There are many hardworking people in this world. Many of these achieve wealth, social status, or comfortable lives. However, it is not how hard you work, or what you achieve, but what you work for that ultimately determines success. Although my mother, Narae, did not aim for money, rank, or other means of personal benefit, I still consider her successful. My mother was born in South Korea. When she was only ten months old, her parents, wishing to provide their children with more opportunities, immigrated to Los Angeles, California. However, the transition was hard. Although my grandparents worked night and day, it was all they could do to keep their family afloat. Since her parents were away at work most of the time, Mom had to learn how to take care of herself from an early age. She remembers watching her one-year-old brother at age five, not knowing where her parents were. Also, because Grandma and Grandpa did not know English, it was Mom's responsibility to communicate with the outside world: making important phone calls, writing notes to the school office, and ordering food at restaurants. Grandma, who worked as a nanny, would sometimes bring home a kid or two to watch overnight. Mother loved helping her take care of these children, and decided she wanted to work with kids when she grew up, specifically as a teacher. From an early age, Mom learned how to fend for herself, and matured fast. This was evident in many of the high school activities she participated in at Palisades Charter High. My mother took as many AP classes as possible and scored high on every test. She was involved in Varsity swim and basketball teams, both of which placed at the State level. In addition, it was at Palisades that she discovered her love for History, and decided that was what she wanted to study in college. After applying for various universities, Mom was accepted into UC Berkeley, UCLA, Stanford, and Juilliard, to name a few. Out of all these, she chose UC Berkeley, not for academic or financial reasons, but because she loved its sunny weather and beautiful fall leaves. There, she met my father. They fell in love and decided to get married after college. However, Dad was two years older than Mom and did not want to be separated from her. So my dad stayed in school for five years, and my mom finished in three. However, she had to switch majors, since the History degree that she wanted required four years of college. Her dream did not die; she willingly gave it up to marry the man she loved. Soon they started a family. When I, her first child, was born, Mom knew exactly what she wanted me to have: a good education, a strong Christian faith, and a strong relationship with my family, something that her parents were not fully able to provide her with. So she decided to homeschool me and gave up more of her time, energy, and resources to give me the best education possible. I have met no other mom who sacrifices so much for her child. In every way, she has been a faithful mother, teacher, and friend. She gave up many of her dreams so that I could pursue my own- and I plan to do so for her sake.

Accomplishments require much more than hard work. No matter how hard an athlete tries, she always has doubts, fears, and complaints. In addition to effort, dedication demands a motive to keep going, even when things are hard. When I first joined a local summer rec swim team at eight years old, I was the slowest on the team. Born with Hypertonia, I had a hard time engaging in physical activities. Every year, my two younger siblings would be selected to swim at the East Bay Swim League Championships, but I would never make it onto the Championship team, no matter how hard I tried. Although this discouraged me, it motivated me to work harder. I did whatever the coach said even when my teammates sat out, watched swim technique videos, and swam during the school season, but it wasn't enough. When I was fourteen, I noticed I was four seconds away from the Contra Costa County Championship qualifying time (36.23) for the 50 Breast, the closest I had ever come for any event. However, I did not think I could do it. My hypertonia still acted up at times, making my muscles cramp so much that I could hardly walk, and I often felt like I could never overcome this obstacle. For the first half of the season, I doubted myself and did not feel motivated to try hard during meets, so I barely improved my race times. However, in the middle of the summer season, I went to a meet against the Aquaknights. I remember waiting under our canopy for my event to be called. It seemed like hours that I lay back there, struggling through doubt, fear, and worry. "What if I mess up my turn? What if I don't touch the wall with two hands? What if my younger brother gets a faster time than I do?" But I had someone to turn to. I was a Christian, and through my fear and doubt, God reminded me that no matter what happened, He was in control. When the whistle sounded, and I stepped onto the block, I set my face forward. "God's got this," I reminded myself. The buzzer sounded, and I pounced. I remembered all the things my coach told me in my private lessons - keep your head down, kick back not out, and use your momentum to push yourself forward. I had never swum so fast in all my life. It felt like I was flying. My heart was racing as fast as my body, and a voice in my head screamed, "Go! Go! Go!" I knew the person next to me had qualified for County a while ago, but when I touched the wall, no one was next to me. I looked at the scoreboard - 35.50. I remember my numb disbelief - my mother and sister jumping and screaming - my teammate reaching over the lane line to hug me. I thanked God for allowing me to reach my goal at last. Even though I had worked hard for many years, it was my mindset, not my ability, that ultimately allowed me to reach my goals. I never would have qualified for County had I doubted myself. Rather, I chose to trust in someone bigger than all my fears, who motivated me to accomplish what I believed was impossible.

I had always been familiar with "The Wizard of Oz". As a young girl, I read the book series, listened to the audiobook version, and watched the black-and-white movie. Glinda the Good became so integrated into my imagination that many of the stories I created involved people transporting in bubbles, or good fairies clothed in sparkly pink. However, I hardly gave thought to the Wicked Witch of the West. To me, she seemed like a flat, stereotypical bad guy. When I watched Wicked, I completely changed my mind. As a legalistic, rule-following Asian girl, I never thought I would feel bad for anyone who broke the rules. "It was their fault," I would often say. "If they had just been good and did what they were told, they would have avoided much trouble for themselves." However, when I watched the movie, something about Elphaba touched my heart and made me feel sorry for her. I remember being bullied in second grade by the other girls and left out because I didn't go to the same church. I remember how lonely I felt, and how hungry I was for human appreciation. My family and the teachers there comforted me during this time. When I saw Elphaba's story retold in the movie theater, I thought of my second-grade experience. Her days at school were similar to mine, except she had nobody who supported her, even her family. Her mother was dead, her father only cared about Nessa, and Nessa was ashamed of her. No one was on her side. Instead of rebellion, I saw courage and integrity in the way she spoke out for the animals and against the deceitful tyranny of the Wizard. Elphaba was a hero in my eyes. However, she did not stay that way. She turned to harsh means to get what she wanted. In anger, she took revenge, eventually turning everyone against her. But now, instead of hating Elphaba, I feel sorry for her because I understand the circumstances she faced. I often wonder, "If I was Elphaba, what would I have done?" Truly, a good hero would resist the urge to fight back and prove instead how loving and kind they actually were, but that type of hero would not be human. No mortal man could ever love their persecutors on their own strength. I probably would have reacted the same way as Elphaba. Instead of a boring bad guy, I now see a well-rounded, relatable human character. Nowadays, when people around me do silly things, and I get angry at them for it, I remember Elphaba and try to see things from their viewpoint. The movie "Wicked" sharpened my understanding of the world around me, growing my compassion for imperfect people.

I remember seeing a water bottle sticker that said, "The book was better." I laughed because I agreed wholeheartedly. No movie could ever beat a book. It was a long time before I changed my mind. When I was little, my favorite time of the day was right before bedtime, when my siblings and I would all clamber onto my dad's lap and listen, enraptured, as he would read us a book, one chapter at a time, a tale of adventure, magic, and mystery. My all-time favorite was “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” by C.S. Lewis. After we finished the entire novel, we watched the BBC film, and later the Disney movie, based on this story. I was disappointed because although I enjoyed these productions, I did not think they were as artistic and moving as the book. Some friends in our homeschool community decided to put on a production of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” I was cast as Mrs. Beaver and believed I was doing a great job playing the part. In the middle of our two-week drama camp, my family and I decided to have a movie night. We chose the Disney version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, partly because I wanted to see a professional actor’s interpretation of Mrs. Beaver, and partly because the story was a family favorite. My acting and prop-making experience in drama camp changed my perspective on the movie adaptation. It had been several years since I had last watched the movie, and I realized how much I had missed the first time I had seen it. I was enraptured by the melodious soundtrack, which matched the beautiful natural landscapes and artistic props. The inflection, slight movements, and incredible characterization of the actors had evaded my notice until now. Everything fit together perfectly to create one beautiful masterpiece that captured the essence of the story. One scene in particular completely changed my perspective. Proud, selfish, and deceitful, Edmund had always been my least favorite character. In the film, when Edmund feels sorry for the little creatures that the White Witch turns to stone, the wicked lady slaps him across the face and scolds him for rebellion. I remember seeing him cry silently, his face looking so hopeless and desperate. Immediately I recalled myself being in a similar situation, weighed down by guilt for the silly things I had done and said. I felt for Edmund, and tears rained down from my face. At that moment, Edmund had suddenly become my favorite character. After trying it out myself, I knew how hard it was to put on a flawless performance. Yet the Disney version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe seemed to add color and meaning to the simple children’s book I adored so much. Sometimes, after watching the film, I think, “Is the book really better?”