Bio career center - SOP, Cover Letter, Resume , Guidance

When I walked through my front door, the first thing I noticed was the odor. Then, I heard the groaning. I remember the occasion quite vividly, although it was ten years ago. My sister and I had just returned from the park with a neighbor, expecting everything to be normal. I soon discovered that nothing would ever be normal again.

As we slowly inched into the living room, a staggering sight met our eyes. There, lying facedown on a couch, was my father, ashen-faced and trembling. His head was completely bald, and his grisly figure appeared enervated. He was gasping for air, and then suddenly, he grabbed a blue pan, plunged his face into it, and vomited with such vehemence that I shivered. Only then did I fully understand what it meant for my dad to have cancer. At seven years old, I confronted the horrors of cancer in my living room, and realized for the first time that my father was fighting to survive. Catching me out of the corner of his eye, he raised his head from the blue pan and uttered a weak, "Hello," only to vomit again--this time missing the pan. My neighbor saw my face, put his hand on my shoulder, and whispered, "Let your dad rest--he has been fighting brave and hard."

My dad, my hero. The source of my love and guidance was now battling for his life. After the doctors detected the colon cancer in 1987, the tumor became more and more malignant, and the effects on my family were more and more severe. A long series of debilitating surgeries and chemotherapy treatments consumed my father's life, and by extension, enveloped my entire family. My mother, now a de facto nurse and breadwinner, spent her time and energy, not to mention large amounts of the family's money, fiercely battling my father's cancer. Meanwhile, my sister and I began to "lag" behind in school and in life--willing casualties of cancer's war.

Growing up without a father figure at my side, I always felt distanced from my classmates. In elementary and middle school, I noticed that most other kids communicated and played with ease. I, by contrast, was quiet, timid, and introverted, isolated at home and at school. I feared human contact so much that, for a period of time, I could not even bring myself to look into the faces of people who spoke to me. Some children considered me an outcast--an easy target for harassment and ridicule.

My depreciated self-esteem affected my performance in school. Ridiculed by my classmates, I lost the confidence to excel. In a vicious spiral, each bad grade would not only further undermine my confidence, but also make me feel as if I had failed my father, who cared so much about academics when he was healthy. I was ashamed of every report card I showed him, mistaking his concern for disappointment.

One day, I decided finally to change my life. Listening to my classmates' stories of art lessons and gymnastics, activities as foreign to me as family car trips and vacations, I recalled my neighbor's statement: "Let your dad rest--he has been fighting brave and hard." I finally realized that the example of how to improve my life had been in front of me the entire time. My dad had fought and struggled to survive his disease--a disease that has claimed millions of victims. By fighting it and enduring the suffering to live another day with his family, he had taught me in the clearest possible way that I should never give up, that I could surmount any obstacle, and that I could build a happy life for myself. I made up my mind. I would face the world "brave and hard," and I would cast off the anxiety which had so shackled my personality. I would work to improve my grades and would shine as a student. I would cultivate my talents with an active passion. No more delays. No more fear. No more shame. Most importantly, no more giving up.

After reaching this decision in middle school, I worked persistently to catch up and surpass my peers. I have accomplished my goal. Since the sixth grade, my marks in school have steadily improved, and I have been particularly proud of my strong marks in high school. In addition, I have applied my eager determination to mastering the piano, and I continue to cultivate my love for the instrument to this day. Although I have competed with musicians who have been playing since childhood, I have always remained resolute and committed. With the strength my dad taught me to apply to life, I have pushed myself forward, doggedly practicing despite the increasing demands of my high school curriculum. I recently passed "Level 9" of the Certificate of Merit exam, catching up with--and even surpassing--many other students my age and older.

More than any other milestone I have reached, I am most proud of my success in overcoming my shyness. In eighth grade, I made the decision to join an Asian youth leadership program, which would compel me to communicate frequently with my peers. I knew that my role as a mentor and community leader would teach me to speak clearly and confidently. My participation in this program worked wonders. I now feel at ease amongst my classmates and friends, and last year, I even hosted an open house event for the program, speaking comfortably in front of a large audience.

I am proud of the changes I have made in my life, and I owe all my strength to my father. My dad has been at my side every step of the way. Even as a bedridden cancer patient, ravaged by chemotherapy, his example taught me to face adversity and to conquer it, no matter the nature of the challenge. His struggle with colon cancer became a model for my own struggle to improve myself. Even today, I continue to fight, struggling with college entrance tests. Despite the challenge, I continue unshaken, knowing that the truest test of my ability is my determination to live bravely like my father and to overcome the hardships of life. I can never thank my dad enough for what he has given me. He has become my role model, and I hope that one day, many years from now, he will say to me, "I'm proud of you son--you have been fighting brave and hard."