I Was Taught to Work Hard and Persevere

My parents migrated to the U.S. from Pakistan in 1990s. Growing up, we did not have much. My dad supported a family of seven on bare minimum wage. We lived in the dangerous slums of New York in a two bedroom, roach infested apartment. While there, my cousin got shot. I vividly remember the horrifying pain sketched into every wrinkle of his face. It made me want to do something with my life so we could move to a better place. My father had the same thought. My father worked hard, and established himself to become a professional tailor. He taught me the meaning of getting education and hard work. We eventually moved to Brooklyn where the air was fresh, the water was clean, the house free of roaches. As I grew, I worked hard at home helping my mother and siblings. Whenever they would need emotional support, I would offer my help to lift their spirit up. Their recovery was a source of my contentment. It never failed to warm my heart.
During sophomore year, a close family friend, Yazeed, got tossed out of a car on the highway and had been run over when he was trying to get up. No one even...