- Posts: 2
- Joined: Jan 06, 2016
- Wed Jan 06, 2016 1:41 pm
#21570
2:05am. It’s a daunting affair, to be writing in efforts to show that I’m worth taking a chance on. Maybe that’s why I’ve rewritten this seven times. (Eight, if you count the terrible one full of Hemingway quotes. I wouldn’t.)
drip… drip… drip
There’s a faucet, somewhere in my house, that’s been dripping for almost as long as I’ve been trying to write this. There’s a lot I want to tell you, of my passion and dedication to law school, and to having a JD.
drip… drip… drip
[/i]2:32am. There’s something to be said for just writing from the heart, right? Here goes.
My earliest memory takes place right after my third birthday, in New York City. We had been living in the country for a year, and we’d made a home in Queens. We found a family through the Muslim community, looking to rent a room in their basement. So the four of us - my parents, my older brother and myself - put down a rug and called it home.
All I remember is my lying on the ground, curled up with my arms covering my head, as my father beat the hell out of me. He’s a big man, 5’ 10”, roughly 250 pounds. 22 year old me can’t remember what on earth he was so angry about, but I remember that after he had slammed my body to the ground and kicked and punched me to his heart’s content, I was struggling to breathe. I was your average, annoying toddler, and didn’t recognize that my crying would only make Dad more angry. He threatened to make things worse if I didn’t stop, and as a resolve, I remember my mother languidly flicking her eyes from her magazine to look at me, and another nod of the head to my brother, beckoning him to get me some water.
I learned early on that I didn’t have much of a family.
It’s strange growing up in an abusive household. I don’t talk about my childhood often. Being a first-generation immigrant means that people are fast to blame your parents’ abuse on their culture, or claim they don’t know better. I’ve always thought this was an egregious assault on human beings, to assert their morality wouldn’t transcend physically scarring their children. It’s plainly insulting to tell a girl her pain was admonishable, but excusable.
drip… drip… drip
3:05am. When I was 20, my dad began to keep me home from classes to punish me. I don’t come from a culture that encourages female education, and I think my dad was well aware that refraining me from school was the one thing that would break me. And it almost did. I tried to kill myself, right before my junior year of college. I think that’s the point where I was at my weakest. As all hard things are, it was miserable, and something I can’t think about too much without wincing. I’m happy to say that I came out of it stronger than my best days could have hoped for.
drip… drip… drip
It took me eight months to fully recover. It took me eight months to fall in love with the world around me, to see beauty in beautiful things (à la Oscar Wilde). I think it’s our job, as humans, to leave the world better than it was when we came in. For me, I always knew I wanted to work with children and families. I didn’t survive 22 years of hiding my scars to let it go to waste, I need them to be worth something. As a minority in America (hell, as a human being in America), the politics of this country directly influence our lives. Seeing what’s wrong and willing it to change isn’t enough, there’s a requirement of knowledge and capability necessary to enact that change. For me, that effort will come through law school, and having a JD.
3:57am. I’m in love with politics, the law, and the history on which it is built. Being a hopeless romantic, I’m an optimist that believes that the possibility for change is within all of us. For me to be happy with myself, I have to know that what I’m doing matters, that what I invest my life in will be for the greater good. With a JD, I want to work in Family & Domestic law, helping children who don’t have anyone else. I would also like to work in the Department of Education, and make school a viable option for kids. I’m in love with my education, it’s what saved me. I want that for every kid who wants it. I can’t tell that I don’t have bad days, but I can tell you that you’d struggle to find someone who wants this as much as I do.
4:25am. I want law school and I want Cornell, with every ounce of me. More than I want an eighth Harry Potter book, new tires for my car, or that stupid faucet to stop dripping.
drip… drip… drip
There’s a faucet, somewhere in my house, that’s been dripping for almost as long as I’ve been trying to write this. There’s a lot I want to tell you, of my passion and dedication to law school, and to having a JD.
drip… drip… drip
[/i]2:32am. There’s something to be said for just writing from the heart, right? Here goes.
My earliest memory takes place right after my third birthday, in New York City. We had been living in the country for a year, and we’d made a home in Queens. We found a family through the Muslim community, looking to rent a room in their basement. So the four of us - my parents, my older brother and myself - put down a rug and called it home.
All I remember is my lying on the ground, curled up with my arms covering my head, as my father beat the hell out of me. He’s a big man, 5’ 10”, roughly 250 pounds. 22 year old me can’t remember what on earth he was so angry about, but I remember that after he had slammed my body to the ground and kicked and punched me to his heart’s content, I was struggling to breathe. I was your average, annoying toddler, and didn’t recognize that my crying would only make Dad more angry. He threatened to make things worse if I didn’t stop, and as a resolve, I remember my mother languidly flicking her eyes from her magazine to look at me, and another nod of the head to my brother, beckoning him to get me some water.
I learned early on that I didn’t have much of a family.
It’s strange growing up in an abusive household. I don’t talk about my childhood often. Being a first-generation immigrant means that people are fast to blame your parents’ abuse on their culture, or claim they don’t know better. I’ve always thought this was an egregious assault on human beings, to assert their morality wouldn’t transcend physically scarring their children. It’s plainly insulting to tell a girl her pain was admonishable, but excusable.
drip… drip… drip
3:05am. When I was 20, my dad began to keep me home from classes to punish me. I don’t come from a culture that encourages female education, and I think my dad was well aware that refraining me from school was the one thing that would break me. And it almost did. I tried to kill myself, right before my junior year of college. I think that’s the point where I was at my weakest. As all hard things are, it was miserable, and something I can’t think about too much without wincing. I’m happy to say that I came out of it stronger than my best days could have hoped for.
drip… drip… drip
It took me eight months to fully recover. It took me eight months to fall in love with the world around me, to see beauty in beautiful things (à la Oscar Wilde). I think it’s our job, as humans, to leave the world better than it was when we came in. For me, I always knew I wanted to work with children and families. I didn’t survive 22 years of hiding my scars to let it go to waste, I need them to be worth something. As a minority in America (hell, as a human being in America), the politics of this country directly influence our lives. Seeing what’s wrong and willing it to change isn’t enough, there’s a requirement of knowledge and capability necessary to enact that change. For me, that effort will come through law school, and having a JD.
3:57am. I’m in love with politics, the law, and the history on which it is built. Being a hopeless romantic, I’m an optimist that believes that the possibility for change is within all of us. For me to be happy with myself, I have to know that what I’m doing matters, that what I invest my life in will be for the greater good. With a JD, I want to work in Family & Domestic law, helping children who don’t have anyone else. I would also like to work in the Department of Education, and make school a viable option for kids. I’m in love with my education, it’s what saved me. I want that for every kid who wants it. I can’t tell that I don’t have bad days, but I can tell you that you’d struggle to find someone who wants this as much as I do.
4:25am. I want law school and I want Cornell, with every ounce of me. More than I want an eighth Harry Potter book, new tires for my car, or that stupid faucet to stop dripping.
The key is to demonstrate your desire through experience - which you do - instead of telling them about it.