EASY READ Personal Statement (overcoming adversity/DUI)
Posted: Tue Jul 16, 2013 12:45 am
I have posted once here already and now I have revised it and here it goes.
Please rip it apart for me fellow TLSers.
Thanks in advance!
A gentle touch from my mother woke me up from my sleep. “Your food is getting cold!” had been my mother’s usual morning call during my elementary years while living in my hometown of Daegu, South Korea. But it was different that day. As I pulled the blanket over my head, she sat down on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair with her hands as if she had something to tell me. I jutted out my right hand from the blanket and waved vigorously to indicate that I did not want breakfast. She calmly yet firmly held my hand. What she said to me that morning was, “Do you want to study in America?” Blindly leaning on my parents’ decisions, I replied, “Do you want me to?”
Walking down the street of apartments, I found a group of elementary school children and their parents waiting in a line. My guardian pointed and said, “That is the line for your school bus.” I froze for a second, not knowing what I was going to say to them. I did not want to be alone for my first day at an American school, so I mustered up my courage and approached a chubby, black-haired kid—a kid who shared the most in common with me. With my broken English I asked, “Hello, how are you?” He frowned and stepped closer to his mom. “Uh, what’s up?” he stammered in reply. What was up? The sky. Confused, I looked up and searched for something other than the sky. But when I looked down, the kid was already filing into the bus along with the others. Parents were waving goodbye to their children who had found their friends on the bus. I sat in an empty row, knowing my parents were not outside to wave bye to. I was uneasy knowing that they were not here next to me, but all the way across the Pacific Ocean sending money to my guardian, so that I could receive an American education. Partly out of jealousy, I asked myself, “What difference would there be if my parents were outside, waving at me right now?” I realized, thinking about something I could not change was a complete waste of time. I scanned my surroundings and found the chubby kid again. Grabbing my backpack, I rushed over to him and asked, “What did you mean by ‘What’s up?’” I didn’t know where the conversation was going before, and I didn’t like that. Not having a parent to ask what it meant, I had to search for answers by myself. The chubby kid looking annoyed told me, “It means, how are you.” Seeking answers by myself through daily conflicts in communication, my parents were no longer the ones who were credited for what they have done. All the credit was for me to accept. I felt proud, maybe even a bit arrogant.
I wish it had ended there, but I became arrogant and did not feel the need to sit in the passenger seat of my life anymore. My parents had driven my life the way they wanted to, but from then on I decided that they no longer had direct control of where my life was heading. I thought I could handle sitting in the driver’s seat, even at the young age of 13—but there awaited a cost for my arrogance.
A rough but short detour of my life began on February 6, 2011. I was on my way to celebrate my 22nd birthday in downtown Los Angeles. I received a call from my friend on my way saying, “Don’t come out if you aren’t ready!” As excited as I was, I coolly replied, “Too late.” This was where it all started. My friends bought me many drink to celebrate my birthday. I had been legally drinking for a year, and I thought I could handle my alcohol. At 4 AM, after trying to sober up for a little bit, my friends and I stumbled out of the bar a friend slapped me on the back and asked, “You’re sober right?” “Yea man, I can handle this,” I replied, while smirking. The night--or the morning, I should say--ended with a round of happy birthday punches and handshakes.
I slipped into the driver’s seat and headed home. As soon as I entered the freeway, I loosened up: there was no traffic, no cars, and no one to pay attention to. It was just the five-lane road and me. Under my impaired judgment, I kept driving. I suddenly felt fatigued, and my grip slipped. I found my car drifting a little to the left, so I firmly gripped my wheel again, but two seconds later, I found myself drifting off again. As I opened the window for some fresh air, I saw a flickering of red and blue lights. Was I seeing things? I pulled over to the right-most lane, and waited. My mind went blank, and I thought to myself that this couldn’t be real. What happened next was the worst event of my life so far. I finally faced the dire consequences of irresponsibly taking the driver’s seat of my car and of my own life. In retrospect, that was exactly what I needed: a wakeup call.
I remember vividly what had happened that night. Although this incident may be the event I want to extract from my memory the most, ironically, I can’t. I have learned something much more meaningful than what had simply occurred: humility. Mr. Moore, a lawyer who helped me with this incident, was the one who taught me humility. He told me through out his legal career he felt that “People make irresponsible choices not because they didn’t know about it but because they were arrogant.” It was true. I knew that night I was making a wrong choice, but it was the arrogance that had blinded my judgment. I thanked him for going beyond the necessity and teaching me a life lesson.
My perspectives have changed. And I was quite relieved actually, because making mistakes are inevitable but arrogance can be controlled. All this time, I thought only teachers can teach students and only doctors can save lives. But here was Mr. Moore, a lawyer, who taught me wisdom and who has saved an arrogant kid. I want to change people’s lives. I want to give back what I have received. I want to be a lawyer.
Chan
Please rip it apart for me fellow TLSers.
Thanks in advance!
A gentle touch from my mother woke me up from my sleep. “Your food is getting cold!” had been my mother’s usual morning call during my elementary years while living in my hometown of Daegu, South Korea. But it was different that day. As I pulled the blanket over my head, she sat down on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair with her hands as if she had something to tell me. I jutted out my right hand from the blanket and waved vigorously to indicate that I did not want breakfast. She calmly yet firmly held my hand. What she said to me that morning was, “Do you want to study in America?” Blindly leaning on my parents’ decisions, I replied, “Do you want me to?”
Walking down the street of apartments, I found a group of elementary school children and their parents waiting in a line. My guardian pointed and said, “That is the line for your school bus.” I froze for a second, not knowing what I was going to say to them. I did not want to be alone for my first day at an American school, so I mustered up my courage and approached a chubby, black-haired kid—a kid who shared the most in common with me. With my broken English I asked, “Hello, how are you?” He frowned and stepped closer to his mom. “Uh, what’s up?” he stammered in reply. What was up? The sky. Confused, I looked up and searched for something other than the sky. But when I looked down, the kid was already filing into the bus along with the others. Parents were waving goodbye to their children who had found their friends on the bus. I sat in an empty row, knowing my parents were not outside to wave bye to. I was uneasy knowing that they were not here next to me, but all the way across the Pacific Ocean sending money to my guardian, so that I could receive an American education. Partly out of jealousy, I asked myself, “What difference would there be if my parents were outside, waving at me right now?” I realized, thinking about something I could not change was a complete waste of time. I scanned my surroundings and found the chubby kid again. Grabbing my backpack, I rushed over to him and asked, “What did you mean by ‘What’s up?’” I didn’t know where the conversation was going before, and I didn’t like that. Not having a parent to ask what it meant, I had to search for answers by myself. The chubby kid looking annoyed told me, “It means, how are you.” Seeking answers by myself through daily conflicts in communication, my parents were no longer the ones who were credited for what they have done. All the credit was for me to accept. I felt proud, maybe even a bit arrogant.
I wish it had ended there, but I became arrogant and did not feel the need to sit in the passenger seat of my life anymore. My parents had driven my life the way they wanted to, but from then on I decided that they no longer had direct control of where my life was heading. I thought I could handle sitting in the driver’s seat, even at the young age of 13—but there awaited a cost for my arrogance.
A rough but short detour of my life began on February 6, 2011. I was on my way to celebrate my 22nd birthday in downtown Los Angeles. I received a call from my friend on my way saying, “Don’t come out if you aren’t ready!” As excited as I was, I coolly replied, “Too late.” This was where it all started. My friends bought me many drink to celebrate my birthday. I had been legally drinking for a year, and I thought I could handle my alcohol. At 4 AM, after trying to sober up for a little bit, my friends and I stumbled out of the bar a friend slapped me on the back and asked, “You’re sober right?” “Yea man, I can handle this,” I replied, while smirking. The night--or the morning, I should say--ended with a round of happy birthday punches and handshakes.
I slipped into the driver’s seat and headed home. As soon as I entered the freeway, I loosened up: there was no traffic, no cars, and no one to pay attention to. It was just the five-lane road and me. Under my impaired judgment, I kept driving. I suddenly felt fatigued, and my grip slipped. I found my car drifting a little to the left, so I firmly gripped my wheel again, but two seconds later, I found myself drifting off again. As I opened the window for some fresh air, I saw a flickering of red and blue lights. Was I seeing things? I pulled over to the right-most lane, and waited. My mind went blank, and I thought to myself that this couldn’t be real. What happened next was the worst event of my life so far. I finally faced the dire consequences of irresponsibly taking the driver’s seat of my car and of my own life. In retrospect, that was exactly what I needed: a wakeup call.
I remember vividly what had happened that night. Although this incident may be the event I want to extract from my memory the most, ironically, I can’t. I have learned something much more meaningful than what had simply occurred: humility. Mr. Moore, a lawyer who helped me with this incident, was the one who taught me humility. He told me through out his legal career he felt that “People make irresponsible choices not because they didn’t know about it but because they were arrogant.” It was true. I knew that night I was making a wrong choice, but it was the arrogance that had blinded my judgment. I thanked him for going beyond the necessity and teaching me a life lesson.
My perspectives have changed. And I was quite relieved actually, because making mistakes are inevitable but arrogance can be controlled. All this time, I thought only teachers can teach students and only doctors can save lives. But here was Mr. Moore, a lawyer, who taught me wisdom and who has saved an arrogant kid. I want to change people’s lives. I want to give back what I have received. I want to be a lawyer.
Chan
