<p>"Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.</p>
<p>Memory is a very mysterious thing. I remember once, when I was about four that I was sitting in my living room, when my dad walked in through the door in a very different manner. He seemed calm and happy for once, and I felt a great sensation of relief. I do not know why I remember that one event over all the events of greater importance. I recently asked to mother to clarify the meaning of that memory. She then, told me in detail why we had left our country of Mexico.
Millions of unheard stories of women who struggle everyday against domestic abuse are left unheard of; my mothers was one of them. My mother was to live under the expectations of a Mexican woman, whose only purpose in life is to marry and bear healthy children. My father would beat my mother, sometimes even in front of my brothers and me. Somehow she was able to bear eight years of abuse and oppression until one day, the opportunity came, and she packed our bags and took us to the land of the free. A short process of fake names and help from family got us into the United States. In the United States, my mother struggled to maintain work and the household. So, my brothers and I developed a way to cope through situations like that, and took up roles into protecting each other. Regardless, we were happy, we had each other, and we were beginning a new life. The court had given my father the right to visit my brothers and I. During one of his visits, he took us on an unexpected trip across the border to Mexico. Crossing it back would not be as easy. It would not be 4 years until we would see our mother again.
Once again, I was in Mexico and I experienced what my mother had experienced. In my fathers eyes, my brothers were workers and I was a servant. It did not take long for me to realize I was not made for that; I could not cook, clean, or do anything my dad demanded. In his eyes, I was useless. If he could have sent me back with my mother, he would have. However, he still forced me to do excessive chores no matter how poorly I got them done. Moreover, I refused to submit to him, not because the lists of chores were too overwhelming, but because I did not agree with his sexism; I had developed feminism. Soon, the house we lived in became a battlefield, he was a sexist and I was a feminist. It was war. I will not deny that sometimes I lost my fight against his sexist ways from fright of his fists, and I subdued.
I do not qualify to live the life of a simple wife and mother. My life has to be more complex than that, I have to further my education and since I returned to this country, I have done nothing, but dedicate myself to that. I want to join organizations in college and in the future, that fight against domestic abuse and oppressors and prove to society that women are not just cooks and mothers. Most of all, I want those millions of unheard stories of women around the world who are abused to be told.</p>
<p>it is 561 words. please tell me what you honestly think. it is intended for UCLA</p>