The night before my medical school interview, my sister poured bleach on my only blazer, and my parents told me to stop making a scene.

They asked why my grades dropped during sophomore year. They asked about the free clinic where I translated discharge instructions for elderly patients who spoke only Spanish, even though I was not officially assigned there.

I answered everything.

Not perfectly. Not like the applicants who had probably rehearsed with admissions consultants and physicians continue reading …