When In Amsterdam...I vividly recall my vacation in Amsterdam, I was enchanted by the culture and people. Whether it was waffles over pancakes or bikes over cars, I wanted more.
Jet-lag evolved into an enthusiastic yearning to experience Amsterdam like a local: eating copious Stroopwafels only to offset these delicious calories with endless jaunts along a plethora of intertwining canals, sauntering through a myriad of museums and, of course, the famed bike rides hailed throughout Amsterdam. Whether it was a lack of sleep or blinding enthusiasm, my mind disregarded my bike-riding resume–one solitary experience: a shaky ten-foot excursion–barely sufficient to claim I could ride a bike. Ignoring the requisite skill, determined to bike Amsterdam like a native, I keenly focused on the facts that would catapult me towards my goal: the complimentary bikes, a free afternoon on our itinerary, and a quaint picturesque destination nearby. After persistent persuasion, my father finally acquiesced and joined me on the trek. Carefully, I selected a steel horse from the colorful herd parked in front of the hotel; I mounted with ease and began my expedition becoming more comfortable and audacious with each pedaling stride. Cycling through the city, my trepidation burgeoned into self-confidence. It wasn’t until I excitedly turned onto the last block of our journey that reality set in–the narrowest cobblestone street lined with jewel-colored luxury cars: Ferraris, Lamborghinis and herculean Range Rovers. I was not going to let my father down or deviate from the path. I refused to cower before this gauntlet and willfully exchanged my newfound confidence for courage. I went for it! Almost as soon as I began, I fell victim to the rough terrain (literally). As I was losing control of the bike, I mentally analyzed my choices: either fall onto my unsuspecting father or make a dash for the sidewalk. Instinctively protective of my father and his willingness to entertain my insanity, I set the handlebars for the sidewalk. Suddenly, a broad-bellied forest-green Range Rover with arm-like mirrors chose me. |
“Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live.” — Mark Twain |
I am happy to report that no exotic cars were injured during my transgressions against luxury vehicles; however, for me, this collision was certainly going to leave a mark. Despite the blow to my bravado (and a welt that became apparent as the waning adrenaline wore off), I jumped back on my bike, donned a resolute grin, and cycled to the park determined to complete my quest. I will forever savor and cherish that adventure-filled afternoon with my Dad.
Overcoming my fear and biking down that treacherously bumpy road, then faltering, only to get back on my bike to achieve my goal is the way I approach all the challenging paths of my life. Travails are to be expected in life–from demystifying multiplication problems to confused second graders in my church’s after school program, cooking casseroles for the Miami homeless the night before two AP exams, building a castle at 5 am from two thousand cans to be donated during our school spirit week, to the most demanding hurdles of caring for my mother after her chemotherapy and facing the demise of my grandfather’s memory to Alzheimer’s. These experiences serve as my driving force to attain the scholarship necessary to innovate: whether it be neuroscience, research, medicine, or cycling. I believe life’s unpredictable pitfalls are a call to action, each triumph strengthening my perseverance to enact positive change.
I am certain that I will face trying times in my personal, academic, and professional life much steeper and harrowing than that cobblestone street in Amsterdam. One thing is certain: I will trip and I will fall, but I will always get up, brush the gravel from my knees, and wipe the tears from my eyes. I will pursue my aspirations with determination and a reassuring smile that says “I’m okay” to continue my journey towards success.
Overcoming my fear and biking down that treacherously bumpy road, then faltering, only to get back on my bike to achieve my goal is the way I approach all the challenging paths of my life. Travails are to be expected in life–from demystifying multiplication problems to confused second graders in my church’s after school program, cooking casseroles for the Miami homeless the night before two AP exams, building a castle at 5 am from two thousand cans to be donated during our school spirit week, to the most demanding hurdles of caring for my mother after her chemotherapy and facing the demise of my grandfather’s memory to Alzheimer’s. These experiences serve as my driving force to attain the scholarship necessary to innovate: whether it be neuroscience, research, medicine, or cycling. I believe life’s unpredictable pitfalls are a call to action, each triumph strengthening my perseverance to enact positive change.
I am certain that I will face trying times in my personal, academic, and professional life much steeper and harrowing than that cobblestone street in Amsterdam. One thing is certain: I will trip and I will fall, but I will always get up, brush the gravel from my knees, and wipe the tears from my eyes. I will pursue my aspirations with determination and a reassuring smile that says “I’m okay” to continue my journey towards success.
THE FLIGHT
Naples, Florida
The ibis, perched at a whopping 2 feet and subsisting on a diet of minnows and snails, expresses great courage, comparable if not surpassable to that of lions or sharks. Its ferocity is not based on overbearing stature, hefty mass, or evolutionarily wondrous rows of teeth; instead, their characteristic gallantry is proven in times of upheaval–hurricanes. Nearly unsurvivable gusts entangle them before the flock unifies in their life saving escape, the ibises stand in resolve against a challenging headwind until the conditions prove to be too adverse for survival.
The ibis, perched at a whopping 2 feet and subsisting on a diet of minnows and snails, expresses great courage, comparable if not surpassable to that of lions or sharks. Its ferocity is not based on overbearing stature, hefty mass, or evolutionarily wondrous rows of teeth; instead, their characteristic gallantry is proven in times of upheaval–hurricanes. Nearly unsurvivable gusts entangle them before the flock unifies in their life saving escape, the ibises stand in resolve against a challenging headwind until the conditions prove to be too adverse for survival.
My life too has been swayed by various winds, some like those of a tropical storm and others I believe to be synonymous with Category 5 hurricanes. Spanish being my first language led to interesting interactions in preschool. As it turns out, the Spanish word for bug, “bicho” is not a direct translation: bug for one nationality actually references a man’s nether region in another. This was perhaps the first wind gust that swept my feet from under my body...survivable, but humiliating. With this, I have learned to hone these transgressions into a character strength– learning to laugh at yourself is hallmark to this skill. In foreign countries, I have been able to facilitate communication between my fellow Americans and my fellow Spaniards, even if it’s as simple as ordering a sandwich at the deli. At home, I am the personal translator for all of my Cuban grandparents’ insurance or medical phone calls. In my academic life, my Spanish-speaking background facilitated my learning of the cell cycle, particularly how metaphase is responsible for lining chromosome pairs in the middle of the cell because “meter” translates as “to put in a position”.
However, the life threatening winds came distinctly from a specific cardinal direction: my mother’s stage 3 breast cancer diagnosis 5-years-ago. Though I was tousled by the vigorous gusts and gales of that new reality, I vowed not to succumb. Rather, I prepared for the worst and stood firmly as if my recalcitrance would translate into a warning for the approaching storm. An hour after learning her diagnosis, I walked with a smile glued to my lips towards my mom with my long black hair (which I’ve inherited from her) twisted into a tie-dyed peace sign scarf–the only one I owned–prepared to rock this new look together. She needed me to be strong–losing her hair was going to be the first of many difficult winds we would weather together. From that day on, my mother and I perfected the seductive red lipstick and distinctive, just out of the shower, sexy headwrap. On Tuesday afternoons, the worst day of her treatments, I strode through the door determined to accompany my mother through any obstacle. Thankfully, this hurricane passed without completely wreaking havoc as today we are cancer free. As a result, I will forever proudly wear my pink shirt to school in October and am passionately interested in cancer research. I don’t shrink quietly from the storm. We stand, we weather, we leave only when we must with the promise to return stronger than when we were forced to go.