...Does it portray a sense of who I am?? I also need to cut down...it is over the word limit. thoughts? corrections? thank you! I would love to go to this school.
He looks at me through the black fence. He is as curious about me as I am of him. He cocks one ear and looks into my eyes. His eyes ask me, "What is your life like?" My eyes reply, "I think you already know."
I love to sit out on the cement stairs at the front of the house and people watch. There is something about watching them in their natural environment that is magical, peaceful, and makes you feel more connected to others as you witness people going about their daily routine wondering where they are headed and what their life is like. For the most part, they are unaware that I am spying on them, but sometimes the person I am watching breaks away from his or her thoughts and stares right back at me. I panic and immediately turn my head to stare off into the far distance. On this day, however, the person on the other end of this staring contest is a different kind of curious creature-a stray dog. We make eye contact, and we connect. As our eyes meet, I am flooded with a view into the old dog's life that I try to hold onto as long as possible. His round brown eyes (like mine) show signs of happiness, sadness, helplessness, hope-everything. At once, I see him as a newborn puppy with mom by his side nurturing him. Next, I see him during his first hard winter when he has to pick through old human garbage for scraps of food. I see him finding an open fire hydrant to refresh him on a humid summer day.
I am forced to think of my own life. I think of the bad times when my mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I think one of my strengths, apart from listening and observing intently, is my ability to take a sticky situation and create something positive out of it. Through seeing my mom struggle with her MS, I have learned never to give up hope. It has been difficult seeing my mom with pain and struggling to do her daily activities, but I would not trade my situation any day. I have learned to be more responsible and have had to grow up early, which sets me apart from my other peers. I know how to give my mother a quick and tear-free injection. I can cook rice, beans, and chicken in less than 15 minutes, and how to clean the dishes in less than 5 minutes, drying time included. I can appreciate my mother so much more in taking on her role as nurturer. I can also appreciate the moments we share as a family when she is feeling healthy, and these memories balance out the tough ones.
Although the dog's perception comes through instinct, his gaze tells of an implicit curiosity about the world he inhabits. A glance into his brown eyes tells me that, as a puppy, he loved to wander away from his mother, pouncing after the city penguins and examining foreign human objects left on the curb. I always wonder why things are the way they are or happen the way they happen. Why do people feel like they need to believe in a higher power for hope? Why most everything that comes up come back down? Why do I always wake up with one sock missing from my foot the next morning? ...There are so many questions that never seem to stop, and I thirst to try to find the answers to them. My imagination forms homemade hypotheses that attempt to explain why. In my imagination, I travel far beyond my South Bronx neighborhood, examining the architecture of the pyramids in Egypt, or painting the people I observe, "en plein-air" along the Mediterranean.
A loud and speedy car zooms through the yellow light at the street corner. The pup turns his head facing the car and then runs in the other direction. I turn my head, look at the kitchen clock, and realize how long I've been lost in thought, gazing at the stray dog. Never, though, do I feel that I have wasted time with my friend. I hope he will come around my block again, so we can reconnect like familiar pals.
He looks at me through the black fence. He is as curious about me as I am of him. He cocks one ear and looks into my eyes. His eyes ask me, "What is your life like?" My eyes reply, "I think you already know."
I love to sit out on the cement stairs at the front of the house and people watch. There is something about watching them in their natural environment that is magical, peaceful, and makes you feel more connected to others as you witness people going about their daily routine wondering where they are headed and what their life is like. For the most part, they are unaware that I am spying on them, but sometimes the person I am watching breaks away from his or her thoughts and stares right back at me. I panic and immediately turn my head to stare off into the far distance. On this day, however, the person on the other end of this staring contest is a different kind of curious creature-a stray dog. We make eye contact, and we connect. As our eyes meet, I am flooded with a view into the old dog's life that I try to hold onto as long as possible. His round brown eyes (like mine) show signs of happiness, sadness, helplessness, hope-everything. At once, I see him as a newborn puppy with mom by his side nurturing him. Next, I see him during his first hard winter when he has to pick through old human garbage for scraps of food. I see him finding an open fire hydrant to refresh him on a humid summer day.
I am forced to think of my own life. I think of the bad times when my mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I think one of my strengths, apart from listening and observing intently, is my ability to take a sticky situation and create something positive out of it. Through seeing my mom struggle with her MS, I have learned never to give up hope. It has been difficult seeing my mom with pain and struggling to do her daily activities, but I would not trade my situation any day. I have learned to be more responsible and have had to grow up early, which sets me apart from my other peers. I know how to give my mother a quick and tear-free injection. I can cook rice, beans, and chicken in less than 15 minutes, and how to clean the dishes in less than 5 minutes, drying time included. I can appreciate my mother so much more in taking on her role as nurturer. I can also appreciate the moments we share as a family when she is feeling healthy, and these memories balance out the tough ones.
Although the dog's perception comes through instinct, his gaze tells of an implicit curiosity about the world he inhabits. A glance into his brown eyes tells me that, as a puppy, he loved to wander away from his mother, pouncing after the city penguins and examining foreign human objects left on the curb. I always wonder why things are the way they are or happen the way they happen. Why do people feel like they need to believe in a higher power for hope? Why most everything that comes up come back down? Why do I always wake up with one sock missing from my foot the next morning? ...There are so many questions that never seem to stop, and I thirst to try to find the answers to them. My imagination forms homemade hypotheses that attempt to explain why. In my imagination, I travel far beyond my South Bronx neighborhood, examining the architecture of the pyramids in Egypt, or painting the people I observe, "en plein-air" along the Mediterranean.
A loud and speedy car zooms through the yellow light at the street corner. The pup turns his head facing the car and then runs in the other direction. I turn my head, look at the kitchen clock, and realize how long I've been lost in thought, gazing at the stray dog. Never, though, do I feel that I have wasted time with my friend. I hope he will come around my block again, so we can reconnect like familiar pals.
