Personal Statement for College: FOUR

In my best attire, I stepped into an office with its plaque having the logo of Kmart and the letters of Donna, the assistant manager.  The white, middle-aged woman explained that since I am a certified national food manager, they would like me to work in the K-Café instead of being a cashier.  Desperate for money, I nodded without giving it a second thought.  Despite my eight years of Chinese restaurant experience, I washed dishes for the next four hours with white, aged hands. Rushing back to my boarding school at 9pm, I devoured my first meal of the day, an apple.  Pictures flashed through my head competing with the pine trees on the side of the highway for my attention.   

Four – the number of years I have attended high school. The year began with an ill omen.  Since the beginning of my senior year, I not only had to focus on my GPA by taking AP U.S. history, AP Chemistry, BC Calculus, and three other senior courses,  but I also needed to hurry home every weekend to work in our second restaurant, which I had helped my father transform from a nail salon the previous summer.  While my parents were arguing about a possible divorce because of the loss of business and debates on selling the restaurant that we had just opened few months ago, a Honda ran through the red light and crashed into us.  The car accident left my father with a head concussion, my sister and me with compression fractures, my brother with a possible knee surgery, and one of our employees with a spinal disc bulge.  The burden of these medical treatments became heavier, as our only family car was totaled, and most of us did not have health insurance.  Even though my daily phone calls to our lawyer became a ritual, our hearts were filled with glee when the restaurant was finally sold for below half of its market price.

Four -the number of weeks that my parents and brother had been visiting in China. In April, a three A.M. phone call had informed us that my sixty-year-old grandfather only had a few weeks to live.  As a result, my parents flew back to China for the first time in ten years, bringing my brother (whom my grandfather never saw) and the remaining savings we had to pay for my grandfather’s medical bills and his pending funeral.  Because of their absence, my family also had to borrow money to hire employees to work in our current restaurant, leaving me as the sole supervisor and food manager.  With my parent’s promise of visiting China for only two weeks, I pleaded with my boarding school for permission to drive home and work for more than six hours a day. 

Four - the number synonymous to death in Mandarin. On the first Thursday of May, afraid that my sister would not have enough time to work on her homework, I rushed back to the restaurant after two scholarship interviews.  Immediately following the cold wind with the opening of the front door, my sister’s red eyes became evident, as droplets incessantly rolled down her swollen cheeks.  “Mother called, and grandfather just died,” my sister explained, trying hard not to choke on the words.  Boiling with rage and confusion, I dialed the fourteen-digit number only to receive the usual sorry tone of “I think we have to be here longer.”  Frozen, I sunk to my daily chain of thought, “What am I suppose to do with APs?  College application?  Restaurant?  Scholarship?  Graduation?  Tomorrow?  ...”  One of the employees with an allergy suddenly broke the silence, “I also have to tell you that I can’t work here anymore.”  “Me, too,” added another employee.  After two hours of sweet-talking and begging, I finally persuaded the latter employee to stay for another week with a promise of increasing wage.  Competing with the clock, I called every employment agencies listed in the Sing Dao Daily to request a cook.  The next day, I would have to take the AP US History Exam in the morning, take the practical AP Chemistry exam in the afternoon, and pick up a new employee at 12:15 A.M.  As my tears soak the pillow, I finally closed my history book at four a.m. with a heavy heart. 

The number four marked the turning point of my senior year.  Every day, I found myself alone in a dark, endless sea without any support.  Exhausted and beaten, I float over boulders with a sole belief that it is within my responsibility and fate to take on this test. "I can do this." I told myself.  "I WILL overcome this" is now my motto.