Past, Present, Future by Kathleen

Past, Present, Future by Kathleen - May 2021 Scholarship Essay

I was 13 years old when I decided that I would change the world.

Despite my youth, I was ruled by death. Every decision I made, every word I breathed, was ultimately so that I could create a powerful legacy before my inevitable death. Put simply, I wanted to make the world a better place—protect our planet, fight for the marginalized, establish world peace, just to name a few. To accomplish my desire as quickly as possible, I sacrificed my childhood. While my peers concerned themselves with school dances, parties, and what was considered the “normal” teenage experience, I spent the majority of my adolescence working on campaigns, hosting panels, and organizing protests to demand justice in my community.

It was not only my activism, of course. Being a full-time student also meant being a full-time student, with AP and dual enrollment classes, with endless homework and tests to study for all so I could remain in the top 1% and make my Asian parents—who never fail to remind me of my American fortune of being able to study here—proud. Likewise, being a low-income student resulted in not only working nearly full-time to help support my family’s bills but in a desperate attempt to accumulate enough money so that I could break from the copious stereotypes of first-generation students and pursue higher education. Between my school life, work-life, and extracurriculars, it is somewhat easy to imagine that I did not have time to take care of myself.

I was 15 when I found out that I had Graves’ Disease.

Even worse, I was 16 when I found out that my brain cells were slowly degenerating as a result.

Full stop. Suddenly, everything became a second priority. I stopped working, paused my extracurriculars, and school became exhausting. Subjects that were once simply understood became lessons I had to record and re-watched until the wee hours of the morning before I could comprehend. The treatments did not help either, with a radioactive iodine medication stripping me both of my hair and my energy, and even staying awake in class became a conscious and debilitating effort.

I was 17 when I remembered who I was.

After a particularly difficult day, I visited the bayou behind my home, in dire need of a remedy for my incessant headache. I sat by the water, and with my eyes closed, I reminded myself of the 13 year old cheeky tweenager that triumphantly declared her life mission to her mother.

Releasing a deep breath, I looked up towards the sky, defiantly painted in reds and violets. As I sat there, watching the line where heaven touched the earth, a single tear slid down my cheek—soon enough, becoming sobs that released the grief and sorrow I had harbored for years. And in the midst of it all, I realized how small I was. As the sunset was merely a prelude to dawn, my journey thus far was merely a prelude in the grand scheme of what fate had set out for me. I learned tranquility in the midst of so much heartache and turmoil.

I can’t say that I got better, but more so that I was able to cope and continue on with my life. Slowly, I picked my grades up, resumed my extracurriculars, went back to work, and continued my activism.

I was 18 when I was accepted to the University of Pennsylvania.

This fall, I will be moving across the country to experience new people, new cultures, and an entirely different set of problems, but one thing’s for sure. No matter what life throws at me, no matter what happens with my Graves’ Disease—a chronic illness—, I will embrace it wholeheartedly and I will leave the world better than I found it.