Narrative Essay On Hol Race

“Well one, you’re African-American,” my teacher declared. My one fundamental reason of admittance into college. As a young black girl coming from a town with a population of less that 1% African-Americans, difference is not something you can hide from. Rude assumptions are not something you can hide from. My life has been one ludicrous cry after another. After four years of struggle the only thing worth mentioning is the color of my skin. So, you could say I was upset.
You see, growing up in Connecticut with a mother wanting the best for her child meant private institutions. For me this meant being the only black child in a 50 mile radius. Fitting in was not something easy to do when you're the spokesperson for all things black. Race followed me like an omnipresent shadow, forever looming and forever a foe. But the real villain in my story was myself. I fought against illusions, for what I wanted instead of what I needed, to fit in rather than to stand out. Like a raging bull driven mad, I destroyed all that surrounded me and almost myself. My grades fell, my interest dropped, you could say I hit rock bottom.
However, When it had become “too late” I decided to
I wasted my life for two years and refuse to let this vicious cycle continue. Believing there is no hope before we have hoped. According to statistics I was meant to be ghetto, have a baby, and drop out. I was not meant to make it in this world as a person let alone a scientist. I cannot change how others view me but I refused to be reduced by it. Just as I am the villain of my story I am also the hero and as the victors write history, I write mine. I ask you not to consider my potential alone but my promise to fulfill my future. I ask you not to judge me on past mistakes but on what I have chosen to do about them. I ask you to allow me to be a part of your family for the next four years based on our hope for a