<p>First prompt:</p>
<p>When I finally developed the courage to share the truth, what ensued was a savage act of violence. My father pulled my hair as hard as possible while spinning my body on the floor and smacking it onto the wall. My mother was confused, but joined in because she was scared of my father's reaction. They both started kicking my head like I was useless garbage and my entire body went into shock. After I thought this was over, my father helped my aching body to get up and then punched my face and body several times. I ended up with a severe black eye, but all the physical pain was miniscule compared to the emotional scars from the traumatic experience. I was not allowed to go to school unless I covered the black eye with makeup. I had been beaten by my parents throughout my childhood, but never to the point of almost dying. I lived everyday of my life in fear until the police finally got involved. I did not let my scars define my future story because I knew that the biggest revenge was success.</p>
<p>When I was eight years old, my innocence was taken from me. I was raped by an older cousin during a game that all of the children were playing, called Darkroom. I kept silent for years. Physical abuse does something strange to the relationship we carry with our bodies. You dissociate; your body becomes a foreign territory. Any self-awareness I had until that point vanished; it was very difficult to feel like myself. It was like having an identity crisis before you even developed the vernacular used to express that feeling of isolation.</p>
<p>My father had developed a strong bond with my rapist over the years and was planning to fly him to San Jose to stay with us for college. It had almost been a decade since my rape, but I knew that I would not be in a safe situation if I allowed this to happen. After this alarming news, I confessed the truth about my rape to my parents. This did not change their actions and they proceeded with my rapist living under the same roof for a couple of months. Instead of receiving support and care for my unfortunate past, my parents beat my body numb and shunned my existence.</p>
<p>The abuse that I have endured throughout my life has not weakened my soul, but it has made me fight harder for my aspirations; I understand that helping others in need helps create peace within this world, and for my soul. At the Stanford hospital, the way that the patients faces lit up every time that I would sing and talk to them boosted my drive to put a smile on others faces. Regardless of the little support from my parents, I would take the bus to the hospital, which took a couple more hours than driving; however, it was worth entering my safe haven where I could be helpful and make an impact on somebody's life. I would walk up and down the stairs throughout the hospital for almost a nonstop 5 hours and it was the most exhilarating feeling to help others in their uttermost time of need. The reactions from the patients and the permanent smile on my face from the experiences in the Stanford Hospital inspired my future career as a nurse.</p>
<p>Second prompt:
Dance was the only time that I felt safe in my skin. I can recall my own early experiences of ballet class. I was often found sitting in anticipation for one learned and elegant dancer who would shine above the rest. Her stature and aptitude captivated me, leaving me in awe; it was the most beautiful sight I had witnessed at age nine. Her name was Debbie, and she was an optimist. As I grew older, a mentorship developed between us. I learned about her history and devotion to dance: her pressing financial struggles were enough to merit several jobs juggled at once, but not enough to sway her passion and dedication to ballet. Not only did Debbie become an exceptional dance teacher, but she also radiated a selfless positivity that continues to help me during my own periods of great difficulty.</p>
<p>My earliest memory of dance coincided with a very impactful time in my life. My mother likes to call it the twister sister, saying that sometimes happiness and heartache can occur simultaneously, like two tornadoes advancing side by side, growing in intensity, but not necessarily fusing into one. Seeing Debbie perform her pirouettes was like staring into the future; it gave me hope in the potential for change. Dance became a passion and an outlet. In simplest terms, it brought me back to myself.</p>
<p>The pirouette has been a recent running metaphor for junior year of high school, which certainly was the most transformative to date. The movement involves a full revolution of 360 degrees on the front toes of the front foot. Considered one of the most demanding of dance steps, it requires both legs to be straight and yields a fixed gaze at eye level. To complete a pirouette up to parr always requires hours and hours of diligent practice - but the end result, when practiced enough to illustrate grace, is truly majestic.</p>
<p>I teach ballet: I inspire confidence, grace and discipline in my young, energetic students; more often than not, it is not as easy as it sounds. Goals that are set sometimes are not reached, but I refuse to give up on my students. Sharing high expectations and an emphasis for practice helps my students achieve a transformation from day one to the final rehearsal before recitals. I have watched tiny two year olds that could barely walk, turn into magnificent, graceful dancers who lead a confident, positive lifestyle.</p>
<p>After years of teaching ballet, I realized that my ultimate goal was not to have the most money possible; I wanted to become a happy individual who aids and makes other people feel positive about themselves. This carved my path into wanting to become a nurse. The ability to see people happy and proud of their achievements and progress is one of the most irreplaceable feelings in the world.</p>