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.
As a child, I was a miscreant, perhaps the perfect stereotype of a troublesome adolescent even. Growing up socially awkward, I was regularly in trouble. My mother was constantly called to parent meetings as a result of my behavior. I was someone to be ashamed of, yet my mother never looked at me that way. I was her special baby. This trend perpetuated into middle school. Detentions after detentions. Referrals after referrals. My mom's love for me never diminished. She embraced me daily, feeding me stories of the wonderful future that I would have and the great traits I would eventually develop. She believed in me, no matter what incredibly stupid acts I would commit. Blinded by my mother's beautiful words, I perceived that I would be able to continue my foolish misbehavior and still succeed. My mother kept strong in her belief that I would one day realize the correct steps to take and finally grow up. Days flew by. Then weeks. Then months. Then years. Finally the fated day came. 2010. May 22nd. It was the last time I ever saw her beautiful smile. It was the last time I ever experienced her warm embrace. My whole world crashed down upon me. My illusion of a perfect life was shattered.
I woke up to screaming and yelling. My dad rushed to wake me and my older sister up from our oblivious slumber. "COME DOWN IMMEDIATELY!" My dad cried out in Chinese. I looked to the nearest clock. 6:30 in the afternoon. Stupefied, I dazedly trudged downstairs to see my dad holding my mother's mouth open. She couldn't seem to breathe. I didn't understand why, but the message was clear. My mom's life was in danger. The next events occurred in quick succession, blurring into one another. We called 911. She was carried to Los Robles Hospital. She was transferred to Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. The neurosurgical team performed the operation on her and said she would live. They told my father, my sister, and I about how my mother suffered a brain aneurysm. They told us that if she had been discovered any later, she would have died. For a whole month, the hospital kept her sedated and on assisted breathing. Then on the momentous day of middle school graduation, I went to visit my mother in the hospital. The nurses told us how she suddenly went into a convulsion. Then, the doctor brought my family into the unforgiving white room. "Your mother is brain dead. I'm sorry for your loss." The doctor robotically relayed. I couldn't swallow it. What? How could it be? Me? The protagonist of my story? Lose my mother? What a joke! I was prepared to laugh. I waited for my dad and sister to scream "SURPRISE! HAPPY GRADUATION!" I waited for my mother to walk in. It never happened. I witnessed my father sob. I witnessed my sister wail. I sat, not knowing what to do.
We drove home from Santa Barbara. I was in a lull the whole summer. I started freshman year. My lull perpetuated. I was directionless. I had no goals. I scraped by all of my classes, only to return to my hushed room each day. The vacancy left by the loss of my mother had swallowed up my life. A year flew by before it all clicked, but the realization hit me powerfully. I grew up. I finally understood what my mother believed was in store for me. Suddenly, the blueprints to my whole life were written out. Her passing charged my determination and transformed into an impetus, thrusting me onto the path of a neurosurgeon. I would save people like my mother, so no one would have to endure the pain I went through.
Despite my lackadaisical attitude, I am motivated and resolved to accomplish my goal. From becoming a National Merit semifinalist to interning at Rowland Heights Medical Center to leading clubs, I have striven to persist towards my dream. Learning to crawl in high school, I yearn to take my first baby step, attending a prestigious college, towards my ambition and eventually becoming the protagonist from the stories that my mother used to tell me.
Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are?
Hypertension? Check. Diabetes? Check. Stroke? Check. "Where does it hurt?" I translated from English to Chinese. Pointing to various parts of her body, the patient meekly stated, "Everywhere." To further evaluate her condition, I relayed the physical therapist's inquiry: "Can you balance on one leg?" The patient replied by immediately collapsing to the floor. "She's even worse than I thought," she remarked. "Can you reach your toes? Push back against my palm? Walk to the wall and back?" I hoped that the patient would respond affirmatively as I barraged her with questions, but the patient would unfailingly attempt the action to no avail and respond with a resigned shake of her head. Wrought with arthritis, the woman could barely budge without experiencing pain.
This patient was merely in her sixties, yet her body was in such miserable shape. With a look of dismay blended with shock, I was flooded with concern: "How can she live with such difficulties? Her pain must be unbearable. She's beyond help." The therapist, hardened from years of interaction with such patients, read my perplexed expression and wiped the doubts from my brain by reminding me, "We treat these patients to improve their quality of life, so they can live as well as they can. This woman is no solitary case; almost all the patients that come in are equally burdened." Upon these words, the physical therapist began the patient's exercises. Initially struggling to even move, the patient, after two extensive months, was finally capable of limping with a cane. By assisting the patient with exercises and acting as the medium of communication, I was privy to the pair's emotional bond, from disappointment to joy to accomplishment. The therapist backed every frustration with encouragement and every success with another target, slowly but surely restoring the patient's health and quality of life.
Such patients' weaknesses revealed man's frailty to me; however, both the patient and therapist perpetually pressed forward, endeavoring to improve even marginally. Understanding that I was instrumental to improving the life of another delighted me. Inspired by their poignant relationship, my ambition to pursue the medical field amplified. I, too, wish to share such a powerful connection with those in need: to not only save, but also improve the quality of lives.
Any and all criticism is great. I'm 77 words over the word count, so it'd be great if you could tell me where to cut down on. I'm worried about the last sentence of my second essay. I can't seem to express the idea and make it flow grammatically.
As a child, I was a miscreant, perhaps the perfect stereotype of a troublesome adolescent even. Growing up socially awkward, I was regularly in trouble. My mother was constantly called to parent meetings as a result of my behavior. I was someone to be ashamed of, yet my mother never looked at me that way. I was her special baby. This trend perpetuated into middle school. Detentions after detentions. Referrals after referrals. My mom's love for me never diminished. She embraced me daily, feeding me stories of the wonderful future that I would have and the great traits I would eventually develop. She believed in me, no matter what incredibly stupid acts I would commit. Blinded by my mother's beautiful words, I perceived that I would be able to continue my foolish misbehavior and still succeed. My mother kept strong in her belief that I would one day realize the correct steps to take and finally grow up. Days flew by. Then weeks. Then months. Then years. Finally the fated day came. 2010. May 22nd. It was the last time I ever saw her beautiful smile. It was the last time I ever experienced her warm embrace. My whole world crashed down upon me. My illusion of a perfect life was shattered.
I woke up to screaming and yelling. My dad rushed to wake me and my older sister up from our oblivious slumber. "COME DOWN IMMEDIATELY!" My dad cried out in Chinese. I looked to the nearest clock. 6:30 in the afternoon. Stupefied, I dazedly trudged downstairs to see my dad holding my mother's mouth open. She couldn't seem to breathe. I didn't understand why, but the message was clear. My mom's life was in danger. The next events occurred in quick succession, blurring into one another. We called 911. She was carried to Los Robles Hospital. She was transferred to Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. The neurosurgical team performed the operation on her and said she would live. They told my father, my sister, and I about how my mother suffered a brain aneurysm. They told us that if she had been discovered any later, she would have died. For a whole month, the hospital kept her sedated and on assisted breathing. Then on the momentous day of middle school graduation, I went to visit my mother in the hospital. The nurses told us how she suddenly went into a convulsion. Then, the doctor brought my family into the unforgiving white room. "Your mother is brain dead. I'm sorry for your loss." The doctor robotically relayed. I couldn't swallow it. What? How could it be? Me? The protagonist of my story? Lose my mother? What a joke! I was prepared to laugh. I waited for my dad and sister to scream "SURPRISE! HAPPY GRADUATION!" I waited for my mother to walk in. It never happened. I witnessed my father sob. I witnessed my sister wail. I sat, not knowing what to do.
We drove home from Santa Barbara. I was in a lull the whole summer. I started freshman year. My lull perpetuated. I was directionless. I had no goals. I scraped by all of my classes, only to return to my hushed room each day. The vacancy left by the loss of my mother had swallowed up my life. A year flew by before it all clicked, but the realization hit me powerfully. I grew up. I finally understood what my mother believed was in store for me. Suddenly, the blueprints to my whole life were written out. Her passing charged my determination and transformed into an impetus, thrusting me onto the path of a neurosurgeon. I would save people like my mother, so no one would have to endure the pain I went through.
Despite my lackadaisical attitude, I am motivated and resolved to accomplish my goal. From becoming a National Merit semifinalist to interning at Rowland Heights Medical Center to leading clubs, I have striven to persist towards my dream. Learning to crawl in high school, I yearn to take my first baby step, attending a prestigious college, towards my ambition and eventually becoming the protagonist from the stories that my mother used to tell me.
Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are?
Hypertension? Check. Diabetes? Check. Stroke? Check. "Where does it hurt?" I translated from English to Chinese. Pointing to various parts of her body, the patient meekly stated, "Everywhere." To further evaluate her condition, I relayed the physical therapist's inquiry: "Can you balance on one leg?" The patient replied by immediately collapsing to the floor. "She's even worse than I thought," she remarked. "Can you reach your toes? Push back against my palm? Walk to the wall and back?" I hoped that the patient would respond affirmatively as I barraged her with questions, but the patient would unfailingly attempt the action to no avail and respond with a resigned shake of her head. Wrought with arthritis, the woman could barely budge without experiencing pain.
This patient was merely in her sixties, yet her body was in such miserable shape. With a look of dismay blended with shock, I was flooded with concern: "How can she live with such difficulties? Her pain must be unbearable. She's beyond help." The therapist, hardened from years of interaction with such patients, read my perplexed expression and wiped the doubts from my brain by reminding me, "We treat these patients to improve their quality of life, so they can live as well as they can. This woman is no solitary case; almost all the patients that come in are equally burdened." Upon these words, the physical therapist began the patient's exercises. Initially struggling to even move, the patient, after two extensive months, was finally capable of limping with a cane. By assisting the patient with exercises and acting as the medium of communication, I was privy to the pair's emotional bond, from disappointment to joy to accomplishment. The therapist backed every frustration with encouragement and every success with another target, slowly but surely restoring the patient's health and quality of life.
Such patients' weaknesses revealed man's frailty to me; however, both the patient and therapist perpetually pressed forward, endeavoring to improve even marginally. Understanding that I was instrumental to improving the life of another delighted me. Inspired by their poignant relationship, my ambition to pursue the medical field amplified. I, too, wish to share such a powerful connection with those in need: to not only save, but also improve the quality of lives.
Any and all criticism is great. I'm 77 words over the word count, so it'd be great if you could tell me where to cut down on. I'm worried about the last sentence of my second essay. I can't seem to express the idea and make it flow grammatically.
