I wanted some final revisions before i submit my common app essay
Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. (250-650 Words).
The earliest memories I have are of me at my grandparents' school in Pakistan. My grandparents were educators, both born in poor country villages, who moved to the city after marriage and set up an educational establishment. I was the youngest of their grandchildren. I started attending school at the age of 4, the same as most kids in Pakistan. Going to meet my grandmother in her office every day during recess and lunch, where we would eat, talk, and play games on her computer. Those are perhaps my fondest memories of that school.
The following summer, my parents had planned to move to America. There I was, a young boy no more than four or five, who had just left all he knew; the luxury of my grandparents school, the dusty polluted atmosphere, the dilapidated and littered streets, my friends and family.
I moved to America at the age of 5, knowing only very Basic English. The summer before I enrolled in my first American school, I learned English primarily by watching television and playing games. By the end of the summer, I was able to speak, read, and write fluently.
My life in America was the very embodiment of the quest for the American Dream. We started off with nothing. We lived in a small apartment, my parents, younger sister, and I. We struggled to get by quite often. My mother could not find work and my father worked odd jobs. Our first sofa was one we found next to the apartment complex's main dumpster. My parents brought it home and disinfected it. We lived in that two bedroom apartment, sharing two beds until my dad had saved enough money to move somewhere with greater opportunities; Virginia.
In Virginia we moved to another apartment, where my dad continued to work odd jobs until he finally found one at a car dealership. I was never able to form long-term friendships as a child, because we would move to a new house every year, until I entered the fourth grade. Whenever I made friends, I would move during the summer never to see them again. However, it gave me the opportunity to meet kids that were also in my situation, immigrants who were also struggling to find their identities. Kids of all ethnicities and backgrounds, each brought their own cultures and beliefs, they melded them with their newfound American ones; struggling to become settled and successful.
I am known as the "1.5 generation", those that immigrated to a country at a young age. I brought the culture of Pakistan to that of America. It is said that often times, 1.5 generation children are unable to identify themselves with a group, because we are, essentially, stuck between two different cultures and era. The responsibilities I adopted, ones that pushed me to preserve my Pakistani culture, without rejecting my American one and to succeed and learn using the opportunities presented to me. This coupled with my family's seemingly endless financial struggles were motivation enough for me to succeed.
The constant ups and downs that affected my life, both social and economic have motivated me from the very start to try my best, and that I must amount to something. Although I don't necessarily deserve it, having grown up in America, but my parents do. I owe it to them to be successful so that they know their years of sacrifice and struggle led to something great, that they triumphed.
Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. (250-650 Words).
The earliest memories I have are of me at my grandparents' school in Pakistan. My grandparents were educators, both born in poor country villages, who moved to the city after marriage and set up an educational establishment. I was the youngest of their grandchildren. I started attending school at the age of 4, the same as most kids in Pakistan. Going to meet my grandmother in her office every day during recess and lunch, where we would eat, talk, and play games on her computer. Those are perhaps my fondest memories of that school.
The following summer, my parents had planned to move to America. There I was, a young boy no more than four or five, who had just left all he knew; the luxury of my grandparents school, the dusty polluted atmosphere, the dilapidated and littered streets, my friends and family.
I moved to America at the age of 5, knowing only very Basic English. The summer before I enrolled in my first American school, I learned English primarily by watching television and playing games. By the end of the summer, I was able to speak, read, and write fluently.
My life in America was the very embodiment of the quest for the American Dream. We started off with nothing. We lived in a small apartment, my parents, younger sister, and I. We struggled to get by quite often. My mother could not find work and my father worked odd jobs. Our first sofa was one we found next to the apartment complex's main dumpster. My parents brought it home and disinfected it. We lived in that two bedroom apartment, sharing two beds until my dad had saved enough money to move somewhere with greater opportunities; Virginia.
In Virginia we moved to another apartment, where my dad continued to work odd jobs until he finally found one at a car dealership. I was never able to form long-term friendships as a child, because we would move to a new house every year, until I entered the fourth grade. Whenever I made friends, I would move during the summer never to see them again. However, it gave me the opportunity to meet kids that were also in my situation, immigrants who were also struggling to find their identities. Kids of all ethnicities and backgrounds, each brought their own cultures and beliefs, they melded them with their newfound American ones; struggling to become settled and successful.
I am known as the "1.5 generation", those that immigrated to a country at a young age. I brought the culture of Pakistan to that of America. It is said that often times, 1.5 generation children are unable to identify themselves with a group, because we are, essentially, stuck between two different cultures and era. The responsibilities I adopted, ones that pushed me to preserve my Pakistani culture, without rejecting my American one and to succeed and learn using the opportunities presented to me. This coupled with my family's seemingly endless financial struggles were motivation enough for me to succeed.
The constant ups and downs that affected my life, both social and economic have motivated me from the very start to try my best, and that I must amount to something. Although I don't necessarily deserve it, having grown up in America, but my parents do. I owe it to them to be successful so that they know their years of sacrifice and struggle led to something great, that they triumphed.