SUMMARY: This is an obesity/growth essay, using stretchmarks as a leverage. Some aspects I want an opinion on:
- How is the readability of this essay? (is it choppy, broken down, and not easy to read)
- Is this a topic worth pursuing?
- I understand that I want to highlight growth, did I express it enough? If not what can I do
- Any other comments or advice is good advice! Thank you so much for reading!
Under the pale light in my bathroom, stretch marks ripple across my skin. White cracks trace my torso, upper arms, and thighs, each recording a moment in time when I occupied too much. I examined each of these stretch marks up close in the mirror, from the new purplish-hued crack on my upper arm to my old white mark that twisted around my thigh. Each of these stretch marks was a reminder to me of a time when I took up too much space, a moment when maybe I truly bit off more than I could chew, each pulsating with the concept that I had no control over my body. Before I even spoke in conversation, I felt as if my body spoke for me; every glance meant a conclusion had formed, one that took over my perception of who I am.
Obesity has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Standing on the physician's beam, with the nurse pushing the lower poise weight further and further down the bar, the number on the scale has always been the pivotal point in any conversation with my pediatrician, evolving into aspects such as high cholesterol, prediabetes, and chronic illnesses. My stretch marks started to represent changes happening underneath my skin, some I did not understand, but all impacted my psyche.
My instinct was avoidance; pushing away the signs my body was giving me. I avoided mirrors, photographs, and conversations about my health, hoping that the further I stayed away from the problem, the more I could escape its effects.
Eventually, the fear became exhausting. During one medical appointment, instead of letting all the medical jargon pass by, I started to ask questions. What is blood sugar? How did my cholesterol become so high? How could this increase my risk for cancer? While these questions did not innately fix my health conditions, they did start to improve my relationship with them.
The curiosity of understanding my body led me to work in computational biology research. Using a Variant Navigator, I examined the whole-genome sequencing data from multiple myeloma samples, evaluating deleted DNA sections. Looking through the data, I realized that an apparent pattern was not automatically a conclusion, given that sequencing data can be noisy, and algorithms can be uncertain. Before classifying a variant, I had to think patiently, comparing multiple signals and considering their context. It was with this skill that I realized I never allowed myself to have this level of patience. I looked at my stretch marks as unquestionable proof of who I was, without letting myself have the composure to understand my body and what the stretch marks meant.
Learning to look beyond an apparent conclusion followed from research to 3 Central, the stroke and neurology care floor at JFK Hospital. I encountered patients whose expressions, movements, or ability to communicate were altered by neurological illness. While delivering items and responding to requests, I learned not to mistake silence for disinterest or limited movement for helplessness. Instead, I slowed down, watched gestures, and listened carefully to unfinished sentences. Even though my responsibilities were routine, the attention needed was not. Just as my stretch marks could not explain my history, a patient's conditions revealed part of their circumstances without defining the person experiencing them.
Under the same bathroom light, my stretch marks have not disappeared. The purplish marks on my upper arm will mature into white cracks; the older white ones will still ripple throughout my skin, yet each one no longer speaks on my behalf. They still record the struggle and change my body went through, yet they no longer constitute a verdict. I no longer see my stretch marks as a conclusion etched into my skin; rather, I see lines in a story still unfolding, a reminder to internalize and look within myself and others.
- How is the readability of this essay? (is it choppy, broken down, and not easy to read)
- Is this a topic worth pursuing?
- I understand that I want to highlight growth, did I express it enough? If not what can I do
- Any other comments or advice is good advice! Thank you so much for reading!
Under the pale light in my bathroom, stretch marks ripple across my skin. White cracks trace my torso, upper arms, and thighs, each recording a moment in time when I occupied too much. I examined each of these stretch marks up close in the mirror, from the new purplish-hued crack on my upper arm to my old white mark that twisted around my thigh. Each of these stretch marks was a reminder to me of a time when I took up too much space, a moment when maybe I truly bit off more than I could chew, each pulsating with the concept that I had no control over my body. Before I even spoke in conversation, I felt as if my body spoke for me; every glance meant a conclusion had formed, one that took over my perception of who I am.
Obesity has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Standing on the physician's beam, with the nurse pushing the lower poise weight further and further down the bar, the number on the scale has always been the pivotal point in any conversation with my pediatrician, evolving into aspects such as high cholesterol, prediabetes, and chronic illnesses. My stretch marks started to represent changes happening underneath my skin, some I did not understand, but all impacted my psyche.
My instinct was avoidance; pushing away the signs my body was giving me. I avoided mirrors, photographs, and conversations about my health, hoping that the further I stayed away from the problem, the more I could escape its effects.
Eventually, the fear became exhausting. During one medical appointment, instead of letting all the medical jargon pass by, I started to ask questions. What is blood sugar? How did my cholesterol become so high? How could this increase my risk for cancer? While these questions did not innately fix my health conditions, they did start to improve my relationship with them.
The curiosity of understanding my body led me to work in computational biology research. Using a Variant Navigator, I examined the whole-genome sequencing data from multiple myeloma samples, evaluating deleted DNA sections. Looking through the data, I realized that an apparent pattern was not automatically a conclusion, given that sequencing data can be noisy, and algorithms can be uncertain. Before classifying a variant, I had to think patiently, comparing multiple signals and considering their context. It was with this skill that I realized I never allowed myself to have this level of patience. I looked at my stretch marks as unquestionable proof of who I was, without letting myself have the composure to understand my body and what the stretch marks meant.
Learning to look beyond an apparent conclusion followed from research to 3 Central, the stroke and neurology care floor at JFK Hospital. I encountered patients whose expressions, movements, or ability to communicate were altered by neurological illness. While delivering items and responding to requests, I learned not to mistake silence for disinterest or limited movement for helplessness. Instead, I slowed down, watched gestures, and listened carefully to unfinished sentences. Even though my responsibilities were routine, the attention needed was not. Just as my stretch marks could not explain my history, a patient's conditions revealed part of their circumstances without defining the person experiencing them.
Under the same bathroom light, my stretch marks have not disappeared. The purplish marks on my upper arm will mature into white cracks; the older white ones will still ripple throughout my skin, yet each one no longer speaks on my behalf. They still record the struggle and change my body went through, yet they no longer constitute a verdict. I no longer see my stretch marks as a conclusion etched into my skin; rather, I see lines in a story still unfolding, a reminder to internalize and look within myself and others.
