Your personal statement (of at least 250 words) helps us get to know you in ways other than your courses, grades and test scores. It should describe a special interest, or a significant experience or achievement. There are no right or wrong answers - we just want to know a little more about you.
I stepped off of the elevator and began tearing through the halls; they reeked of soiled bed sheets and 409. Chuck Taylor adorned feet tumbled over each other in my haste; I faltered for just one moment. Suddenly, Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah filled my ears as my cell phone began to ring. Without a second's hesitation, my mother blurted out a stream of questions. "Alison, where are you? Are you okay? Can you just come back up here, please?" Allowing myself one more minute of solace, as per routine, I took a deep breath, and, wiping my face on the sleeve of a well-worn sweatshirt soaked with tears and dried snot, began ascending the stairs to the third floor.
This all started the summer of my thirteenth year, around the same time that I decided it was time to trade in the Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen music I grew up on, for insipid, generic boy bands. Sometimes, I entertain the notion that this momentary slip-up in musical taste is the root of all of my problems, concluding that a stale MTV hit is the cause of my family's frequent sojourns to intensive care units.
In the past few years, I have been in more ICUs than most people could ever imagine. I could rate the coffee in almost every 'family room' in Philadelphia (Frankford Torresdale has the best; enormous Styrofoam cups and real coffee, strong and not from instant packs), and I know what all of those annoying beeping machines do and even how to silence them. These visits have been torturous, but I have learned essential life lessons from each and every one of them.
I remember distinctly my first encounter with a real life hospital room. After suddenly suffering an aneurism and falling into a coma at only twenty-six years old, my cousin Krista was rushed to the ER. Her entire extended network of family and friends journeyed from near and far to be with Krista and her family in the sight of a troubling prognosis. My theology teacher defines love as 'total gift of self until nothing is left ungiven'. It is a nice enough definition, stark and to the point, but when I think of love, I think of that entire floor of people who were touched by my cousin's charm and compassion. There had to be at least seventy-five people sitting around her room, praying and sharing happy memories of their time with Krista, who would have given anything to make her passing easier for my aunt, uncle, and Krista's fiancé, Bobby. At that moment, I discovered that true love does not have to have romantic connotations; it is simply when another person's interests come before one's own.
My aunt Julie has been in and out of hospitals for years. About two years before Krista's death, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and after that, she suffered from one illness after another, from heart problems, strokes, and other instabilities. It may sound horrible, but I began to resent Jul for her infirmities. As I childishly saw it, her diseases were stealing away my childhood far too soon, as I had the added responsibilities of looking after her children. However, after one of her many health problems, Jul once again ended up in an intensive care unit. I walked into the room and was terrified of what I saw; Jul was rail-thin and hooked up to numerous beeping machines. The sight was so upsetting that I raced down the corridor toward the elevators. Suddenly I ran into a sturdy body; it was my father, coming to visit after work. He asked me what I was doing and, after listening compassionately, offered me the wisdom that regardless of the difficulty, I must go back and be with Julie because we are family, and that is what family does. Family is the best link to your past, and the most likely to stick with you in the future. Family is those who share Thanksgiving dinners and hideous matching Christmas sweaters; family is watching the descending peaks of machines, despite the fear and pain that might ensue. It is solidarity between a group of people that cannot be adequately defined in words. One cannot choose family, but that is what makes the phenomenon so spectacular; a hodge-podge group of people, sometimes with nothing in common except DNA, which binds together and takes care of each other in good and bad times.
Turning on the second floor landing, beginning to ascend the last flight of stairs, I was almost at the foreboding destination, my grandmother's room on the third floor. Once I entered the room, I would have to put on a brave face and use the insight I have gained through the years to deal with the situation, but at this moment, I could still reflect on my experiences and hope that they would guide me. I have never seen eye to eye with my grandmother. She grew up in a time extremely dissimilar to that of my generation, and her ideals and beliefs are utterly different than mine. Frankly, I have always thought of my father's mother as narrow-minded and stupid. However, as I climbed the steps, all I could think about were the reasons I love my grandmother: her unyielding devotion to her family, her sense of humor, her kindness. My uncharacteristic thoughts about my grandmother imprinted this new, vital life lesson into my heart. The truth is subjective. We pick the elements we choose to remember and we decide which factors will come to define us. The truth is I love my grandmother, regardless of our differences, and that is how I will define our relationship for the rest of my life.
Now, four long years after my first visit, I can honestly say something beneficial has come from these harrowing events. This path has opened my eyes to the true meaning of family, love, and life in general, wisdom which would not have been imparted on me otherwise. I suppose this silver lining that has come with these tragedies is what life is about; you take the bad with the good, and learn from it.
Any constructive criticism you could give me would be much appreciated. Also, I'm having a hard time thinking of a title, if you have any suggestions. Thank you so much in advance for your help!
I stepped off of the elevator and began tearing through the halls; they reeked of soiled bed sheets and 409. Chuck Taylor adorned feet tumbled over each other in my haste; I faltered for just one moment. Suddenly, Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah filled my ears as my cell phone began to ring. Without a second's hesitation, my mother blurted out a stream of questions. "Alison, where are you? Are you okay? Can you just come back up here, please?" Allowing myself one more minute of solace, as per routine, I took a deep breath, and, wiping my face on the sleeve of a well-worn sweatshirt soaked with tears and dried snot, began ascending the stairs to the third floor.
This all started the summer of my thirteenth year, around the same time that I decided it was time to trade in the Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen music I grew up on, for insipid, generic boy bands. Sometimes, I entertain the notion that this momentary slip-up in musical taste is the root of all of my problems, concluding that a stale MTV hit is the cause of my family's frequent sojourns to intensive care units.
In the past few years, I have been in more ICUs than most people could ever imagine. I could rate the coffee in almost every 'family room' in Philadelphia (Frankford Torresdale has the best; enormous Styrofoam cups and real coffee, strong and not from instant packs), and I know what all of those annoying beeping machines do and even how to silence them. These visits have been torturous, but I have learned essential life lessons from each and every one of them.
I remember distinctly my first encounter with a real life hospital room. After suddenly suffering an aneurism and falling into a coma at only twenty-six years old, my cousin Krista was rushed to the ER. Her entire extended network of family and friends journeyed from near and far to be with Krista and her family in the sight of a troubling prognosis. My theology teacher defines love as 'total gift of self until nothing is left ungiven'. It is a nice enough definition, stark and to the point, but when I think of love, I think of that entire floor of people who were touched by my cousin's charm and compassion. There had to be at least seventy-five people sitting around her room, praying and sharing happy memories of their time with Krista, who would have given anything to make her passing easier for my aunt, uncle, and Krista's fiancé, Bobby. At that moment, I discovered that true love does not have to have romantic connotations; it is simply when another person's interests come before one's own.
My aunt Julie has been in and out of hospitals for years. About two years before Krista's death, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and after that, she suffered from one illness after another, from heart problems, strokes, and other instabilities. It may sound horrible, but I began to resent Jul for her infirmities. As I childishly saw it, her diseases were stealing away my childhood far too soon, as I had the added responsibilities of looking after her children. However, after one of her many health problems, Jul once again ended up in an intensive care unit. I walked into the room and was terrified of what I saw; Jul was rail-thin and hooked up to numerous beeping machines. The sight was so upsetting that I raced down the corridor toward the elevators. Suddenly I ran into a sturdy body; it was my father, coming to visit after work. He asked me what I was doing and, after listening compassionately, offered me the wisdom that regardless of the difficulty, I must go back and be with Julie because we are family, and that is what family does. Family is the best link to your past, and the most likely to stick with you in the future. Family is those who share Thanksgiving dinners and hideous matching Christmas sweaters; family is watching the descending peaks of machines, despite the fear and pain that might ensue. It is solidarity between a group of people that cannot be adequately defined in words. One cannot choose family, but that is what makes the phenomenon so spectacular; a hodge-podge group of people, sometimes with nothing in common except DNA, which binds together and takes care of each other in good and bad times.
Turning on the second floor landing, beginning to ascend the last flight of stairs, I was almost at the foreboding destination, my grandmother's room on the third floor. Once I entered the room, I would have to put on a brave face and use the insight I have gained through the years to deal with the situation, but at this moment, I could still reflect on my experiences and hope that they would guide me. I have never seen eye to eye with my grandmother. She grew up in a time extremely dissimilar to that of my generation, and her ideals and beliefs are utterly different than mine. Frankly, I have always thought of my father's mother as narrow-minded and stupid. However, as I climbed the steps, all I could think about were the reasons I love my grandmother: her unyielding devotion to her family, her sense of humor, her kindness. My uncharacteristic thoughts about my grandmother imprinted this new, vital life lesson into my heart. The truth is subjective. We pick the elements we choose to remember and we decide which factors will come to define us. The truth is I love my grandmother, regardless of our differences, and that is how I will define our relationship for the rest of my life.
Now, four long years after my first visit, I can honestly say something beneficial has come from these harrowing events. This path has opened my eyes to the true meaning of family, love, and life in general, wisdom which would not have been imparted on me otherwise. I suppose this silver lining that has come with these tragedies is what life is about; you take the bad with the good, and learn from it.
Any constructive criticism you could give me would be much appreciated. Also, I'm having a hard time thinking of a title, if you have any suggestions. Thank you so much in advance for your help!
