College Admissions Essay: Yes Mommy Yes Daddy

I have privileges unfathomable to family back in Mexico, and my mother warned me against taking these privilege for granted. Being born in America did not make me American, she told me, being First Generation American would present seemingly unbearable challenges. She offered advice that I followed to the letter until our first name was not the only thing we shared, until the voice inside my head was replaced with my mother’s.

explained what it was like to be African American in a certain time and place.”

As a first-generation American I’ve had to face certain challenges that people from non-immigrant families wouldn’t have to face. The most obvious challenge is subtle racism. I’ve had people, speaking directly to me, imitate the way other Indian people speak, make racist jokes (some people think racist jokes are validated if they’re speaking to someone from the race in question), justifying themselves by telling me things like “but you’re not like that.” I come from people who are “like that.” I may be an American but that doesn’t mean anyone can make comments about my family and where they come from. Another such challenge is that my parents often can’t help me navigate American life. But their experiences, the difficulties I’ve seen them face in their lives, and the values they’ve picked up and passed down to me have shaped how I approach life’s problems. Seeing their struggles to create a good life for our family in the US has taught me the importance of education, hard work, risk-taking, and optimism.

The air was thick with moisture as I made my way down the stairs of the small propeller plane. A young girl, no older than myself, with rich brown curls stood at my side when I reached the bottom, and even though we didn’t know each other, we knew we were headed to the same place. The Piney Woods School, located in Piney Woods, Mississippi. It is a large remote, all-black boarding school, surrounded by lush greenery that stretched for miles, and accompanied by one long highway cutting straight past the entrance. I vibrated with anticipation and curiosity as we made our way towards this new experience. An experience that would not only educate me, but also change my views on what it means to be ME and what it feels like to be Black, in a Black community.

To me college is like the next step of life to adulthood; it is where you get a taste of the authentic world and learn how to adjust and manage on your own. In addition, it can be a place of magnification and polished skills within a community that strives for a prosperous life with an effulgent vocation. Thus, attending college was compulsory for me in order to reach future goals, and North Carolina A&T State University (NCAT) transpired to be just right for me. The distance was within range and they have an outstanding mechanical engineering program that I could solemnly benefit from. Overall, attending this university has opened many doors of opportunities that arrange with my personal and professional goals through their culture and community. Furthermore, I endeavor to put myself first and review my precedent accomplishments to strive for better while exposing myself to incipient challenges and obstacles.

I was born and raised in Chicago, but am a daughter of immigrants. My father chased his dream and is the proud owner and operator of an Indian restaurant, while my mother sacrificed her dream career and disregards her educational degree to work as a bank teller to help raise me my brother and me. Though my parents are happy, I wonder how things would turn out if they were raised here. All our conflicts and differences in opinions and values are because I was raised here. Growing up in the Oswego school district, a majority white population, I often was told who I was and who I wasn’t and withheld from who I wanted to be. I ran away from my roots. The bullying and harassment I faced, led to the numerous insecurities I hold. No matter what happened

We were finally financially stable. Still, my parents faced much discrimination as immigrants. After the tragic incident of 9/11, my parents were perceived as outsiders since they were Middle Eastern. The community we lived in placed a negative connation on being Egyptian. Upon entering Middle School, I did not know how truly people did not see me as an American because my parents were from Egypt. I spent restless nights thinking about the way the other students in school mocked me, and I pleaded my father to help me transfer. However, my father sat me down and told me “People will come to understand who you are, just smile and everything will be okay”. Little did I know that my father’s advice would impact every part of my transition into

Everyone knows there's a lot of responsibility that comes with being a first generation student that plans to go and get a college education/degree whose family comes from a foreign country. People do not understand why I feel I have so much of a responsibility on my shoulders. However I now understand why there is so much responsibility that comes with being a first generation student that plans to go and get a college education/degree with family from a foreign country, thanks to my grandmother’s wise words. She said “ being a first generation student that plans to go and get a college education/degree with family from a foreign country isn’t about your success, it's about the success you bring to the family name, the pride you bring to the family/country and moreover the success you bring will represent your parents hard work has truly paid off”, at the time she said this I was only 12 years old so I didn't quite understand what she meant but it has stuck in my mind ever since. Now that I’m more mature I understand what she meant. I believe that my success or failure is no longer just benefiting or hurting me, if I fail that means I fail my family and my people and that is why going to college is so important to me. In this paper I’m going to write about what high standards mean to me, my goals, activities I’m involved in

“So, what are you anyway?” the girl asked in a snarky tone, staring at me blankly from across the awkwardly conjoined, wooden desks. I took a minute to sit back in my chair and wonder what the reaction would be this time, the usual “You don’t even look white,” or something completely new that I could add to my list of quirky comments made about being biracial. I stared blankly back at her, adding to the not-so-dramatic moment of suspense. “I’m Irish and African American,” I replied in a somewhat rehearsed, monotone voice, as if I had already been through this situation 100 times (that might be an exaggeration…more like 99 times to be exact). Just as her lips began to part, I was preparing myself for the Q&A session I would be holding after class to learn about the wonders of my life. “Oh wow…you don’t even look white!” Well what a surprise…the story of my life.

Sometimes people hold on to our past which could cause us to lose understanding of others and in the world. For an example, the poem “To a dark Girl” by Gwendolyn Bennett is about how young black girls carry pain on the shoulders and they should let it go. This essay is about how the author’s use of tone , word choice , and imagery helps the following theme emerge in “To a Dark Girl”: that black girls should never hold on to their past.

I put on a brave face, hiding the nervousness I truly felt. I had stepped into the building the heat felt more unbearable, whilst the slight breeze from the open windows gave some chill but it has still not helped. I stood next to the door, because it was open and the breeze that was coming from the door had calmed me. When settled my eyes scanned the crowd concluding that I was the only black women there. I felt my heart in my throat; my stomach churning, I took two deep breaths calming myself. ‘It won’t matter that you’re the only black women, your opinion matters as much as theirs,’ I told myself willing to believe it. The sound of a glass getting tapped dragged my attention to the front of the room where a woman stood holding a wine glass

“My roommate had a single story of Africa: a single story of catastrophe,” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie says during her TedTalk on “The Dangers of a Single Story.” There is more to the story, however, not all of Africa is in need yet from all the advertisements we see every day about them, as one thing repeatedly that is what they become. The popular movie “The Birth of a Nation” released in 1915 perpetuates this by exaggerating stereotypes of African Americans showing them as animalistic and drunks. Adichie warns us how media like Birth of a Nation affects the single story while the novel “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee tells us how protagonist Scout learns to put herself in others’ shoes as she grows up. These all answer why the single story is so dangerous, it emphasizes how we are different rather than similar.

While some people might start to degrade themselves because of rejection, one can also take the opportunity to fight against the stereotype which makes him or her more confident in his or her identity. Wright was an African women who faced stereotypes in her childhood and developed the ability to stand ‘against’ stereotypes of her heritage and herself as an individual. Wright defends, “I was African. A defiant pride became my shield. The more I was called an African in epithet, the more obligated I felt to excel and contradict the notions of what an African was supposed to be” (32). She used her background as her pride to excel and to prove her identity of being an African. Not being an American or white doesn’t make one less of who they really

If someone asked me where I am going to be in ten years, this would be my answer. I will have a great, high-paying job, and beautiful wife and family, and a nice sports car parked in front of my lovely house. When I look into the future, I see myself being successful and happy. Even though I always pictured myself this way, I never worried too much about how I would get there. I feel the Suffolk University can lay the groundwork for making these dreams into reality.

Therefore it reminded me of the times where I was not only silent but also ashamed and embarrassed. As one of the few Somali black kids in my