I was born into a world of padded playgrounds, predictable schedules, and triangle PB&J's. Suburban Texas is a place where people hide behind their red brick homes and picket fences, worrying about getting the kids to school. In many ways, I became a product of a sheltered, uptight lifestyle. I hated anything that was unfamiliar. Peanut butter and jelly everyday in my lunch, going to Michael's house every other Tuesday, going to bed at nine o'clock sharp. My mom...

I hate mustard. I am not sure if it's the bitter taste, or the yellowish hue that brings back terrible memories of vomit, or maybe its that awful smell that leaves me feeling disgusted. Whatever it is, I hate it. When I see a bottle of super-huge mustard, my first instinct would be to throw it out the window. However, in attempt to be more sensitive to the mustard-lovers of this world, I refrain. At least I can be thankful...

The first time I learned about Rice University and what it was about was when I began to apply to college through Questbridge. I had previously thought of all the elite schools in America as being in the Northeast or a few on the West Coast. I noticed Rice as one of Questbridge partner colleges and began to look into it. As I researched it, I saw Rice as a place that had all the intellectual activity of an Ivy...

Growing up in the suburbs of Dallas does not offer an abundance of international experiences. I went to school with other kids from places like Pakistan, Korea, and Cambodia but I had no concept of such other-worldly places. This is why I have been so privileged to live abroad ever since I was twelve years old. I was given the opportunity to experience life all across Europe and other places around the world. These multi-cultural memories that I have been...

Handmade wire toy cars, mud huts, and lines of women waiting for well water are what I think of when I think of poverty. Spending the summer of 2007 living with people who had no running water and perhaps two changes of clothes in Lusaka, Zambia showed me what life is like for people living in poverty. Coming from a suburban world of two-and-a-half bath homes to a place where children bathed in the streets showed me so much about how...

As I walked down a cobblestone street with a name I could not pronounce to a new school in a foreign country, hundreds of thoughts swirled in my head. Will they like me? Will the teachers be good? Will I even know what anyone is saying? At the age of twelve I was being thrust into a situation totally outside my comfort zone. After being with the same friends at the same school in the same town for six years,...

The warm sun shines on mosques and cathedrals alike on the same broken cobblestone street. The Orthodox temple with its imposing bell towers gives a constant glare to the many minarets as they rise above the red tile roofs. The call to prayer is met with the clanging of bells as the people of Sarajevo rise to greet another day. Something about simply walking the streets of this ancient, scarred city evokes a sense of guilt in me. I am...