Bleach by Salina

Bleach by Salina - March 2023 Scholarship Essay

My home is incredibly clean. As a child, I would become annoyed with the tedious chores I was assigned to upkeep the state of my home. Though humble in size, it always felt like I was mopping the halls and spraying the windows of a mansion.

The scent of bleach lingers everywhere. From the kitchen to my mother’s room to my dog’s cage, bleach’s overbearing reign is practically inescapable. Whenever my grandmother comes to my house—which is often—she forbids dirt to remain, ruthlessly harming any stain or dust bunny, with a handy broom or bottle of bleach. Specifically, Clorox. There is an endless bulk of Clorox bottles in my home at all times, awaiting to be used in a heroic effort to rid the villainous dirt.

However, my grandmother was not always acquainted with the stinging essence of Clorox. She was introduced to Clorox as a janitor cleaning an office space in Manhattan. Clorox cleaned up the dirty messes in the stalls and restored a carpet to its white color after a spill. However, Clorox couldn’t always solve the messes my grandmother faced—a boss who cheated her off of a retirement fund and racist employees who would prefer her skin tone be discolored by Clorox.

For over 20 years, my grandmother worked tirelessly to provide for her loved ones in a small Queens basement with rodents running amok and broken English that filled the atmosphere. My grandmother worked incessantly to support her family members in Haiti whose livelihoods depended on her. She commuted on two trains and a bus for four hours each day to be stolen from and face slurs that burned more than when the Clorox stung her eyes. Though she was presented with unfair circumstances, she was unruly and determined to help her family. From a young age, I witnessed the hardships my grandmother endured and knew that it was my responsibility to make her efforts worth it. Though I was familiar with the challenges of a weak internet connection and a gang ridden neighborhood, I firmly carried on. A head embedded in the pages of a textbook and a hand raised immediately in response to the questions of a teacher. A loud voice of a leader of the advisory committee whose words brought entertaining activities to her school. A commitment to a role in children’s development through summer counseling. All of my actions were provoked by a need to advance the legacy my grandmother started. My grandmother’s strength has motivated me to be unwavering in my journey to becoming a future social worker. My grandmother instigated my desire to attend college in order to change at risk and previously detained youth’s lives by exposing them to the art industry through a nonprofit organization.