I wonder if my religion took my mom's eyesight away, as it not only has a hold on our lives but how we treat each other. Being Muslim shapes who I am; however, it dictates how my family lives and how my parents treat us. This is because they fear that we lose our religion; my parents feared losing me after what had happened to my sister. “What is the point of you seeing your friends? They are probably a bad influence anyway,” babbled my dad in Arabic. “What if you end up like your sister?” Said my mom. I knew she wanted to cry again. Being Muslim means having a heart of compassion even when you do not want to. When my sister left my house during the night because she did not like how she was raised, my mom cried so often that her right eye became blind. Poor Mom, If she wasn’t taught the way she was, maybe she would see me well. I love my identity. I felt like I had some stability holding me down. My sister did not appreciate and did not feel the same; and with that, only a letter of apology remained. The flower my parents have tended for 19 years disappeared. Being Muslim means forgiving, even when you don’t want to. Nine months later, she appeared with a new apology. Did that fix my mom’s eye? No. Did it make her happier? It looked like it did, but deep down, I knew my mom still wanted to cry. What was wrong with how she was raised? Perhaps she felt restricted, as though being covered by a thick cloth and drowned in worries. They tried to make that suffocating cloth have a warm feeling of comfort, but all my mom felt was sadness. Being Muslim means loving and healing wounds of the past. My mother's eye will not improve, but wisdom and improvement will come after. Being Muslim is like a flower. People are grounded by faith and love, growing daily in aspiration of growth. Even if it feels like the flower has wilted, we can hope to bring back what we have lost with attentiveness. Seeing my sister not being able to live with this faith has brought light to my situation that I would have never perceived without it. She saw it as something that dictated our lives, which is not what my parents aspired to teach us. I was able to see how it affected my life negatively, and throughout our conversations, my parents switched the rules in our lives. Being Muslim means not only loving, having a heart of compassion, and forgiving, but also enjoying our lives. My parents now trust me, and they don’t believe any influence will sway my strong belief in religion. As for my mom, even if she struggled to forgive my sister, she would try. I was able to learn from this that not everyone is perfect, even if my mom has been extremely courageous throughout this ordeal. With time and patience, I was able to learn that all problems can be resolved. My mom's love for my sister surpasses the loss of her vision, and this taught me that despite everything we have lost, we as humans can forgive and forget. Losing something so vital for living and not letting it weigh you down has been so inspiring, despite it being something really sad. I love my religion and my faith, without it, my family would not be held by such a strong thread, a thread created by compassion, forgiving, and loving.

Bismillah-Ir-rahman-Ir-ahim. Every morning, I wake up in California. The sunny skies and the warm rays that greeted my face reminded me of my father's life in Iraq. As I wobble downstairs after brushing my teeth, I sit down and drink tea with him, a staple in my culture. "Life was easy here before" my dad goes through his usual complaining. My dad was forced to flee Iraq in 1984. My dad was at the young age of 19, barely surpassing adulthood. His life used to be carefree as a child, but now his country is embroiled in political unrest and societal upheaval. This is all because of a brutal dictator that snatched thousands of people's lives and histories. As an aspiring artist, he wanted to paint very much. He wanted to tell stories through his art and represent his culture. Through this struggle, during this time his art career was cut short, due to the turmoil that Iraq struggled through. Nevertheless, my dad says that it was a blessing from Allah (SWT). He owes this tragedy that struck his art career down as destiny, as a gift from Allah (SWT). My father believes in fate, and so do I. He met my mom after he fled, who was also from Iraq, and raised me and my three other siblings. Together, he and my mom sought to better our careers through careful love and care and to value our Iraqi heritage. Even if my fathers' art career was left unfulfilled, he never let his creativity go. He always painted and aspired for us to reach our goals, for he couldn't. However, tragedy struck in our peaceful sunny lives; life has been quite difficult for my father. The weight of my father's struggles becomes more and more difficult with every passing day. Despite the sunshine that comes down on my family on this land, darkness has descended as well. It is difficult for him to pay the bills because it is challenging to pay for my mother's eye medicine. An infection has caused blindness in her eyes, and the doctors here won't help because they aren't paid enough for it. My dream of becoming a doctor has quickly switched into an ambition and a desperate reach to save people's lives. Seeing my father go through these difficulties and his indefatigable love for my mother makes me want to create a difference in people's lives as well. I aspire to take care of my mom by pursuing a medical school; I want to help my poor mother when no one else will. I can be the artist, but my medium will not be painting. I want to use the knowledge that I will receive from my university and paint a brighter future for people, especially my beautiful mother. Using the money from this scholarship, I want to pull my parents from poverty and back into the sunny light of California. I want to save my mother, and my medium will be the power of science, and the will of Allah, Subhanahu Wa Ta'ala.