I just finished and it's due in 19 hours, hahaha. Be really harsh, I need criticism.
UC Personal Statement #1
Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
I am a mute in a world of orating pandemonium. Society is constantly talking; voicing their opinion, articulating what it wants to say, while the attempted utterances of my voice has developed into a murmur, eventually dropping into a silence.
The inability to speak, the loss of an innate human sense, simply does not vanish instantly as I assumed so. It is a gradual process, and my incompetence, I believe, lies within a primary source that began a demise of self.
All American children start off their early years by going to elementary school, but as a Korean American child, things were slightly different for me. In addition to the public education I received thanks to our lovely tax dollars, I also went to a Korean school, an informal institute where I would go to learn the language of my heritage. Although it is deemed Korean "school," there were no group reads, no recess, no snack time that I grew to love about my real school. As a vivacious, hyperactive six year old, the thought of dolefully learning the morphemes of a distant language in a traditional manner by a withered, stringent Korean woman was not how I wanted to spend my Sunday mornings. My mother was kind enough to allow me to discontinue my Korean language class - which I am sure she now regrets unconditionally - and I continued to learn the linguistics of the English language at my primary school, reading phonics classics like The Pig With Wig and completing grammar workbooks decorated in kid-friendly colors. My ability to speak Korean quickly diminished, but its presence did not entirely disappear. Being a first generation Korean-American, my parents preferred to talk to me in their native tongue, rather than their understandable yet broken English; thus I learned to understand orders in Korean and respond back in English.
Now that I have grown well into my teen years, the presence of this ineptness is unavoidable. Whenever I am with Korean family or friends, I dread the awkward silences and even more awkward conversations. The frustration builds, as there is nothing more I would desire than to simply respond; it is so easy for me to understand yet communication is a one-way street. To think that my family has a long history of great people of self-expression (my great-grandfather co-wrote the South Korean constitution, on behalf of the Korean people; my grandfather was a leader who spoke against World War II; my sister was the president of her speech-and-debate club; and even my mom is the leader of her book club), where does that leave me?
Some say only a miracle will cure the mute; others say no matter what assistance, it is impossible. Impossible, which leaves no room for possibility, has always been a word I have been suspicious of. I have ambitions, dreams, which I will fulfill to have it be nothing short of remarkable. Ambitions in graduating undergraduate and graduate school, earning a successful job, discovering innovative technology, and eventually, being remembered for my accomplishments and giving back to my initial roots. The once united Korea has been split against the people's will since 1950. To know that I have family in the north and to never have the opportunity to see them or even contact them because of the current political conditions pushes me even further to act. Whether it is through biology or medicine (my current desired studies), or through international relations or peace/conflict resolution (potential future interests), I want nothing more than to dismantle the DMZ at the 38th parallel.
But before any of this can happen, first things first: I need a miracle, a miracle that only I can perform on myself. Impossible? I laugh in impossible's face; what is impossible is for me to be stopped. I will break the silence, I will do the impossible.
UC Personal Statement #1
Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
I am a mute in a world of orating pandemonium. Society is constantly talking; voicing their opinion, articulating what it wants to say, while the attempted utterances of my voice has developed into a murmur, eventually dropping into a silence.
The inability to speak, the loss of an innate human sense, simply does not vanish instantly as I assumed so. It is a gradual process, and my incompetence, I believe, lies within a primary source that began a demise of self.
All American children start off their early years by going to elementary school, but as a Korean American child, things were slightly different for me. In addition to the public education I received thanks to our lovely tax dollars, I also went to a Korean school, an informal institute where I would go to learn the language of my heritage. Although it is deemed Korean "school," there were no group reads, no recess, no snack time that I grew to love about my real school. As a vivacious, hyperactive six year old, the thought of dolefully learning the morphemes of a distant language in a traditional manner by a withered, stringent Korean woman was not how I wanted to spend my Sunday mornings. My mother was kind enough to allow me to discontinue my Korean language class - which I am sure she now regrets unconditionally - and I continued to learn the linguistics of the English language at my primary school, reading phonics classics like The Pig With Wig and completing grammar workbooks decorated in kid-friendly colors. My ability to speak Korean quickly diminished, but its presence did not entirely disappear. Being a first generation Korean-American, my parents preferred to talk to me in their native tongue, rather than their understandable yet broken English; thus I learned to understand orders in Korean and respond back in English.
Now that I have grown well into my teen years, the presence of this ineptness is unavoidable. Whenever I am with Korean family or friends, I dread the awkward silences and even more awkward conversations. The frustration builds, as there is nothing more I would desire than to simply respond; it is so easy for me to understand yet communication is a one-way street. To think that my family has a long history of great people of self-expression (my great-grandfather co-wrote the South Korean constitution, on behalf of the Korean people; my grandfather was a leader who spoke against World War II; my sister was the president of her speech-and-debate club; and even my mom is the leader of her book club), where does that leave me?
Some say only a miracle will cure the mute; others say no matter what assistance, it is impossible. Impossible, which leaves no room for possibility, has always been a word I have been suspicious of. I have ambitions, dreams, which I will fulfill to have it be nothing short of remarkable. Ambitions in graduating undergraduate and graduate school, earning a successful job, discovering innovative technology, and eventually, being remembered for my accomplishments and giving back to my initial roots. The once united Korea has been split against the people's will since 1950. To know that I have family in the north and to never have the opportunity to see them or even contact them because of the current political conditions pushes me even further to act. Whether it is through biology or medicine (my current desired studies), or through international relations or peace/conflict resolution (potential future interests), I want nothing more than to dismantle the DMZ at the 38th parallel.
But before any of this can happen, first things first: I need a miracle, a miracle that only I can perform on myself. Impossible? I laugh in impossible's face; what is impossible is for me to be stopped. I will break the silence, I will do the impossible.