<p>Can’t change them now because already submitted…, but tell me what you think.</p>
<p>Some events in life are so sudden and unexpected that they inevitably change the framework of one’s existence, whether in the colossal nature of their effect, or in the reaction they elicit. On October 3rd, 2005, I walked from the bus stop to my house, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. But when I reached the house where my mother and I had lived alone together for the past 11 years, I counted 10 cars parked in my driveway. As I registered the implication of those cars and the family members gathered inside, I knew my life was about to be irreparably altered. On that day, I lost my mother–a confidant, a mentor, and my best friend. </p>
<p>Greeted at the entryway by a number of warm smiles that betrayed the sadness lying just beyond them, I took a breath and asked the question: “Is Mom still alive?” My dad shook his head, “She’s in a better place now, Morgan. Come inside.” The world ground to a halt around me as I tried to make these words crystallize into meaning. Dozens of questions raced across my mind: Could I have done something to stop it? How could this have happened? Should I have told her that I loved her more? And finally, Why me? </p>
<p>My mom died of breast cancer that spread, unfailingly, throughout her body. Though she was given 6 years to live, I figured she would be able to see me through my high school graduation. Only three short months later, however, she passed away. Even though I knew her health had been spiraling down, I never actually expected that day to come. Though I was very young when she died, my memorial archive of her remained strong, instilling in me the determination, independence, leadership, and passion that she embodied. Over the years, the questions that previously clouded my mind answered themselves, urging me to thrive in my own life. </p>
<p>Her advice to, “Give everything 100 percent, and then give more,” influenced my reaction to her death. She always encouraged me to try my hardest regardless of the challenges I faced; because of that, I decided to go back to school the day after she died, knowing she would not have wanted me to fall behind. That day was excruciatingly difficult, but focusing on my studies helped me to focus some of my grief in a positive direction. Though I was only in the 6th grade, I valued education more than anyone else in my family; I would be the first to graduate from a four-year university. </p>
<p>My dedication to education was also a way to bolster my independence as I focused my attention away from the instability of my home life, which drastically shifted when I moved in with my father, who had no real understanding of parenting. I quickly learned to assume a new level of independence–I taught myself to cook, do laundry, and clean the house. My sudden need for self-reliance instilled in me an extraordinary level of responsibility and maturity both socially and academically. As my dedication to succeed completely surpassed my family’s expectations, I challenged myself further by taking Advanced Placement and honors classes. </p>
<p>I know that the choice I made in the days following my mom’s death–to live my own life with as much strength as possible–instilled in me a commitment to possibility, rather than defeat. The tragedy of my mother’s death focused my desire to take advantage of the educational opportunities I was fortunate to have in my life, a legacy I look forward to continuing as I enter college.</p>
<p>“Today’s topic is about race and culture,” my 9th grade World History teacher announced. Sitting in a circle surrounded by a wide spectrum of skin colors and cultural backgrounds, each student began tentatively to speak. To my left was Azuka, a girl who had emigrated from Nigeria, in front of me was a boy named Ariel, who was teased for his Asian heritage and supposedly characteristic mannerisms, and to my right was Olivia, whose recent conversion to Mormonism was respected by some people while ridiculed by others.</p>
<p>And then there was me, a girl who spent most of her middle school years being made fun of for her Jewish background. My classmates called me “Morjew” instead of Morgan, as well as other derogatory names and taunts that undermined my sense of self and identity. No one at my new high school knew that I was Jewish, and I had never before had such an open opportunity to talk about my heritage. Cautiously, I told my class about my background, and shared some of my stories about my challenges in middle school. I described how I finally learned to stand up for myself in 8th grade, after being teased by a male about my “big Jewish nose.” I was so exasperated I simply informed him that I was proud of being Jewish, and that my cultural background did not dictate the quality of person I was or my future potential.</p>
<p>Our conversation that day was well moderated and respectful until one boy–who was also Jewish–bluntly stated, “I think my culture is better than everyone else.” I was in disbelief that someone who shared the same cultural heritage as me could think so differently about the same issue. Unsurprisingly, his comment sparked a debate among the students. Before long, statistics, stereotypes, and personal opinions were flying across the circle as the discussion escalated. The Asians were stereotyped as “nerds,” the African Americans as “gangsters,” and the white people as hyper-judgmental.</p>
<p>I remembered the opportunity I had in middle school to defend a classmate of mine, an African American boy who was being called names like “dark chocolate.” I asked the boys who were bullying him if anyone ever made fun of their skin color. They responded, “No, why would they?”, and in return I asked, “Why should anyone make fun of someone else’s skin color or cultural background?” They immediately stopped harassing the boy, and he and I became close friends. I wanted to share this same sensibility and perspective in the group discussion we were having that day at Auburn Riverside.</p>
<p>While the conversation brought forth an unprecedented and volatile level of honesty between my classmates and I that was initially hard to manage, everyone began to listen to each other. I gained unique insights into my classmates’ cultural backgrounds, and had an opportunity–for the first time ever–to feel proud of my own Jewish heritage. This experience taught me to be more open minded to other cultures and instilled in me a greater capacity to stand in the strength of my individuality. As a student at the University of Washington, I look forward to sharing my distinct perspective as someone who knows both the vulnerability of discrimination and the power of asserting myself as well as my beliefs.</p>