I always start practice with a jump. Every good dive starts with a jump, with a perfect take off from that turquoise colored piece of aluminum fastened exactly 1 or 3 meters above the surface of the water below. That jump defines the rest of practice. Either my feet catch the end of the board at its lowest point, and I am flung unnaturally high into the air, or I stomp the end of the board, flat-footed, and continue practice knowing that it will not be my day. Every day I hope that jump goes well, I hope that my fourth step will land right where the holes on the cheese-board begin and that my hurdle will exemplify how hard I’ve worked for the past seven years, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen...
Freshmen transition is a program developed through Bronxville High School in order to bring the incoming freshmen class painlessly into high school. Different from many schools across the country, Bronxville is a Kindergarten through 12, where kindergarteners and seniors share the same building, along with every grade in between...
Northwestern University offers an extremely diverse group of schools and people attending those schools to create a learning experience unparalleled by any other institution. Most fascinating to my interests and me is the McCormick School of Engineering. At McCormick, the research-based education prepares students for any challenges ready to be tackled upon graduation, as well as focusing on “whole-brain engineering.”..
Band class used to be a struggle for me. Every day Ms. Slote would find something to call me out on in front of the entire ensemble. She would constantly blame the chatty group on my voice, which would no doubt carry out over all the rest, but nonetheless was not alone. I remember telling her: “It’s not like I sit here and talk to myself! I’m not the only one talking!” But no matter how often I would try to explain to her that I was not alone, she would blame the din of talking on me...
The summer between 10th and 11th grade I spent volunteering at the Bronxville Field Club as well as babysitting a local family. Having spent 10 summers on the Bronxville Field Club diving team, I was ready to take on the responsibility of running practice alongside the employed coach. Additionally, I spent the summer assisting a family going through some tough times financially by watching two little boys all summer long. After diving practice ended (both boys were on the diving team along with me) we would spend the afternoons roaming around town...
Every child who shows some aptitude for math and science is immediately told to pursue engineering. As one of the few girls in my grade with this inclination, many teachers and mentors passed along the same message to me. Not entirely sure how engineering was different than pure physics or pure biology, I looked deeply at the definition of engineering. The marrion-webster dictionary defines engineering as the application of science and mathematics by which the properties of matter and the sources of energy in nature are made useful to people. This definition immediately caught my interest. Engineering isn’t about studying in labs or coming up with formulas. Instead, engineering is about making the wonders of the earth useful to people, helpful to people...
I have always known that I am different from my sister. From a young age, I have tried to appease my parents, while my sister always picks battles with them. While I found a group of friends to enjoy most of my time at Bronxville with, she struggled to find people who would accept her for who she really was. Mary was always looked as a follower, never a member of a particular friend group. Socially, Bronxville is an extremely toxic place if one cannot find people like themselves. Mary never could, and for someone so addicted to popularity, it was unimaginably challenging for her to succeed in a town where it seemed like no one liked her...
Sitting down at the table, I watch as my mother places various bowls of curry, rice, and vegetables in front of my sister and I. “It looks delicious,” I say as I ladle some spicy curry into my bowl and grab a few warm naans. The last dish my mother places on the table is a stack of piping hot aloo parathas. “Mmm! I love aloo par-a-das,” I exclaim. To my right, I hear my sister snicker at my butchered American pronunciation of the word. “It’s ‘par-a-thas,’” she says, “Make a ‘th’ sound. Come on, you’re Indian!” I give her a playful nudge and continue to eat my food...
“I have to go.” “Wait let me see your wallet,” my father urges before I skirt out the door. He opens the leather pouch and to his dismay it is empty. He refills it with cash from his own tearing wallet and lets me run off. Without hesitation, he will clear out his own wallet and fill mine because he doesn’t want me to feel the same bare pockets he carried around Iran. The trials and persecution he confronted while escaping Iran during the Revolution were all made for me. Likewise, he sacrificed a higher education and left his loved ones in order to ensure that his future family would have a better life and more opportunities...
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