I find that, in this room, change is weed pulling in an overgrown garden. At the end, the director announces the next meeting's date. Another meeting, more closed ears, isolated voices and cracked porcelain faces. Another meeting closer to change. I enter the date into my phone, pick up my binder, and smile.

An essay about my father and the role he has played on my life.

The eraser on the pencil tastes bitter yet, after years of habit, I can't stop chewing it. I sit next to my father trying to work out a math problem that he has chosen from one of many math books in his library. My eyes are lost in a sea of smeared lead. The numbers have melted into each other, and even my squinting can't separate them. Instead of trying to follow along, I look for art, like searching for...

Always smile, do your research before, and remember something about your interviewer...