business. It's late, and as you open the heavy door the music greets you like an old friend.
The owner smiles as you come in, the genuine kind of grin that spreads to your own face without you even noticing it. "It's been awhile," he says in that rusty old voice. "I thought you'd gone 'n' forgot us."
The owner is stick-thin, dark-skinned and looks the same as the picture of him opening the place 30 years ago that hangs on the wall behind him, aside from a few white hairs. The grin is still the same too, except for the missing tooth.
Through the dim lighting, you find your booth in the back, empty as always. As you take your seat, the band starts to quiet down. You check your watch; it's midnight.
A woman stands up from her table and walks up to the stage, a single mom, working 2 jobs to support herself and her kids, in her mid-forties. Her eyes look tired, but as she takes the mic and whispers something to the band, her lips part and it's like nothing you've ever heard before.
This is nothing like American Idol or X-Factor. It's a raw emotion that, for a couple of minutes, you share with every single person in that room. All of a sudden, everything is real. It's this pure blues that you can only find in these hole-in-the-wall places, a blues that reminds us we're all in this together. Blues is the music of the people; it's the voice of the human experience. You might lose a friend, a love, or maybe you even lose yourself, but you're never alone. Blues breathes. Blues makes me happy.