Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
"26, 27, 28." I counted the tiles on my bedroom ceiling. I've been in that position for about 15 minutes now. The clock hanging on my wall struck 11p.m. I was officially worried.
My mom had come back from her trip to Hawassa, one of the most beautiful cities in the country, the previous night. Earlier in the morning, as any kid would, my brother, my cousin and I were huddled in the living room listening to her stories and gushing over the pictures she took, when the door to the room was suddenly burst open. My dad walked in furious: eyes red and everything. "Our case is going to court now" he announced and left the room with the same fury he walked in. Nothing else. Not even a glance in our direction. Not even a why. Nothing. We were all stunned.
After a few minutes of a staring contest, I silently got up and went to my room. By the time I got there I was livid. How dare he? It was not the idea of a potential divorce that made me day, no it was the fact that he pinned the entire fault to my mom when he was the core reason of their disagreement with his daily drinking and what not. And now he has left the house.
That was 15 hours ago.
"1, 2, 3, 4.." I started counting all over again. Still nothing. No knock on the door. No ring on the bell.
I was 8 when I first learned the definition of 'drinking'. I thought it was an easy thing. So a person decides to drink for one night, what's the big deal? It will wear off the next morning anyway thought naïve little me. How wrong I was! It's more than that. Aside from the strains it puts in a family, its damages to health cannot be easily overlooked. There were times when I thought my father was the best thing ever. I thought there was no one like him. A few beers a night had different plans though: they made him a person I don't recognize anymore. After all there were only so many times I could see him physically abusing my mother.
"18, 19, 20." I eventually got tired and fell asleep. He didn't come home that night though. Or the next 192 ones that followed it. Yes, I kept count. On the 193rd day, my grandmother went to his office begging and pleading until he agreed to move back. Despite my objections, my mothered welcomed him with open arms.
But I knew he wouldn't change. Predictably, he fell back to the wagon a couple weeks later. No family member makes an effort to help him change anymore. He's basically a lost cause.
And as for me, I don't really care. Our relationship could be compared like that of the planets: orbiting around each other but not making any real contact. He says "Good morning" every morning I reply "Good morning" He stutteringly says "Good Evening" at night I just nod my head.
Our relationship is broken beyond repair now. There are times when I wish he could go back to the loving father I knew growing up. Maybe he would be that guy in the future and be my hero, my mentor, my best friend again? Maybe.
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