Scholarship Application Essay

Growing up as a child, I did not see so much to struggle for in life. I saw everything that I
needed to see at that age. My friends and I lived happily during summer and every day after-
school. Although I rarely saw my father, I had a mum whose presence bloomed with vibrancy
even in her absence. She would neatly stack my food in the freezer as there was no refrigerator.
She also appeared in my school games. Sometimes, I saw her look blankly at my face when my
friends came over, and we wanted something to eat. With a smile, she would leave the room for
several minutes and return with a handful fruits. I could not count the times she returned with
fruits instead of a sandwich or pizza. I would hear her say softly when I disapproved her, “Do not
worry, honey, I will get it tomorrow.” The number of times she repeated this phrase would make
sense to me many years after senior school. There was too much love in the house. Whenever
she was around, everyone was inexplicably happy. She invited my friends more frequently than I
did until my friends and I called each other's homes our second homes. It was until I graduated
high school that I realized we lived in a low socioeconomic neighborhood and background.
The love that my mother showed me almost blinded my perception of the socioeconomic
status of my family. She left in the morning and returned a few hours before I left for school the
next day. I had breakfast ready every day as far as I can remember. She left dinner in the freezer
every evening. Although I noticed a pile of squared, sometimes white other times brown
envelopes in our mailbox, she did not allow me to read them. "Keep them where they are," she

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would repeat. My mother worked more than two daily shifts in hind-set to keep our house
balanced. That is the most extended shift I learned when my friend told me his father did not
return to the house until weekends because he worked double shifts. One Saturday morning after
a long week in the summer holiday, I stumbled upon a pile of bills that characteristically read
notice with a crossed mark as if they were warnings. It quickly clicked to me that they were
eviction notices and other bills. The contents of the eviction notice spoke louder than all
envelopes combined. I wondered how she did it all by herself through the years. I wondered
where and how she got the grace to smile and keep a brave face when she went out to collect
fruits and returned complaining. I had enough to live well as a child without understanding what
it took. I profusely wanted to help. I got a job as a stocker in a manufacturing company.
After a few months as a company stocker and after high school, I still lived with my
mum. I championed working hard to relieve her from the many hours of triple shifts. I began
seeing many of her at home after my shifts. She glowed and looked younger. She cooked, and I
ate warm food. She could sit and watch a one-hour program on the television, something I never
saw her do. She inspired in me the ability to work hard and not complain. She talked to me
during meals about committing to good work and having compassion for others. These were
lessons I never imagined from her. Work absorbed her entirely during my school years, and yet
she was still present in her absence. After nine months in my job, I was promoted to department
supervisor. Someone saw leadership in me. At this time, I could reconnect with life. I could leave
work early and watch the news, read books, and follow the proceedings of political events in the
country. My perspectives grew faster than my age. I wanted a leadership style in my work and
department that centered on communication and the value of human associations and skills. I had
a team of seven staff members in my jurisdiction. This team was my entire professional work. As

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we developed efficient operating methods for maximum productivity and performance, I had
enough time to discover what I needed for my life. It was time to curve a career for myself.
Lastly, I noticed changes in my mother one morning when she delayed going to work.
She coughed a lot and struggled to walk. She leaned on the kitchen door as she gasped for breath.
It was after my first semester as a Surgical Technology Program student, a course inspired by her
stories at the nursing home and municipal clinic she worked for. Her condition worsened. I
stopped my schooling to attend to her. She was frail but with a lasting bright smile. Sometimes
she forced it, and I could see it. She never complained. I knew