Office of Multicultural Affairs
There are moments in life that hit you like a ton of bricks and others that don’t really sink in until much later. I remember sitting in the back seat of the car screaming and crying for all I was worth. I wasn’t particularly scared, I was upset. I didn’t know why I couldn’t see my mom or who my grandma was yelling at on the phone, but I was being ignored and I wanted to go home. Flash forward one year. Different car, different backseat, but no more tears. I’m clutching my little sister’s hand as we leave town to live with my great grandmother for “just a little while.” A year later finds me hovering over my little sister's bed in the middle of the night; she’s sick. I can hear her raspy breathing and I’m scared, so scared that she’ll stop breathing. I remember sitting there all night, shaking like a leaf and wanting so badly for someone to tell me it was okay. Six years later, and I’m standing in my dorm saying goodbye to my parents: my new step-father, my mother and my little sister. It’s hard to articulate in words the hope, pride and fierce happiness I felt in that moment.
Now, four years later, I am far from the little girl who sat up all night with her heart in her throat at her sister’s bedside, but I’ll never forget. I’m the child of a single mother who worked three jobs to make ends meet. A mother who gave me up to family because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t give us the things we needed. The mother who was finally able to take us home six years later. I am a confident woman and a senior at Bowling Green State University. I am different, not because of what you can see on the outside, but because of the where my life has taken me. I am me.