College Essay Overview

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College Essay Overview

No Trauma? No Problem.

Stories

The first story I ever wrote used up twenty-three sheets of white printer paper and an entire orange washable marker. It was a masterpiece, complete with talking bears, a made-up city, and plenty of illustrations. After an entire afternoon of work, I stapled my book in three places and proudly handed it over to my parents, anticipating their raving reviews.

The most exciting story I ever wrote was inspired by the patterns on the leotards of my fellow gymnasts. Rather than listen to my coaches or actually practice my splits, I daydreamed about beautiful heroes and magic keys and worlds full of strange creatures. By now, I’d transitioned from thick orange markers to using Google Docs on my first-ever laptop. My fingers flew across the keys with ease.

As the folder on my computer labeled “Stories”, the pile of half-full notebooks, and the collection of teenage writing guides in my bookshelf all grew, so did the scope of the worlds I was creating. At 12, I found myself worried less about who my characters were and more about finding the perfect name for them, a mix of their cultural identity and their geographic location, and always with a hidden meaning that foreshadowed their fate. I started to draw maps and maps and maps. There were lists of surnames from different ethnicities, bookmarked articles about the social norms of various religious and cultural groups. By the time I’d done all my background research, I didn’t even care about the story anymore.

For my sixteenth birthday, I wanted to go to New York City. I invited two friends, my sister, and my aunt. On my agenda, I planned out our visits to classy locations such as the M&M World store and the Statue of Liberty. After a weekend of bright lights, immersive pop-up attractions, ice cream, and photo booths, what stood out to me for months to come was the few hours I spent wandering the great halls of the Met. I’d been to museums before. I wasn’t even much of an art fan, generally. But I was fascinated by the various pieces I saw. I gaped at the ancient Mesopotamian jewelry and coins. I stared at the Anatolian sculptures. I wondered at the progression of native Oceanic instruments over the ages. In class, we’d only ever studied the Birth of Venus or the Mona Lisa - now, these diverse, multimedia pieces from all different cultures stood out to me more.

I don’t write anymore, really. Before you get too choked up, know that it’s mostly because I never actually loved writing. I loved creating and exploring worlds of my own. I loved deep-diving real cultures of our world to integrate into the imaginary city I was designing. I adored studying various languages just to find the perfect configuration of words to fit my fantasy nation.

After my trip to the Met, I was able to look back at my experiences and find the continuity. I don’t write anymore because I’ve found a better way to channel the energy that inspired me to worldbuild. My constant passion has always been a love of world cultures. Thinking about my future, all I know for certain is that I can’t stay where I am. Traveling the world, experiencing the cultures, languages, and people of each region, is my biggest aspiration.

I’ve always struggled to describe myself, because everything about me always seems to be changing. I’m outgoing today, but tomorrow I’ll be an introvert. Last week I tried to learn Italian, and by next week it’ll be Arabic. I used to want to be an author, and now I want to be a diplomat. Throughout all the phases of my life, the constant thread, no matter what form it took, has always been my fascination with culture. This realization made me more sure of myself and my future path.

At the end of my life, I hope to write one final story full of foreign words, colorful flavors, and diverse people. But rather than create my own world, I’ll write about the beautiful cultures of our own.

⁠

Evolution

A bug was strolling past me and I killed it. Having known Charles Darwin's theory, I knew that this bug could no longer survive among the other fitter bugs. It was now at the bottom of the chain, bound to succumb to its environment. A wave of guilt overtook my consciousness as I started questioning, “What if someone had done that to me?” I realized that someone had done that to me, myself. I had failed to reach Charles Darwin's criteria for success.

In kindergarten, teachers were handing out a limited supply of magnifying glasses. Limited supplies of resources is a phenomenon that Darwin researched. He discovered that the animals with the abilities to run fast, strength, and skill had a higher chance of survival. As the teacher released the pack of students, everyone raced towards the golden prize. The kids who were extroverted, quick, and confident easily made their way to their destination. But I was too shy, slow, and scared to grab one. I waited quietly until I could find an opportunity only to be told “Oh no, clean-up time”. The other students had the evolutionary strengths of confidence and extroversion while I was trapped in a weak exoskeleton. I had failed Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest.

In 5th grade one of my hobbies was singing. Singing is one of the traits that Darwin studied in finches. Finches who were able to sing the loudest were more likely to succeed as they used their voices for survival. I was capable of singing in front of my small class of 28 kids. My choir teacher noticed my passion and offered me a larger stage. “Do you want to sing during lunch?” That question was my ticket to live out my dreams of singing a solo in front of a large audience. But when I returned to school the next day I responded with two words driven by insecurity. “No thanks”. Yet again, I had failed Darwin's theory that louder voices were more likely to thrive.

In 10th grade, I had to make a decision on what level of English course I would take. I hesitated because I craved challenge but feared struggle. Struggle is a trait that Darwin studied in the Galapagos tortoises. Growing up the first words that I spoke were in Spanish. Surrounded by foreign words in my own country initially set me up for struggle. In second grade, I went to Mexico for 9 months, where I attended school and faced a similar struggle. When the 9 months had passed, I returned back to the US. I had forgotten how to speak English almost entirely.

On the island where Darwin did research, the vegetation grew much higher compared to other islands. As a result, the tortoises had evolved longer necks. Some of the tortoises, however, had retained their short necks, a trait that should have prevented them from reaching the high plants needed for their survival.

But Darwin noted that just the existence of the shorter necks tortoises proved that not every animal that struggles dies.

Knowing the inability to express myself and that I was capable of adapting through struggle, I went to school two weeks before the start of classes and asked to change my schedule. I took the last available seat in the AP course and began the summer work. I felt challenged but I developed new traits. Instead being a listener, I became a speaker in debates. Instead of allowing others to control me, I used my words to set my own narrative. Instead of letting others tell me I was wrong, I used evidence to prove myself right. I slowly broke free from the food chain that was holding me back.

Previously, my own fear prevented me from advancing in the chain. While my classmates were strong enough to demand their turn, embrace their voices, and set boundaries, I was not strong enough to fend for myself.

I remember the feeling of regret I had when I smashed the bug. I had killed so many opportunities that were strolling alongside me. But with time I evolved to use fear and struggle as an opportunity to develop new traits.

⁠

Robot

It was the night before the competition and we, unsurprisingly, decided to rebuild the robot.

Again.

This was our fifth competition of the year. Despite winning our first competition in three years, our robot was in pieces. It was rumored that our rival team was rebuilding to avenge their defeat. So to stay ahead of the competition we decided to modify our robot, to manipulate two game pieces rather than one. In the following three weeks our second robot of the season was created.

With our competition fast approaching, we completed the build and programmed the robot. As our traditional “late night” Friday meeting began, we then all gathered around the field to watch our creation. However, the robot simply was not smooth and effective.

So, we decided to rebuild.

Again.

With 7 hours left in the machine shop, we restarted with completely new metal and a plan. I quickly sketched a design and began cutting and screwing together a new beast. The clamp, chassis, and lift were all being iterated simultaneously without any idea as to how each would integrate with the other systems. With all of the scurrying around the shop, it was a miracle no one got injured. At 11, the janitors kicked us out of the school, so we packed up half the shop and took it to my teammate’s basement.

The skeleton of the robot, screws, and metal spread across the pool table. We each claimed our stations, the wires from the dremel and drill creating the borders.

Ever so often the silence would be broken by a stray shriek from pain after burning or cutting ourselves from metal. Someone would rush to their aid while the others continued to fabricate.

As it hit three o’clock we took turns taking a 30 minute nap on the couch and showering. Whether or not the shower cleansed off the sweat and metal dust completely, the hot water was the only thing that quenched the drowsiness. As it approached 5-o'clock, I wired the robot while my teammates packed the car. The robot was yet to be coded, so we set up our laptops in the car and programmed while on the road with the robot in the trunk.

We arrived late to the competition and the time for inspection was ending. We rushed to inspect our robot drowning out our programmer’s cries to test the code. However, as the sizing tool came over the bot, to our horror, we noticed two inches of polycarbonate sticking out. It should have been enough to disqualify us, but nevertheless, we were still allowed to compete in our first match.

As we walked up to the auditorium stage to queue for our first match, I turned to our programmer to certify the button mapping one last time. Our team number rang throughout the auditorium prompting me to place the robot on the field for its maiden voyage.

As the match began, sweat loosened my grip over the controller and the robot frolicked across the field. However, as I prompted the robot to lift the game piece, the entire bot tipped.

After the match, we trudged back to the pit and cut metal in every place we could think of to change the weight distribution. But still, the robot continued to immediately tip after lifting a goal.

So I decided it was time to rebuild.

Once again.

We lacked the luxury of our shop or basement and only had our old and newly rebuilded robots. And yet, between our horrid matches, a new frankenstein robot emerged. Chassis and lift from our first rebuild, clamp and guards from our overnight adventure.

We had gone winless in the qualifying rounds and only the eliminations remained. As the last seed, our Frankenstein robot pulled 4 upsets and battled to the event finals.

We ended as the finalists of the competition. Ecstatic of our result I looked into the stands to acknowledge my team. However, on the second floor of the seats, they were all asleep. With my last remaining energy, I chuckled, and proudly picked up our Frankenstein robot and trophy to pack and tidy up the mess I made in the pits.

⁠

TV

When I was 13 years old my parents canceled our cable television.

They had been talking about cutting the cord for a while, but I, in my youthful naivety, never thought they would have the guts to do it. The sacrifice would be too much to bear. It would mean they would have to give up watching Globo and binging marathons of the Fast & Furious franchise. I, too, would have sacrifices to make. Contrary to what they believed, I wasn’t scared of losing the Disney Channel or Nickelodeon; I was scared of losing my edge.

I only spent about 20 minutes a day watching TV, but for me, those 20 minutes always left me one step ahead. Every morning I took my place on the couch, just in time for the enthused “Good Morning America” from the news anchors. With ease I was able to set aside my phone and drown out the nuisance of the notifications. My eyes were locked in on the breaking news headlines as they ran across the ticker. Fascinated by what was occurring across the globe, I sat there attentively, retaining the knowledge that would inspire answers to those who asked about what I learned that day.

Those 20 minutes were all I needed to earn a Jolly Rancher in my 8th grade history class. Nearly every day I knew the answer to Mr. Kawulicz’s current events question, receiving gratification and praise with each correct answer.

I, too, had so many questions of my own. Why was the government shutdown? Why are there teachers going on strike? How did the Notre Dame Cathedral catch fire? I heard about all these shocking stories during my time apart from the news. Unfamiliar to my own knowledge, these events raised questions that went unanswered.

From the moment my parents canceled the cable, I lost my lifeline. The answer to all my questions. The world kept spinning, but I was left behind. I lost touch with the world around me. For whatever I wasn’t, I was always informed. Not anymore.

The next morning, I sat, anxiously awaiting the current events question. My leg bounced keeping pace with my heart beat. My hands were restless underneath my desk, fidgeting with the crown on my digital watch. The sound of the bell was overwhelmingly loud, drowning out Mr. Kawulicz’s greeting, “Good Morning, class.”

“What country is undergoing negotiations to leave the European Union?”

I racked my brain. 10 seconds left. Who would leave the European Union? I can feel his glance in my direction. Mentally, I ran through potential candidates; France, Portugal, Spain, Germany, the United Kingdom. 5 seconds left. Maybe it was the United Kingdom, it’s detached in nature, across the English Channel. 2 seconds left. But, then it could be Ireland. I don’t know. 1 second left. That was the best my brain could reason in the moment. Time’s up.

His eyes scan the room for any raised hands, pausing for a moment at the empty space above my head. As he revealed the answer, the class seemed disinterested in the response, not me. I wondered why. Why would Britain leave the EU? Devastated by my lack of knowledge on the subject at hand. But, I still had growing questions. The United Kingdom, simply put, was not enough to satisfy my curiosity.

I looked into Brexit later that day. Awash in the glow of the internet, I found the answers I was looking for. The top news stories of the day were only a search away. It became a habit, looking into words, people, events, and topics that were unfamiliar to me. The scope of my perspective grew exponentially, I gained access to new information by the day.

—

We still don’t have cable.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that all the answers I sought were still within my reach. When starting high school, I went after the things I wanted, finding ways to satisfy my desires. A newfound love for learning emerged and I dispersed myself alongside different people with diverse interests. I spent time listening to others and retaining the value in their knowledge and words. I saw each day as an opportunity to learn.

⁠

Bicycle

“Tonight, buddy.”

My Dad looked down at me standing next to the orange, flame-ridden bicycle, holding his beaten up thermos before leaving for his job at the hardware store.

But that night, no training wheels were removed.

“Tomorrow, buddy. I’m exhausted tonight, and it's too late to ride anyways.”

I turned my head so he couldn't see my face drop. Like every other day, I pretended like it was no big deal and shrugged off to my room. Each time I was let off the school bus at three o’clock, I would walk up from down the road and think about how I would pass the time that afternoon, eagerly counting down until seven when he would get home. It was every day that I would get excited to hear the sound of my Dad pulling in the driveway, going to sit down for dinner, and then seeing no training wheels removed.

I decided I was done waiting.

I went into the garage to grab a wrench, mesmerized by the wall of tools. The first was too big, second and third too small, but the fourth was a perfect fit.

The bike, having been severely abused and rained on countless times by each of my brothers before getting to me was extremely rusty. The bolts, horrendously seized, soon led me to discover the magic of breaker bars, as I slid a pipe over the handle to give me leverage. I put my full body weight into it, jumping and flailing around on this pipe until it finally snapped free, letting the training wheels slump loose.

My feet slipped as I dragged my bike to the top of the steepest hill in my yard, before hopping on and lifting off to begin rolling.

I hung my feet close to the ground for balance as I flew to the bottom. Dragging my sneakers in the grass, I was able to thankfully come to a stop before dropping into the road just farther. It became less scary each time, and as the hours progressed, I was comfortable enough to eventually put them on the pedals, the proper way to ride the bike. I was still however yet to figure out proper braking but I figured what worked, worked, and continued staining my shoes more green with each attempt.

The following week when cleaning up the house, my Mom raised questions about my torn up and newly tinted green shoes. Combined with the bruises on my knees and dirt stained shorts, I was forced to explain what I was spending so much time on outside. After taking a minute to reassure herself that she was indeed a good parent, she eventually settled down and had pride replace that fear. For such a young age, acting so independent gave her hope she was doing her job right.

For me, after breaking that boundary and for the first time teaching myself something new, a whole world of possibilities opened up to me. I realized I could learn the things I saw online even if my parents were unfamiliar. I quickly dove into soldering, 3D printing, CAD, and endless other skills I needed for my projects. I would save up my allowances and birthday money not for games like other kids my age, but rather so that I could purchase a soldering iron or bigger 3D printer kit. While I would also dream about more dangerous skills such as machining, they made me wait to purchase the lathe until I was older.

No longer was I limited by what things my parents knew enough to explain to me, but rather anything I was interested in and had the time to throw at it. I could now create much more advanced projects with the support of tutorials and journals online. It felt anything was possible and that can be seen in the plans of massive quadcopters or gardening robots I made in just middle school.

⁠

Jewish Hippie Farming Camp

Jewish hippie farming camp.

It is weird.

It is uncomfortable.

It is concerningly mystical.

But it will always be my favorite place.

And it will be your favorite place.

If you take these to heart:

#1: Do not give compliments.

I was greeted on my first night by a traditional camp ceremony. I should not have been expecting the usual sunscreen and tick rules, since the two camp directors prance to the front wearing colorful costumes. One proceeded to compliment the other's outfit. There was no thank you. “Because I received that judgment, I now feel like I must wear it to impress others”. I looked around at the people that I had just met. I was the only one with my mouth on the floor. The camp directors then revealed a cardboard sign to the group: NO BODY TALK. I did not plan to follow this rule

Floral hair designs. Shirts with random sayings. Oversized brim hats. Campers were weird. But nothing was ever said. During this time, I watched as campers crushed goals that they set for themselves. Free from judgment, I watched everyone’s negativity melt away. Free from judgment, my confidence grew like a weed. I was finally free.

#2: If you’re trying to find yourself, check the woods.

Cell phones, toiletries, outdoor equipment: all contraband on the mandatory solo in the woods. I stepped into my square, armed with only a sandwich and water. The camp’s rationale: to connect with your soul. I wanted to connect anywhere else. Though I did not have much, I had time. Time to mull the situation over. Admittedly, I had spent so much of my life refusing novelty, so I decided to try and be open. Open to making this into a different, special experience.

I harnessed my isolated square as my own. As a domain of growth. I took the time to learn the land. I had once only paid attention to myself. I now created a documentation process to notice all. I once got lost in toxic thoughts. I now employed sensation meditation to let self-doubt pass. The sun set, and I took the time to become in tune with nature. I befriended a dragonfly. I shaped a cave into a shady safe spot. I knew every leaf on the ground. I took the time to let it all go. I took the time to shed a layer.

#3: True connection lies with fire.

Under the week’s sunlight, I winced as the moving circus waved around their socks and pom-pom-ended sticks. I was not excited with them. I was embarrassed for them. Until under the moonlight, I stood from afar in awe as the ends of the chains were torched. Backed by the roar of the camp, the performing campers ripped the blazing balls of fire through the night sky in perfect sync with the beat of the bongos. The dance was graceful. With each pass of the light, I could see the focused faces; my eyes were glued. I felt ashamed. I finally saw this opportunity. I was then given only smiles and support. I was given a chance.

We believed that we must conquer the performance arts together. Experience and skill never topped the group’s virtue. We built up our energy in the daylight. And once again, we released it in a fiery dance. With the others by my side, I too moved gracefully with the fire and the beat of the drums in front of the excited camp. With the others by my side, I learned true connection.

#4: Let your soul shine through.

Apothecary turmeric paste trumps conventional pills. Agrarianism challenges consumerism. Social safety and freedom beats self-doubt. Everything I now see challenges my previous ideologies. Campers from around the world grew in this safe place unencumbered. I grew in this safe place unencumbered. Every year, new campers came in hiding behind self-built walls. Every year, I ripped each one of mine to shreds. My authentic self never changed, it was revealed. My authentic self desired to become an Eagle Scout. My authentic self is a student at heart. My authentic self has a hunger to explore.

Jewish hippie farming camp opened the door.

Jewish Hippie Farming Camp

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*No Trauma? No Problem.*

Stories

Evolution

Robot

TV

Bicycle

Jewish Hippie Farming Camp

No Trauma? No Problem.