I really need to get in, I would help out my mom a lot...
I have 8 essays to do...
Here goes... One help makes a huge difference...
5. Describe your typical academic weekday. Discuss what classes you take, the difficulty of your classes, time spent on homework assignments and how this fits into the rest of your day?
A tinge of regret consumes me every time I look at our grade six graduation picture. The girls wore white starched polo shirts and purple pleated skirts, while the guys wore khaki pants and polo shirts with the school's emblem on their left chest pocket. All the memories comes flashing through my mind each time; particularly the times when my classmates and I would rush to our seats when we see the teacher approaching. Everything changed when a letter from the U.S. Embassy arrived. It stated that we must leave before the year ends: my senior year in the Philippines. I can't bear to leave my friends, my family, and my comfort zone.
There was, however, no choice but to leave everything behind and start a new page in our lives. We need to adapt to the new system, regulations, and lifestyle. When I first stepped into Buchanan High School, it was like entering Topsy-turvy Town. Before, I only had to stay in class and wait for teachers to arrive in our classroom, but now, I'm like a college-bound student who moves with the bustling students along the corridors when the school bell beeps. I used to take eleven different subject classes a day, but here, a regular student takes a maximum of six. I, however, have seven. I chose to take a period zero class to pursue another AP class. This period zero class starts at 6:50 A.M.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we only have our odd numbered classes; on Wednesdays and Fridays, the even numbered classes. It took me a while to get accustomed to this system. I have U.S. History for my first class everyday except Wednesdays as a day-off. Although I never had any background on U.S. History, I feel comfortable in this class. The pacing of the teacher is easy to follow, and his instructional devices are very helpful. I actually planned taking the AP class for this subject, but changed my mind during the summer; I wouldn't want a C on my report card: having a B is bad enough.
P.E. follows U.S. History on Tuesdays. My counselor suggested I take directed studies P.E., but I am not much of a runner; I barely pass the mile each time. Back in my old school, we don't get to run miles; our school is too small for running. I remember having a hard time catching my breath after my first mile run. I gave space for a P.E. class this year for that reason. We get to do a bunch of recreational sports in class, most of which I've never actually played before. After break, I go straight to the 300s where the Math department is: my favorite class. Even if I have already completed my math credits for college, I took AP Calculus AB in order to continue practicing my math. After lunch, I go to straight to AP Chinese.
Even if I lived in the Philippines and have a non-Chinese sounding surname, I am 100% Chinese. I learned Chinese from my parents and my former teachers. I took this class in order to refresh my knowledge in Chinese, and to polish my Chinese accent and grammar. I enjoy this class a lot, for I get to interact with people I have a common ancestry with.
On Wednesdays, I go straight to AP English- a subject where I struggle the most. I always think in a different language when I write my essays, which is why I find it hard to express myself. It may sound okay in that language, but not in English. I spend a lot of time doing my essays at home and make sure that it makes sense to a native speaker. The next period I have is a piece of cake: Spanish. I do my homework in class for this subject. Spanish is very similar to Filipino, so I don't have difficulties learning this language. After lunch, I meet my AP Biology teacher. I have difficulties in this class, too. Back home, technology isn't that advanced, and we are fortunate if we have books for our classes.
I got a better barter - high quality education - for all my sacrifices. It may be really different here, but all the adjustments I went through for the last year was worth it. This would be my year-long schedule as a junior, and I enjoy every part of it.
6. Describe how one academic, volunteer, or work experience during high school has affected you. Why was this experience important?
The leaves on the cherry blossom tree outside our three bedroom apartment were in a crimson red then when a memorable night made empathy swell inside me. The night was young, the wind was dry and cold and the stars hid behind the dark, dense clouds as I walked out of the hospital. I wiped off the tears that welled up in my eyes when I saw my aunt parked in the driveway. I dare not tell anybody about this experience because of patient confidentiality; however, in that moment, I felt changed forever.
That Tuesday started like any ordinary volunteer day. I went to school early and got picked up right after the school bell rang. My aunt brought my volunteer uniform with her as she sent me straight to St. Agnes Medical Center. I bid her farewell, and went straight to restroom to get changed. I wore my freshly ironed blue vest, a white polo shirt with the hospital's emblem on it, and an unwavering smile. In my mind, I conditioned myself to be more cheerful than usual; it was after all almost Christmastime: a time of giving and joy. I usually volunteer on Fridays, but we had a special event that day, so I decided to participate. We were to go caroling to the patients around the hospital to spread the holiday cheer.
Each of us had bells hanging on our necks and their ringing made me imagine the bells on Santa's sleigh. This was my first time to go caroling, and I could literally burst out of excitement. I used to sing for my old school's chorale, and every Christmas we get to sing in front of all the other students. I miss singing to an audience, and sharing my God-given talent to them. This caroling would be my latest "performance." I wanted to be the star of the moment, for I temporarily forgot my purpose in this event: to bring joy to others, not myself.
I got carried away with my singing the first few floors of the hospital. I remember singing to a new born baby named Isabella. We sang "Silent Night" to her and her mom. Her little hands started to move and the blanket that covered her frail body reminded me of the Holy Child who was born in a stable. After we left their room in the maternity ward, words of praise and gratefulness were given to us all. As we passed the corridors silently, careful not to disturb patients who were in their sweet sleep, I started to feel warm and happy inside.
We went to the ICU ward, next, when a pang of guilt hit me. I always complained on how life was hard and unfair to me, but these people have it worse. I don't even have the right to question anyone at all. I should have felt fortunate to be living with a great life - a healthy life. I passed through each room with whisper-like singing; some patients were drowsing off due to the intake of sedatives, while some sat up straight watching the game shows on TV. We paused on a spot near the nurses' station and sang "The First Noel." Reaching the second verse, I noticed an old lady in my peripherals. She was slowly angling her body towards our direction in attempt to enjoy the melodious chorus. No one else was with her on that room, and I can guarantee that there is no solitary bliss in her eyes. I can't help but stare at her at the very moment. Tears started falling from her eyes when we reached the chorus. Compassion immediately took over me, and tears started to trickle down my face, too. A part of me wanted to rush to her and comfort her right away. Deep inside, I know how horrible it is to spend special occasions alone. But I stopped midway for I saw her smiling through her tears: tears of joy.
It was very rewarding and heart-warming to make the day of another person, especially on tough times like these. I never forgot those kind eyes that pierced through my heart. Her tears of joy spoke a million thanks and have permanently changed my outlook in life. I became more thankful for every blessing that I receive each day, and gave more importance to my well-being. Having this experience gave me proof that it's the small things that really count in life; small things that change other people's lives.
7. How do you define low-income? Do you consider yourself low-income and how has it affected your life?
We live each day with the minimum wage my mom has to offer: that is low income. That little nine dollar times the eight hours she works a day divided to the four of us: that is low income. If we get to save a little cash for the week, we are grateful; if not, we are still thankful, for we survived the week. Sickness is not an option; it is strictly prohibited. Insurance is not in our list of bills and payments; when we count the prices as we stroll down the grocery stalls just to make sure that we wouldn't exceed the food stamp limit - that is low income; when we know that we are living in a land of credit, and we can by no means pay all the debt except to work harder: that is low-income. This unbearable struggle, lack of necessities, passive endurance: that is low income.
Even though we live each day frugally, we live contentedly. However, we can not remove the insecurities we feel in life, and there are times that we have felt like giving up, but the greener pastures that lie ahead of us continue to spark that little hope we believe in - the hope that will be fulfilled only when my siblings and I finish college. My mom always believed that knowledge and wisdom are the greatest treasures; riches can be lost, but these two will remain with you forever.
I look up to my mom more than anyone in this world. The wise words with great meaning and depth that come from her lips continue to shape me and my outlook in life. I value education more than human possessions, for education had been one of the building blocks of my being. She constantly reminds me that without knowledge there is no power. Without this family heirloom my mom gave me - without this valuable wisdom - I am not the person I am. I continue to strive the best way I can to live up not only to my family's expectations, but also my own. My situation highlighted a greater need to achieve success at an earlier time. I have showcased a great deal of adaptation to the educational system here, and still seemed to excel in my own ways. I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I can always show that I am capable of doing the same work as others.
Because America's economy fell into recession, my mom was unfortunately laid off. We never expected this to happen, but we have no choice but to push the boulder of life ahead, or else we will never get anywhere. I understand that there are far more less-fortunate people who are struggling with life right now; for example: those who don't have three meals a day, a shelter to live on, and proper education. For me, low-income is a life shared by many. It can be either a blessing or a curse to an individual. To me and my family, it was indeed a blessing. It may sound bizarre, but through this stage of our life, our struggles have taught us that all it takes to surpass each trial ahead was to hold on to each other. Our family was once part of the middle-class people back in my country; we tasted the time of harvest, and now it's the time of drought. I admit everything was hard, but these are what make life much more worth living: the bumps, the falls, and the scrapes.
8. Why are you interested in health or science? How will your interest in health or science benefit other program participants and the Summer Residential Program as a whole?
Convulsion. That was a word too big to be in my head as a six year-old. And I guess it shouldn't be there; not yet, anyway. But that haunting night so many years ago nailed it into a memory. I was sleeping peacefully on my side of the bed when suddenly a strong shaking motion rocked the solid bed. The muted house rapidly turned into a madhouse: my mom hysterical, my kid brother quaking so hard he was a blurry motion. I was frozen in place, looking at my brother with his face turning a dark hue of purple, until Mother snapped me out of shock. She asked me to bring her a towel and a small spoon as quickly as I can. I got what was asked of me instantly, but was a moment too late. My mom already put her thumb into his mouth to keep him from biting off his tongue. His little teeth were like chisels, permanently denting my mom's nail - another proof of that fateful incident. He was eventually given Phenobarbital, a barbiturate, to suppress any more convulsions, and for a time, they worked. That was until he got overdosed, damaging his brain forever.
My mom was alarmed of the fact that her son, at the age of four, wasn't mumbling or saying anything, at all. He doesn't give her eye contact, and recognize his own name. She immediately brought my brother to our pediatrician to see what the problem could be. That's when the series of diagnoses began. He was passed around doctors, each giving a different answer. Some say that he's autistic; some say nothing's wrong - he's just a late bloomer. But ultimately, they came up with the most plausible answer: he has ADHD. That was another term I have yet to understand at that tender age. Well, whatever it was, my mom's not taking it too well. She finally explained to me that my brother's special: he's not like other kids, and he's going to have to stay home more often because he's sickly.
That was fine by me, at first. For my little mind, getting sick isn't forever, and one day, he's going to be like me and my kid sister. But, as you guessed, I'm wrong. I know that my mom doesn't want me to worry, but I took on the responsibility, anyway. She's our breadwinner and if she gets sick, we're all going to suffer the consequences. I saw how much Mother was bearing so many burdens, crying only at night, when she thought we were all sleeping. That's when I started studying harder and hanging out less with my friends to make sure my brother was fine.
When I encountered brain disorders and DNA mutation in Biology, an idea clicked. I thought that maybe, if I become a doctor, then I would figure out a way to cure my brother, and he would eventually be a normal kid. I figured that maybe, even if being "normal" would be impossible, we would better understand his thoughts, his emotions, and his actions. I feel devastated seeing him struggling with things we are able to do as naturally as we breathe. He has come a long way since "the news", but he still has his moments.
For the meantime, I continue to research about ways on how I could deal with my brother. Doctors say that Ritalin could help him calm down by stimulating his central nervous system, but I am skeptical about it. I met some friends at school from the special education class, and learned that they take medications to suppress their hyperactivity. My brother, however, doesn't need a dose of Ritalin to stop his sudden urge of motion, by raising an eyebrow, our invisible drug works instantly. I continue to interact with the special education students, asking them how I could help my brother cope up with everything he missed. I consult them for the right actions for my brother. It was very different back in the Philippines, my brother was unique. I didn't know any other kid who had ADHD, and could tell me their thoughts and emotions. My own experiences are primary accounts, and observations that aren't easy to be interpreted from hard-bound books. My continuous research on my brother's case could help other people understand and learn more about people who are suffering from ADHD or ADD.
I have 8 essays to do...
Here goes... One help makes a huge difference...
5. Describe your typical academic weekday. Discuss what classes you take, the difficulty of your classes, time spent on homework assignments and how this fits into the rest of your day?
A tinge of regret consumes me every time I look at our grade six graduation picture. The girls wore white starched polo shirts and purple pleated skirts, while the guys wore khaki pants and polo shirts with the school's emblem on their left chest pocket. All the memories comes flashing through my mind each time; particularly the times when my classmates and I would rush to our seats when we see the teacher approaching. Everything changed when a letter from the U.S. Embassy arrived. It stated that we must leave before the year ends: my senior year in the Philippines. I can't bear to leave my friends, my family, and my comfort zone.
There was, however, no choice but to leave everything behind and start a new page in our lives. We need to adapt to the new system, regulations, and lifestyle. When I first stepped into Buchanan High School, it was like entering Topsy-turvy Town. Before, I only had to stay in class and wait for teachers to arrive in our classroom, but now, I'm like a college-bound student who moves with the bustling students along the corridors when the school bell beeps. I used to take eleven different subject classes a day, but here, a regular student takes a maximum of six. I, however, have seven. I chose to take a period zero class to pursue another AP class. This period zero class starts at 6:50 A.M.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we only have our odd numbered classes; on Wednesdays and Fridays, the even numbered classes. It took me a while to get accustomed to this system. I have U.S. History for my first class everyday except Wednesdays as a day-off. Although I never had any background on U.S. History, I feel comfortable in this class. The pacing of the teacher is easy to follow, and his instructional devices are very helpful. I actually planned taking the AP class for this subject, but changed my mind during the summer; I wouldn't want a C on my report card: having a B is bad enough.
P.E. follows U.S. History on Tuesdays. My counselor suggested I take directed studies P.E., but I am not much of a runner; I barely pass the mile each time. Back in my old school, we don't get to run miles; our school is too small for running. I remember having a hard time catching my breath after my first mile run. I gave space for a P.E. class this year for that reason. We get to do a bunch of recreational sports in class, most of which I've never actually played before. After break, I go straight to the 300s where the Math department is: my favorite class. Even if I have already completed my math credits for college, I took AP Calculus AB in order to continue practicing my math. After lunch, I go to straight to AP Chinese.
Even if I lived in the Philippines and have a non-Chinese sounding surname, I am 100% Chinese. I learned Chinese from my parents and my former teachers. I took this class in order to refresh my knowledge in Chinese, and to polish my Chinese accent and grammar. I enjoy this class a lot, for I get to interact with people I have a common ancestry with.
On Wednesdays, I go straight to AP English- a subject where I struggle the most. I always think in a different language when I write my essays, which is why I find it hard to express myself. It may sound okay in that language, but not in English. I spend a lot of time doing my essays at home and make sure that it makes sense to a native speaker. The next period I have is a piece of cake: Spanish. I do my homework in class for this subject. Spanish is very similar to Filipino, so I don't have difficulties learning this language. After lunch, I meet my AP Biology teacher. I have difficulties in this class, too. Back home, technology isn't that advanced, and we are fortunate if we have books for our classes.
I got a better barter - high quality education - for all my sacrifices. It may be really different here, but all the adjustments I went through for the last year was worth it. This would be my year-long schedule as a junior, and I enjoy every part of it.
6. Describe how one academic, volunteer, or work experience during high school has affected you. Why was this experience important?
The leaves on the cherry blossom tree outside our three bedroom apartment were in a crimson red then when a memorable night made empathy swell inside me. The night was young, the wind was dry and cold and the stars hid behind the dark, dense clouds as I walked out of the hospital. I wiped off the tears that welled up in my eyes when I saw my aunt parked in the driveway. I dare not tell anybody about this experience because of patient confidentiality; however, in that moment, I felt changed forever.
That Tuesday started like any ordinary volunteer day. I went to school early and got picked up right after the school bell rang. My aunt brought my volunteer uniform with her as she sent me straight to St. Agnes Medical Center. I bid her farewell, and went straight to restroom to get changed. I wore my freshly ironed blue vest, a white polo shirt with the hospital's emblem on it, and an unwavering smile. In my mind, I conditioned myself to be more cheerful than usual; it was after all almost Christmastime: a time of giving and joy. I usually volunteer on Fridays, but we had a special event that day, so I decided to participate. We were to go caroling to the patients around the hospital to spread the holiday cheer.
Each of us had bells hanging on our necks and their ringing made me imagine the bells on Santa's sleigh. This was my first time to go caroling, and I could literally burst out of excitement. I used to sing for my old school's chorale, and every Christmas we get to sing in front of all the other students. I miss singing to an audience, and sharing my God-given talent to them. This caroling would be my latest "performance." I wanted to be the star of the moment, for I temporarily forgot my purpose in this event: to bring joy to others, not myself.
I got carried away with my singing the first few floors of the hospital. I remember singing to a new born baby named Isabella. We sang "Silent Night" to her and her mom. Her little hands started to move and the blanket that covered her frail body reminded me of the Holy Child who was born in a stable. After we left their room in the maternity ward, words of praise and gratefulness were given to us all. As we passed the corridors silently, careful not to disturb patients who were in their sweet sleep, I started to feel warm and happy inside.
We went to the ICU ward, next, when a pang of guilt hit me. I always complained on how life was hard and unfair to me, but these people have it worse. I don't even have the right to question anyone at all. I should have felt fortunate to be living with a great life - a healthy life. I passed through each room with whisper-like singing; some patients were drowsing off due to the intake of sedatives, while some sat up straight watching the game shows on TV. We paused on a spot near the nurses' station and sang "The First Noel." Reaching the second verse, I noticed an old lady in my peripherals. She was slowly angling her body towards our direction in attempt to enjoy the melodious chorus. No one else was with her on that room, and I can guarantee that there is no solitary bliss in her eyes. I can't help but stare at her at the very moment. Tears started falling from her eyes when we reached the chorus. Compassion immediately took over me, and tears started to trickle down my face, too. A part of me wanted to rush to her and comfort her right away. Deep inside, I know how horrible it is to spend special occasions alone. But I stopped midway for I saw her smiling through her tears: tears of joy.
It was very rewarding and heart-warming to make the day of another person, especially on tough times like these. I never forgot those kind eyes that pierced through my heart. Her tears of joy spoke a million thanks and have permanently changed my outlook in life. I became more thankful for every blessing that I receive each day, and gave more importance to my well-being. Having this experience gave me proof that it's the small things that really count in life; small things that change other people's lives.
7. How do you define low-income? Do you consider yourself low-income and how has it affected your life?
We live each day with the minimum wage my mom has to offer: that is low income. That little nine dollar times the eight hours she works a day divided to the four of us: that is low income. If we get to save a little cash for the week, we are grateful; if not, we are still thankful, for we survived the week. Sickness is not an option; it is strictly prohibited. Insurance is not in our list of bills and payments; when we count the prices as we stroll down the grocery stalls just to make sure that we wouldn't exceed the food stamp limit - that is low income; when we know that we are living in a land of credit, and we can by no means pay all the debt except to work harder: that is low-income. This unbearable struggle, lack of necessities, passive endurance: that is low income.
Even though we live each day frugally, we live contentedly. However, we can not remove the insecurities we feel in life, and there are times that we have felt like giving up, but the greener pastures that lie ahead of us continue to spark that little hope we believe in - the hope that will be fulfilled only when my siblings and I finish college. My mom always believed that knowledge and wisdom are the greatest treasures; riches can be lost, but these two will remain with you forever.
I look up to my mom more than anyone in this world. The wise words with great meaning and depth that come from her lips continue to shape me and my outlook in life. I value education more than human possessions, for education had been one of the building blocks of my being. She constantly reminds me that without knowledge there is no power. Without this family heirloom my mom gave me - without this valuable wisdom - I am not the person I am. I continue to strive the best way I can to live up not only to my family's expectations, but also my own. My situation highlighted a greater need to achieve success at an earlier time. I have showcased a great deal of adaptation to the educational system here, and still seemed to excel in my own ways. I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but I can always show that I am capable of doing the same work as others.
Because America's economy fell into recession, my mom was unfortunately laid off. We never expected this to happen, but we have no choice but to push the boulder of life ahead, or else we will never get anywhere. I understand that there are far more less-fortunate people who are struggling with life right now; for example: those who don't have three meals a day, a shelter to live on, and proper education. For me, low-income is a life shared by many. It can be either a blessing or a curse to an individual. To me and my family, it was indeed a blessing. It may sound bizarre, but through this stage of our life, our struggles have taught us that all it takes to surpass each trial ahead was to hold on to each other. Our family was once part of the middle-class people back in my country; we tasted the time of harvest, and now it's the time of drought. I admit everything was hard, but these are what make life much more worth living: the bumps, the falls, and the scrapes.
8. Why are you interested in health or science? How will your interest in health or science benefit other program participants and the Summer Residential Program as a whole?
Convulsion. That was a word too big to be in my head as a six year-old. And I guess it shouldn't be there; not yet, anyway. But that haunting night so many years ago nailed it into a memory. I was sleeping peacefully on my side of the bed when suddenly a strong shaking motion rocked the solid bed. The muted house rapidly turned into a madhouse: my mom hysterical, my kid brother quaking so hard he was a blurry motion. I was frozen in place, looking at my brother with his face turning a dark hue of purple, until Mother snapped me out of shock. She asked me to bring her a towel and a small spoon as quickly as I can. I got what was asked of me instantly, but was a moment too late. My mom already put her thumb into his mouth to keep him from biting off his tongue. His little teeth were like chisels, permanently denting my mom's nail - another proof of that fateful incident. He was eventually given Phenobarbital, a barbiturate, to suppress any more convulsions, and for a time, they worked. That was until he got overdosed, damaging his brain forever.
My mom was alarmed of the fact that her son, at the age of four, wasn't mumbling or saying anything, at all. He doesn't give her eye contact, and recognize his own name. She immediately brought my brother to our pediatrician to see what the problem could be. That's when the series of diagnoses began. He was passed around doctors, each giving a different answer. Some say that he's autistic; some say nothing's wrong - he's just a late bloomer. But ultimately, they came up with the most plausible answer: he has ADHD. That was another term I have yet to understand at that tender age. Well, whatever it was, my mom's not taking it too well. She finally explained to me that my brother's special: he's not like other kids, and he's going to have to stay home more often because he's sickly.
That was fine by me, at first. For my little mind, getting sick isn't forever, and one day, he's going to be like me and my kid sister. But, as you guessed, I'm wrong. I know that my mom doesn't want me to worry, but I took on the responsibility, anyway. She's our breadwinner and if she gets sick, we're all going to suffer the consequences. I saw how much Mother was bearing so many burdens, crying only at night, when she thought we were all sleeping. That's when I started studying harder and hanging out less with my friends to make sure my brother was fine.
When I encountered brain disorders and DNA mutation in Biology, an idea clicked. I thought that maybe, if I become a doctor, then I would figure out a way to cure my brother, and he would eventually be a normal kid. I figured that maybe, even if being "normal" would be impossible, we would better understand his thoughts, his emotions, and his actions. I feel devastated seeing him struggling with things we are able to do as naturally as we breathe. He has come a long way since "the news", but he still has his moments.
For the meantime, I continue to research about ways on how I could deal with my brother. Doctors say that Ritalin could help him calm down by stimulating his central nervous system, but I am skeptical about it. I met some friends at school from the special education class, and learned that they take medications to suppress their hyperactivity. My brother, however, doesn't need a dose of Ritalin to stop his sudden urge of motion, by raising an eyebrow, our invisible drug works instantly. I continue to interact with the special education students, asking them how I could help my brother cope up with everything he missed. I consult them for the right actions for my brother. It was very different back in the Philippines, my brother was unique. I didn't know any other kid who had ADHD, and could tell me their thoughts and emotions. My own experiences are primary accounts, and observations that aren't easy to be interpreted from hard-bound books. My continuous research on my brother's case could help other people understand and learn more about people who are suffering from ADHD or ADD.
