For as long as I can remember, I always valued the feeling of hard work, effort, and the hours spent to make the desired result come to life. In the sixth grade, I felt bored staying within my limits. Outside of my academic endeavors, I wanted something else to work towards. From that point, my solution was clear to me: beg my mom to sign me up for dance again at a studio. Previously, I had asked her for the same request, and within my first two months, I quit because I never liked the strenuous nature of ballet and how it made my feet cramp and muscles tight. Even though my mom remembered this, she still took me to the local dance studio and signed me up. I could not even begin to describe how happy I was, saying neither of us would regret this decision. I made posters and vision boards dedicated to dance. One poster had an acrostic poem with the word “committed” in bold red letters to show my dedication. I wanted to prove to myself that I had the willpower to go through with my decision because I knew it was something I loved and wanted to work towards. I never realized how behind I was since I last danced. I was not as flexible, coordinated, or rhythmic as my classmates. Despite this, I thought to myself I could simply catch on as I practiced beside them. However, the director had a different plan in mind and placed me, a twelve-year-old girl, in the pre-ballet and jazz classes with the seven and eight-year-old kids. She said it was for me to continue where I left off. I was immediately struck with the worst kind of humiliation as I was the only kid at least five feet tall in my class. These classes were a continuous reminder of how behind I was. There were times on my way to practice when I would think to myself, “Was this even worth it?”. Was keeping this commitment worth the shame I felt when little kids asked, “How old are you again?” after landing leaps across the floor with them? The thought of quitting crossed my mind over and over. It seemed so easy to do, but then I would see the posters I made and remember how I begged my mom, telling her this time would be different. I knew I couldn’t run from it, so I sold my pride to dance. I continued dancing alongside the younger kids, pushing through any intrusive thoughts along the way. I would go home and practice what I learned until my face was red, hot, and drenched in sweat. I would not stop until I was dizzy and felt physically unable to do another turn or back walkover. Before I knew it, I skipped a level and was promoted to my rightful placement by the following season. Years later, I will always hold what I learned from that experience close to my heart. It was then that I first learned where tenacity can take me. It is that same determination to succeed that has fostered me into the person I am today. The kind of person who will keep moving forward and continue to work hard like the same stubborn kid I was back then. My new commitment to myself is to take that determination with me throughout my college journey and beyond. I realize the path forward only becomes more challenging with time. However, it is the challenge that excites and invites me to push past my limits.

If I had first read this prompt five years ago, I would only have the most mundane story to share. I would have said, “I am the daughter of immigrants from a country in the Caribbean. My mom moved here with my two older siblings, then she had me, and then my dad came shortly after. The end." Being born and raised in the United States, I did not have much regard for my heritage. All I knew about my family’s journey to the U.S. was the abridged version; the one that served as a major injustice to their dedication to family and opportunity. In 2002, my mom had the realization that many Caribbean people have come to terms with; while she loved her native country, Saint Vincent, she saw that the lack of opportunities was the price to pay for a life of comfort and a close-knit community. She told me that on the whole island with a population of just over 100,000 people, there would be one primary person providing any kind of service from doctors to salespeople. She wanted to give not only herself but all three of her children the chance to persevere in an environment with no limitations. My mother studied tirelessly for over a year to become a registered nurse in the U.S. She traveled between three countries during the process all while being a mother of two and expecting me, her third child. Due to her sacrifices and dedication, my siblings and I have all had the opportunity to choose our life paths. If not for her dream becoming a reality, I would not be here telling you our story in hopes of being able to help pay for the next step in my academic career at the illustrious Emory University.