Now when it came to writing my college essay, I started over at least 40 times. Idea after idea, I stared blankly at my computer waiting for inspiration. Being a pro procrastinator, I grabbed my phone and began to scroll through all my social media apps trying to distract myself. It was then, in that moment of procrastination, I got an idea.
After my abuela passed away in January of 2013, I never changed my phone screen. Three years later, and the same photo of us still remains my lock screen. Now, having been told to never ever write about another person in your college essay other than yourself, I decided to throw caution to the wind and write about my abuela.
My abuela was so much a part of my identity. How could a college know me if they didn’t know my abuela? And so, it was then that my dead abuela came back to life with pen and paper and helped me get into my dream school:
I remember I ran to the medicine cabinet, grabbed all the makeup my small hands could hold and took off towards the La-Z-Boy recliner my abuela was sitting in. I would then begin her “makeover,” which looked more like someone had attacked her with a crayon. But despite my lack of makeup skills and the constant pulling of her already thin gray hair, she would still sit calmly in her chair.
She surprisingly never went blind or bald from my tortuous makeovers, and at the conclusion of my majestic makeover, I would grab the mirror and show her the latest look; she always grinned. I realize now that the grin wasn’t because she looked fabulous, but because it made her happy to see me happy.
My abuela was selfless, loving and one of the sassiest people I have ever met. Even though she would do anything for me, like letting me give her an atrocious makeover, she wouldn’t tolerate anything but the best.
She pushed me to work hard, especially in school. My abuela only had a third grade education, and upon coming to America from Cuba, she had to learn a new language and raise two kids. Due to her lack of education, she worked three jobs and after she got home from work, she would crotchet elaborate furniture coverings for extra money.
My abuela would not tolerate foolishness. Although she was small and feeble, she had a large mouth to make up for it. If she had something on her mind, she was bound to tell you. I loved that about her, and it was a trait that I always wanted for myself. She was never malicious when she spoke her mind, just straightforward. If someone were to cut in line at the supermarket, you can bet your bottom dollar she would show them where the end of the line was.
I loved our trips to Pathmark Supermarket together because I never knew what to expect. Our adventures usually entailed more than a feisty 80 year-old buying cream soda and Pepperidge Farm chocolate cake; they also included stories about Cuba and how almost everything used to cost a nickel. Even though Pathmark was right down the block, we walked slower than turtles, allowing us more time together and for me to hear more of her stories.
My abuela connected me with my heritage, and her stories of Cuba always drew me in. While growing up in Cuba she had to work from the age of six to help sustain the household. Despite facing difficult times, she still found the beauty in her homeland. My abuela was my vision of the American Dream. She inspired me to work hard, and I wanted to keep my promise to her to always do my best.
When she passed away my sophomore year of high school, I was leaving to attend a Model United Nations Conference at Harvard. When I heard the news, I was devastated and didn’t want to go. My mother reminded me how proud my abuela was of me for going to the conference, and so I decided to attend for my abuela’s sake.
I felt the need to channel her amazing qualities by being as outspoken as she was while still remaining compassionate. With her feistiness and courage, I stood up in front of a group of 500 people and delivered my speech on drone warfare, without ferociously attacking my opponents.
Using my abuela as inspiration, I won an award at the conference and later joined the All-American MUN Team, a moment she would have been proud of.
I could imagine us celebrating with cream soda, chocolate cake and a smile, the same ones she used to give me after her makeovers.
