Living in "the hood" in Weslaco‚TX surrounded by my entire family was really a fundamental thing in my life. When i say entire‚ I mean literally all of us live a minute maybe two away from each other‚ and some of us were even neighbors. Now things are a little different and we may have scattered around all over Weslaco but we remain united and always available if one of us needed each other. My cousins and I would always be together‚ Literally 24/7. Sometimes we would fight and i look back and
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in all aspects of life‚ I know I could have‚ and still can‚ crumble. However‚ my first love saves me. She always makes me feel calm when the ship I know as school hits rough waters or seems like it is going down. She takes me to a different place when unpleasant thoughts consume my mind. She lets me crash into sweaty bodies‚ perform for squealing crowds‚ and lets my intense focus I have crafted for academia be channeled into making
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community‚ there was little diversity where i was from. From racist slurs to actually yelling at a minority‚ i could tell there was a problem at the age of 6. When my mom and I moved after my parents divorce‚ we lived in a primarily black community. Over the next six years of my life‚ I did not only expand my knowledge‚ but I learned how to accept and embrace others whom were different than myself. When I was
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has definitely stood out during my lifetime is having such a unique culture and slowly assimilating to more of an American lifestyle. Having parents who have immigrated from different countries is starting to become more “normal” than it was in the past due to the United States becoming more and more diverse. My mother immigrated to the United States from Lebanon when she was six years old and my father immigrated from Syria when he was three years old. Both of my parents are Armenian‚ and living
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it was a tremendous change from my past jobs of construction and Little Caesars. It was located almost by the center of Michigan Ave‚ one of the busiest streets in Chicago‚ which meant the foot traffic near
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My first memory involving religion of any kind is when my grandmother was my temporary Sunday school teacher. This memory had absolutely nothing to do with reading the bible or praying or doing anything of that sort. I have no idea why I remember it either. The memory is of about four other kids and me sitting around the Sunday school table while my grandma sang a song about our ancestry and how it didn’t start with monkeys. The song went like this “I’m no kin to the monkey‚ the monkey’s no kin to
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experience in life that either makes you or breaks you‚ and having my son has definitely made me who I am. Before I had Gabriel‚ my life was completely different but now everything has changed for the better. I’ve never loved anyone or anything like I love him. Being a mother is absolutely amazing. The things my son learns and teaches me every day are also amazing and also make me better. There’s no way I could ever not want him in my life. Before I had my son‚ people
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glacier treks and overnighters at least. As a hobby or extracurricular activity‚ it’s probably my biggest passion. So much that I found that writing of them is like having the opportunity to do each one over again. Once upon a time I set forth a book project‚ a story telling‚ you might say‚ of all my treks including the ascent of five mountains. However‚ I lacked the confidence of presenting a way to share my stories of me being the key subject. Eventually the project lost steam and fell to the wayside
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begin my underwater pullout. As the race continues I push myself harder and harder as I begin to fatigue until I finish. Looking up at the clock I think to myself‚ I need to go faster‚ I can go faster‚ I will go faster. I hop out of the water and take my spot in line behind my teammates‚ preparing for the second of six 100 yard breaststroke sprints from the blocks. From each team‚ BGSC to PAA to LOSC I have forged friendships and emotional bonds with my teammates found almost nowhere else in my life;
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from my mother’s grasp‚ I charged. With arms flailing and chubby legs fluttering beneath me‚ I was the ferocious two year old rampaging through Costco on a Saturday morning. My mother’s eyes widened in horror as I jettisoned my churro; the cinnamonsugar rocket gracefully sliced its way through the air while I continued my spree. I sprinted through the aisles‚ looking up in awe at the massive bulk products that towered over me. Overcome with wonder‚ I wanted to touch and taste‚ to stick my head
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