BW college essay number two

It was a warm spring day at Lincoln Elementary school. Our teacher assigned a division based quiz. The topic was division by 9’s. This was my first time doing division, but of course the actual word familiarized itself to my extensive knowledge of fourth grade vocabulary. I sat there quietly as my peer’s graphite pencils scratched against the freshly printed paper. I bit my nails nervously as the class scribbled down answers. With my palms, drenched in sweat, clenched up into a weak fist, I asked the person next to me, “How do you divide?” and my teacher hushed us in her stern voice, asking why we were talking. My classmate pointed at me. I recall the night before, asking my brother to teach me division. My brother always knew the answer, so he taught me, and like a sheep to their Sheppard, I nod my head like a follower, never fully understanding the quick explanations he spewed, and now, now that the spotlight was on me. I felt the warm tears well in my eyes, I crumbled under the pressure. I was in tears by the time I stood from my seat and whispered under my shaky voice, “I don’t know how to divide.” I wiped my tears as I hiccupped uncontrollably. I felt shameful standing up in front of the class, staring as my teacher sympathetically tried calming me down, as she wrote examples on the whiteboard. That memory came back to me recently while I was tutoring a young student in Chinatown. I work as a tutor in Chinatown for children or want to better themselves in reading or math. The age varies, from preschool to high school. Recently. There was a little boy who was struggling with division. He couldn’t figure out how to divide large numbers. He constantly asked for help, and I would always repeat the same steps, so I looked over periodically, and saw that his older sister was trying to help him with division. After she finished explaining everything and left, he was still sitting there, confounded on the same problem, and he was quietly sniffling as I saw the tears roll down his cheek. I flashed back to myself and the hopeless feeling during my own personal struggle against division. Immediately, the feeling empathy washed over me as did this uncontrollable urge that I needed to help him. We went over some division problems as he stood next to me, clinging onto every explanation and every step I showed. I wanted him to recognize the concept, and actually solve the problems himself. After showing him the first few problems, I asked him to try following problems. He stuttered the first few problems, but once he started applying what he learned, it clicked. I practically saw the light bulb over his head and I smiled with contentment. The sensation of helping someone, being a vital stepping stone on their life, filled me with joy and I felt successful. It was in that moment, where I recognized my strong passion for helping others. By overcoming this complicated obstacle of fourth grade division, I want to help others in areas oh their life where they shy. By undergoing that traumatic experience, it molded me into the proud person I have become today, and it allowed me to have compassion for others and the need to help others. With determination and practice, I overcame division, and it consequently gave me the confidence to spread the knowledge and multiply the achievements. it's really jumlbed and im awkward with words. sorry! but it's my first draft.