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The more I write, the more my DS and PS seem off. I would appreciate any constructive criticism.

DIVERSITY STATEMENT

What makes me different than the next minority from a low-income, single-parent home? What sets me apart? It can’t merely be the pigment of my skin, the immigrant status of my family, or the zip code in which I reside. I see myself as unusual, even among atypical applicants.

One of my early childhood memories is being told to keep quiet and hide under the bed, because gunshots were being fired at our home. I thought it was all over when the sound of the firing stopped. It was only the beginning. Within minutes, our home was invaded by what I now understand to be militants. This was during a period of unrest after President XXX was forced to flee the small island of XXX. I was not born in XXX, but traveled there quite often. That night these militants were searching for my mother. They accused her of being a part of the XXX regime, as a “ton ton macout”.

I’m not sure how these men came to leave our house, but by morning, we were in a windowless van headed out of [city name]. After some time in the van, we pulled over and got out of the vehicle. There were vandalized buildings and cement debris everywhere. It was as if giants marched through the city, smashing everything with hammers. It was total chaos. I was told to close my eyes as they held my hand. Of course, I didn’t keep my eyes closed. What I witnessed has followed with me into adulthood. Those images remain as vivid as the day I saw them. I cannot recall who was holding my hand, but I remember all too clearly the dead bodies and debris sprawled throughout the streets. I remember the stench, I remember the fear. I remember this unsettling stillness in the air, which even as a child, I knew was not normal. The most frightening sight was of a man lying on the ground with a pick axe lodged in his abdomen, and his intestines hanging out of his stomach. It has been over 25 years and I have yet to free myself of his image, of his face.

Since that period, I have been in [city name] for two coups d’état and numerous political manifestations. The stench of burning tire rubber (a trademark for protesters and rebels), is one that I will not soon forget. I have seen man at his worst: placing a tire around a person’s neck, dousing it with gasoline and setting it on fire. And, I have seen man at his best: strangers working together to rescue survivors from a tap-tap (public transportation) that swerved off the road and down the side of a mountain. Poverty. Instability. Corruptness. These factors bring to light the true human condition. Inherently good or inherently evil? For me, it depends on a combination of the person and the situation they are presented with. I cannot control man, but I can control my perception of man, and thus, my perception of myself. I choose to focus on the good.

I'm beginning to feel that my first paragraph (maybe even the second one) may be too much. It's giving me a creative writing assignment vibe. Perhaps, I should delete it altogether.

PERSONAL STATEMENT

I could only make out the bright neatly tied ribbons around several clusters of kinky curls. The old pickup truck was simply too high and she was much too short. Yet, it was enough to initiate my anticipation of a possible new play friend. The sun was beaming and I could feel the back of my dress sticking to my damp skin, as I watched a seemingly familiar little girl struggle to get out of the truck. I had never met her before, but we had a striking similarity. We shared a similar build, a warm chocolate complexion, and a long, narrow face. I immediately ran to her and welcomed her to my home—well, my temporary home.

I was spending one of my many summer-long visits with my mom, in [city/country name]. During these periods, I was usually the only child around. To combat my loneliness, I would often find neighborhood kids to come play with me. I saw this little girl as a new toy, fresh out of the box, which I couldn’t wait to start playing with. I didn’t wait for the adults to even open their mouths. I reached for her hand and asked her age, while I excitedly dragged her to my play area. She was 10, just like me. I then asked her what her name was. She replied, “Jane”. I was surprised, as Jane was my name. Then I asked her about her last name. She then replied, “Doe”. Well, what are the odds? Same first and last name? I then proceeded to ask her a series of questions, back to back, with such momentum that I was cutting off the end of her responses with the beginning of my next question. Her name? Mine. Her birth date? Mine. Her address? Mine. She was me. I was taken aback. My mind was working like the inside of an old-fashioned ticking clock. It finally clicked. I knew what was going on.

In the 1990's, U.S. immigration policies were not as stringent as they are now. Children were actually able to travel with either a passport or birth certificate. My mother’s plan was to allow that little girl (whom I later discovered was named Lisa) to emigrate to the U.S. using my passport, and a few months later, I would use my U.S. birth certificate to travel back to the U.S. This is only one example of my many unique experiences while traveling to [country] as a child, and unfortunately, one of dozens of instances where my own mother essentially put me in harm’s way.

During my childhood years, I often found myself abandoned and forced to fend for myself. We moved so frequently that I went through five school between grades six and eight. When my mother was around, it was either feast or famine (with famine being the more common situation). Buttered bread, topped with sugar, was an all too common meal. There were times when we had no electricity and no running water. My situation was not all that uncommon among other poor families. What was uncommon, was having to fill up empty gallons with water, while bathing at the waterfall located in the center of downtown [city name]. My mom would take us there in the late evening and have my sister and I undress down to our underwear. We would quickly bathe in the icy cold water and fill up our gallons. When my mom wasn’t around, and we needed water, my sister and I would sneak into our neighbor’s back yard to use their water hose. We did what we could to survive.

When I was 11, my mother began disappearing for 6-9 months at a time. She would travel to [country], leaving me in a room she rented from a senile, elderly man. My main meals were the free school breakfast and lunch. However, the free school meals didn’t come easy. I had to walk about 5 miles to school, rain or shine, clean or dirty. Despite my situation, I never missed a day of school and maintained an A- average in all advanced classes. Eventually, my best friend’s family took me into their home and cared for me. My best friend’s mom, Janet, was from a small country town called [city/state]. She came from a family that didn’t associate with black people, and was raised to believe that people should only stay with “their own kind”. She once told me how they grew up calling black-eyed peas “nig**r toes”. It wasn’t until she was well into high school that she learned of the proper name. There were times when I heard her family asking why they kept this little black girl and how they needed to send her back. Despite Janet's upbringing, she behaved as a mother to me and treated me like her child. In spite of the ideals she was inundated with, she chose differently. She chose to love me for the person I was.

Choice. It’s what I consider to be at the core of our existence. How one chooses to believe, chooses to perceive, can alter the course of their lives. My own life seemed to be plagued with obstacles. I chose to be in denial by suppressing my emotions, my pain. For many years, I perpetuated a vicious cycle of self-destruction. In 2010, I went through the pain of [country name]'s [natural disaster]. I came out stronger and began to advocate for the orphaned children there. We currently have 10 children under our care, in [city name].

I was learning to cope with loss, but still had room for growth. It wasn’t until I was faced with my ultimate loss, that I began to have an awakening. Towards the end of 2011, my father was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. He passed away less than a year later. Initially, I went through stages of major clinical depression and suicidal thoughts. I was a walking zombie, simply going through the motions. It was around this point that I had to make a choice: allow my situation control me and lead my life, or take control of my own life – make my destiny. I made a choice, to live. I will not be a victim of my circumstances. I will be the exception, the victor. One of my father’s last words to me was a General Patton quote he often repeated: “Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom.” It’s a phrase I repeat to myself daily.

Sometimes I look back and wonder how I survived my youth, and how I maintained a sense of self-worth. I’ve never been angry about my past experiences, or felt as if life was unfair. Sometimes I even laugh about it all. I was lucky. It could have been worse. Yes, it could have been better, but it could have been worse. How we perceive our environment, our circumstance, is ultimately up to us. We can choose to dwell on it and allow it to define us, or we can decide to strive in spite of it. I chose – I choose – to perceive it as an early chapter in the great book of my life, where I have the power to write it as I wish.

Like the surface of a rock, each notch contributes to its distinctiveness. Some of my chips may be deep, but they allow light to reflect upon it in an extraordinary way. I prefer to focus on that light.

Post removed.

Thank you for your feedback. After reviewing your feedback and re-reading my PS, the mistakes became quite obvious. You are quite right in all respects. I am going to re-write most, if not all of my PS. If anyone else cares to give their input, I would appreciate it.

As for the DS, I guess I'll leave it as is...unless someone else has any suggestions.

I thought your DS was very moving. I just have a couple small quibbles, both in the last paragraph.
I believe you want to use "corruption" instead of "corruptness."
I don't quite understand what you mean in the sentence that starts with "these factors."

Otherwise I thought the DS was quite good. Good luck!