Analysis Of ' I Was Doodling Again '

That day when I returned home from school, my mom’s boyfriend called me asking to speak to my grandmother. Typically, Gus would call my grandmother himself if he wanted to speak with her, which was rare. I found out about my mom going to the hospital from my grandmother after that phone call. The doctor told my family that a stroke afflicted her in the middle of the day. My mom confused the date with her birthday, had trouble getting words out and remembering our family member’s names. The nurse had to take her for walks periodically and exercise her legs and arms because they were weak. Seeing my mother in this condition made me appreciate my mother and everything she does for me tremendously. However, I was terrified for my mother’s health.

A fire rose within to burn social economic barriers that imprisoned me from achieving an education. As a member of a low-income household, I continually witnessed my parents struggling to pay for utilities, rent, and groceries. Although we received government assistance, it never seemed to be enough. My father worked long hours at a dairy factory to provide for our family, but his addiction to alcohol took most of his income. My mother depended on government assistance due to her chronic asthma and arthritis. Not being able to rely on my parents for stability, my six older siblings were forced to drop out of high school to become providers of their own.

I closed my eyes in disbelief. I refreshed the page. I thought Ms. Platt had attached another student’s rubric to my essay. I wanted the nightmare to end. Not only did I not receive an “A” or a “B,” but a “C-.” I earned a seventy percent. My eyes watered, and I began to feel nauseous. I felt as if I failed myself and my family. This grade was not supposed to be possible. In the words of Grendel, it was an accident. But unfortunately, it was not. At that moment, I had to accept, even if I did not want to, that I, for once, did not reach my high goals or had to surrender my unrealistic view of myself. I had erred, like all humans do, and learned that I was not perfect and that I could fail to reach my standards. At that moment, I realized that I wasn’t superhuman but human, and this was something challenging for me to cope with at the time. However, in discovering my ability to fail, my perception of myself had been revolutionized.

An ambulance came and carried out my mom. I didn’t know what was going on, so many questions running through my mind, what was wrong with her, was she going to be ok. I was scared, more scared then I had ever been. My sister Sheridan who was 8 asked me “what’s happening?” through tears. On that day a little piece of me began to change because if I let her see my fear that would not help anyone, and so even though I didn’t know what was happening I responded “everything is going to be ok” even though I did not trust my own words.

My mother became depressed, my father became disabled, and my brother was skipping school. I continued going to school from eight until four, which was a big relief in my life because it made me forget the hard times. My grades slowly began to decline, as well as my motivation. I gave up many opportunities such as attending New York’s number one specialized high school. I recognized my mistakes and was able to identify my failure. School was not the only place where I lacked interest in because I also slowly started to push my friends away. As a young teenager, I did not think I would ever make it to college. I became frustrated at my parents because my life was ruined and it was all their fault.

Living in a low-income family, my life was constantly being turned upside down. Whether it was living without hot water, electricity, or even a home at times I’ve had to work through it all in pursuit of my dreams. Coming home to a situation in complete disarray was a standard for my household, and when something wasn’t burning down in a fire, then life just didn’t seem real. Being pushed around has meant going the “extra mile” to succeed in life. This has meant taking a four-mile bike ride to the Santa Clara library to finish typing up a research paper for my English class or even boiling pots of water to have a lukewarm bath. While these skills are not necessarily the most difficult, they have molded me into being a person who won’t allow setbacks to stop me from achieving my

Without wading into the thicket of details, it came to be forces beyond anyone’s control that led to the financial emergency that left my father and stepmother with essentially no source of income, the very same time they took on the added expenses of welcoming the birth of my baby brother. I had no idea about the financial situation until my father, who tried to protect me, was unable to pay an installment of my tuition. Though the situation was eventually resolved, this sudden concern for whether I would be able to afford to continue my schooling severely affected my concentration, further hampering my

Feeling like a failure is common among young adults, especially those in college. I've been coping with several failures this past year, most of which stemmed from ignoring my intuition and my rebel against western medicine. However, I’ve come to realize that acknowledging defeat and mindfully moving forward is the first step towards creating a life of success.

There were several times in which I felt like it would be easier to give up, but I knew I needed to get my diploma. The odds were against me . . . “you’re not going to graduate, you’re never going to do anything with your life,” my father would say, when we’d get into a disagreement. As much as I despised such words; eventually, I welcomed them with open arms. They sparked a motivation in me that I never knew I held before. I couldn’t wait to show him and everyone else who had ever doubted me, that I would

Back when my father was just thirteen years old, he entered into high school, ready to move on with his life and have a very successful high school career. Like every other goal that my father has ever set out to reach in his life, there was an obstacle in his way. Mr. Patel continued to explain his lack of success in prior years: “ I was never, ever good in school, most kids in my class were naturally bright, but I was far behind them, eventually by the time I hit the fifth grade I had lost all my motivation to work hard and get good marks in school.” At such a young age my father had faced constant and gruesome failure. There was never a point in his childhood that my father felt he had obtained success. By the time he was in the tenth grade almost everyone looked at him as if he was a complete failure and really did not deserve to be studying at a school. However, his closest family believed in him and my father knew that his future was at stake here and he needed to perform at an elite level in order to live a happy life. Over the next three years, my father’s life consisted of nothing but going to school, sleeping and studying. In three years my father completely changed how society perceived him and how other students looked at him. Not only did he

As I headed back to school after the August recess, I was in a somber mood. It was my final year in high school and with the certificate of secondary school examinations closing in, I was still uncertain about it. Earlier on, my mother bid me farewell with words of encouragement for the forthcoming exams. She was bed ridden at that time and in my absence there was no one else who would take care of her but my three younger siblings. I contemplated quitting school and staying home for her sake but she adamantly insisted that I go back. She reassured me that all would be well. Unfortunately three weeks later, she passed on, just two months to the start of my examinations. Although inauspicious, these circumstances were pivotal in defining my

“You're on your own now,” said my stepmom on the phone when I first moved to Tampa after freshman year. Leaving my parents back in Bangladesh was indeed painful, but I was hopeful as I had my older brother and aunt with me. My aunt has been sick for a long time, and although it’s not life-threatening, she needed someone to take care of her. My brother decided to work part-time jobs while I would stay home to look after her. I was distressed because I felt that my four years of high school would be spent just by studying and staying home. Well, who knew that my leadership skills would be bolstered at home and I would gain invaluable experiences gradually?

I was living with a man who made $400,000 annually simply for being everyone’s favorite toy. This man had everything he could ever want but he was still stuck with the one thing he couldn’t get rid of; me. I am a reminder of the past, the dirt under a laborers fingernails, the ink splotch on his paychecks. As his resentment grew, i was poor in a new definition. I not only lacked financial aid, but i lacked a support system, i had no family left to tuck me in at night, i had nothing left to hold. Years passed and i got used to this life, i found ways to get to school but i still struggled to understand basic topics. Doing my homework required focus, something i could never get in that house. I scraped by for those 10 years, doing what i could to keep from becoming uneducated like my mother and stuck with a rotten oak

As a family of six I was raised on section 8, barely surviving on welfare. I shared beds and clothes with dreams of making it out of poverty, but with little guidance I was at risk of continuing this lifestyle for generations to come. My mother was always at work and my father was absent, which made me skip childhood and mature in order to become independent. I was never that child who had their mother sitting at the table telling them how to do their homework, but rather a child who stood on the table all day and night trying to teach myself. I knew from an early age that I wanted more in life than used clothes and a bike as transportation. I had the dream of attending college and becoming a doctor in philosophy.

Fast forward a couple years to 2013, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. This was not and still is not an easy thing to have to deal with. This lady who was always this strong person who wouldn’t take crap from anyone has now been beaten down too sick to get out of bed. Our roles have switched now I take care of her, I lie with her for countless hours making sure she is okay just as she did when I was a kid. My mom comes to me for security and reassurance now, I have to be there for her and stay strong. I had to learn to talk to her without crying every time I looked at her. When you were a child your parent crying was one of the scariest things so I have had to do the same for her. This has ultimately pushed me to young adult hood. I had to deal with this huge emotional disaster and the woman who I usually run to for advice was the center of the