College. + My common essay

Sup readers. It's been a while since I last updated haha, and since then, well, as you probably know, my life has pretty much flipped upside down. And, since the university midsemester break is finally here, I finally have time to blog.

Where to start? The last two weeks has transformed from nailbiting anticipation to apathy to happiness to discomfort to calmness to anxiety to patience to curiosity to absolute disbelieving elation to shock to ambivalence to being lost to stress to a higher state of peace now (I hope...). So I've had a pretty colourful two weeks hahaha.

Firstly, I guess I have to say I am somewhat relieved that the process of college applications is now officially over. During the last three months of waiting for offers, I have had many an admissions related dream, depressed days where I don't feel like doing anything because I felt like I had no chance anywhere, days where I felt motivated cos I was like YEAH I'M THE MAN I'LL GET IN, but not a single day where I did not think about flying over to a question marked destination in the US. Now... I have another 5 months of knowing that such a thing is happening. It is so exciting!! But at the same time, so sad that I will be leaving most of my friends behind ):

I owe people who helped me out in the process and listened to my whining and excitement and worries hahahah.... especially those who helped me proofread and edit my essays, teachers and counsellor who wrote my references and did the colossal task of filling out all those forms, the admissions officers themselves who read my application and chose to let me through, or those who took the time to read them anyway and put them in the rejection pile, I am still thankful :) I am grateful for all my supportive friends who have since congratulated me on my acceptances as well, and all the strangers who took the time to congratulate me as well hahaha made me feel pretty special :) An especially big thank you goes out to my amazing boyfriend who has been so supportive of me during the whole process even though it will be really hard for us when we are separated, and for staying strong even though I know it kills him inside to think about me leaving ): but that's another story for another day and I don't want to be sad for something that has not yet happened @_@ And of course to my parents, the ones who brought me up to want to aim for something that seemed so impossible from the beginning, for planting the passion to reach my potential and giving me all the resources I could have ever dreamed of, no less bending over backwards to give me the best life that they could. T_T I am so lucky to have all of these amazing people in my life. I honestly feel like I am the luckiest person in the world all the time.

Nawww I am getting emotional. I think I will wrap it up here, I have no intention of writing an official leaving statement yet :P It is still early days yet!!! Well just for you guys I include my Common Application essay (sent out to all 8 universities I applied for). I know a lot of the people who proofread will rage at me at the fact that I didn't take out the metaphor diarrhoea I am so prone to but I CAN'T HELP IT I JUST LIKE IMAGERYYYY )))): Enjoy I guess...


Soft Wooden Heart

The backbone of my life is my writing desk. I like to describe its surface as an organized mess (despite my parents’ overdramatized description of a bombsite), a state of positive entropy and minimum energy. Math exercises overlap an organizer, set next to almost-empty tubes of paint and overdue library books. A constantly filled bottle of water sits behind a glasses case full of guitar picks and carved into a mountain of paper, right in the middle, is a space reserved for my laptop – on days when I am slouching, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare needs to be slid under it. An eclectic desk shows an eclectic personality; mine has had the honor of being the training grounds prior to the Great (final) Battle (exam) of Chemistry, the peaceful meadow of relaxed reading afternoons and all in all the pristine-turned-colorful canvas of an inquisitive mind.

I remember buying it with my mother five years ago, when my bruised knees protested against the tiny white-paint-gone-yellow one I had used since childhood. My new desk was made of native Rimu heartwood – solid, resilient, dependable – a perfect role model for me to grow into. Over the years, its material became representative of my New Zealand identity, its surface slowly coated in quirky personality, and its compartments filled with treasured memories; the heartwood desk echoed my heart.

At first, it did not fit with the décor of the rest of my room, which even now appears boxy and stark next to my grandiosely elegant writing desk, but its quiet strength is unafraid of individuality, just as I have learned to become. It has watched as I grew stronger branches, a straighter trunk, firmer roots; whereas I had once been but a shy young seedling, I sprouted leaves and with them the ability and yearning to provide shade for others. I have certainly physically grown into it, but although I would like to think that I have become completely independent, I remain human; in inevitable times of need, it is still my steadfast, sturdy desk that offers its support.

I sit here and, well, I write: joyfully, desolately, irately, wistfully – at times paralyzed by excitement, at others crippled by fear. I scrawl notes in my organizer (which is, naturally, not in the least organized), words overflow my blog, over-emotional oranges and blues plague my illustrations; shallow scratch marks indent the wood from where I have pressed too passionately into paper. It may be solid, but it is elastic enough to be shaped, resilient enough to adapt: this is my soft wooden heart.

It can take it. My desk remains constant despite scars of experience – unassuming, stoic, ever-watchful. Even when I dismembered dying cell phones, their frail keytones pleading for mercy, the desk stood there, nonchalant. Regardless of what fervor goes on from time to time, it knows there will eventually be a constant calm; my lively nest of rebuilt mobiles still calls this place home. Sometimes, I rest my uncertain head on its reassuring solid surface and the wood presses back into my heartbeat, communicating in Morse... “Don’t worry. Some things will never change.”

And, like a mother, it always turns out to be right. Beneath my seemingly chaotic coat of papers and objects, beneath the superfluous, temporary things that define my present life, my desk and my heart remain still – solid, stable and evergreen, ready to be written onto and scratched into by experience.


Anonymous said...

Holy shit that was amazing. You go girl.

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