Describe a setback that you have faced. How did you resolve it? How did the outcome affect you? If something similar happened in the future, how would you react? (Approximately 500 words)
I stood in front of the mirror and studied the lanky man in it. His face was morose and his jawbones converged sharply at his chin. Two bony humps were visible on his narrow shoulders and his legs were as skinny as those of Barbie doll. He looked emaciated and malnourished. I could not accept the fact that I was actually the man.
Two years ago, I experienced periodic bouts of constipation and diarrhea and lost ten kilograms in four months. During the day, I could make fruitless visits to the lavatory; in the night, spasms in my stomach would jar me out of my sleep and send me running for the toilet. An endoscopy later revealed that I was suffering from Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS).
IBS threw me into an abyss of paranoia. Standing on the bathroom scale several times a day, I would frantically look out for any gain in my weight. The thought that there was a ticking time bomb in my abdomen filled me trepidation. IBS was like a leech, sucking away my social life and happiness. I retracted myself from gatherings and stayed at home because I did not want others to see me in such a bad shape. Any fleeting moments of joy were just premonitory signs of a next attack. I could not fathom why the food could not be fully digested and why my feces could not be properly egested. I cried under the blanket, sobbed in the toilet and kept asking why I was hit by the illness.
The lack of nutrition made me occasionally lethargic. Besides the toilet and my bed, there was nowhere I wanted to go. The night before my family went on holiday, I told my parents that they could just leave me alone at home.
However, the next morning, I was startled to see my parents still at home when they should have flown off.
"My boy, holiday will not be fun without you," my father announced. "We'll stay at home for this December break instead."
His words struck me. It dawned on me that I have a family which gave me unwavering support. My father, a busy businessman, always accompanied me for my medical appointments and my mother quitted her job to stay at home and take care of me. At least IBS did not rob me of my loved ones; it made me realize their presence. The fact that I had it was immutable but I saw that I have the choice on my response to it. I told myself to be optimistic.
For once, I ignored the bathroom scale. I tried to see an attack as a precursor of happiness that would ensue. I applied logic to deal with the uncomfortable symptoms. As slouching after a meal will weaken my sphincter muscles, I always stand up for a while after a meal to let the food go down with the aid of gravity. Instead of taking three big meals and jamming up my digestive tract, I would eat five smaller meals. Although the path to recovery was arduous, I conditioned myself to regard each relapse as small stuff rather than catastrophic event.
I learned to treasure my relationships with people, especially my family members, and realized that it was not shameful to have IBS. With encouragements from my friends, I returned to the grassroots and volunteering. I am still who I am after IBS plagued me. I merely acquired an irritating thing, another challenge in life which boosted my adversity quotient. After all, it is the obstacles, the ups and downs that made life meaningful.
I stand in front of the mirror and study myself. It is not the sorrowful lanky man. It is happy, skinny me. What I see is the strong air of self confidence which emerged as I moved from denial of my illness to acceptance of this weakness. It is this confidence which I believe will help me embrace whatever that will come in the future.
(667 words)
Is this too cliched? Please criticize and comment frankly, on the content, the grammar, the diction and the style. Thanks.
I stood in front of the mirror and studied the lanky man in it. His face was morose and his jawbones converged sharply at his chin. Two bony humps were visible on his narrow shoulders and his legs were as skinny as those of Barbie doll. He looked emaciated and malnourished. I could not accept the fact that I was actually the man.
Two years ago, I experienced periodic bouts of constipation and diarrhea and lost ten kilograms in four months. During the day, I could make fruitless visits to the lavatory; in the night, spasms in my stomach would jar me out of my sleep and send me running for the toilet. An endoscopy later revealed that I was suffering from Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS).
IBS threw me into an abyss of paranoia. Standing on the bathroom scale several times a day, I would frantically look out for any gain in my weight. The thought that there was a ticking time bomb in my abdomen filled me trepidation. IBS was like a leech, sucking away my social life and happiness. I retracted myself from gatherings and stayed at home because I did not want others to see me in such a bad shape. Any fleeting moments of joy were just premonitory signs of a next attack. I could not fathom why the food could not be fully digested and why my feces could not be properly egested. I cried under the blanket, sobbed in the toilet and kept asking why I was hit by the illness.
The lack of nutrition made me occasionally lethargic. Besides the toilet and my bed, there was nowhere I wanted to go. The night before my family went on holiday, I told my parents that they could just leave me alone at home.
However, the next morning, I was startled to see my parents still at home when they should have flown off.
"My boy, holiday will not be fun without you," my father announced. "We'll stay at home for this December break instead."
His words struck me. It dawned on me that I have a family which gave me unwavering support. My father, a busy businessman, always accompanied me for my medical appointments and my mother quitted her job to stay at home and take care of me. At least IBS did not rob me of my loved ones; it made me realize their presence. The fact that I had it was immutable but I saw that I have the choice on my response to it. I told myself to be optimistic.
For once, I ignored the bathroom scale. I tried to see an attack as a precursor of happiness that would ensue. I applied logic to deal with the uncomfortable symptoms. As slouching after a meal will weaken my sphincter muscles, I always stand up for a while after a meal to let the food go down with the aid of gravity. Instead of taking three big meals and jamming up my digestive tract, I would eat five smaller meals. Although the path to recovery was arduous, I conditioned myself to regard each relapse as small stuff rather than catastrophic event.
I learned to treasure my relationships with people, especially my family members, and realized that it was not shameful to have IBS. With encouragements from my friends, I returned to the grassroots and volunteering. I am still who I am after IBS plagued me. I merely acquired an irritating thing, another challenge in life which boosted my adversity quotient. After all, it is the obstacles, the ups and downs that made life meaningful.
I stand in front of the mirror and study myself. It is not the sorrowful lanky man. It is happy, skinny me. What I see is the strong air of self confidence which emerged as I moved from denial of my illness to acceptance of this weakness. It is this confidence which I believe will help me embrace whatever that will come in the future.
(667 words)
Is this too cliched? Please criticize and comment frankly, on the content, the grammar, the diction and the style. Thanks.
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