500 Words or Less

  The extensive walk up the dusky trail seemed to last hours as millions of panicked thoughts swirled around in my head like a whirlpool. That night, he tried to drive us both off a steep, thirty foot cliff at the edge of the lot. When his fear of death overcame his insane wrath, the attempt thankfully failed. He warned me, “You know I would have done it,” and I did know. Before the terror of that night came to a close, he gave his last threat. He planned to hurt my family and to make my life as wretched as he felt his was. Only then, he said, would he finally murder me and kill himself to end it all.

  The next morning, I finally gained enough sanity and audacity to tell the police I needed help and protection. My verbal statement took over three hours to complete, and by the end of the discussion, I was both mentally and physically exhausted. The officers concluded that I had been a victim in a rare case of domestic violence, and would probably suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) for many years. He was then transported to Tri-City mental hospital, and enforced to end all contact and association with me, or else face certain arrestment.

  The moment the police car drove away down the empty road, with him sitting in the back seat, head bowed and wrists cuffed, I became instantly free. The weight of fear had been lifted and my own life finally started over again. My experiences in coping with domestic violence have taught me that I am always the person who holds the most power over my life. Although domestic violence is rare among young couples my age, it becomes more profound as people and their relationships mature. Having been through this experience, I’ve attained scarce dexterity of knowing firsthand how to cope with and recover from abuse. I hope with all my heart to help those who go through the terror and isolation I have been through, and to prove there is a way for everyone to create their own powerful light that will forever overcome the seemingly endless darkness.

  Anonymous

  Accepted to all UC schools

  Attending: to UCSD

  As I felt the mountain of water rising behind me, I knew this wave exceeded my capabilities. I stood up, praying the lip of the wave might gently crumble instead of curl. It curled. Gravity momentarily reversed. I was in the lip of the wave and when it finally broke, it felt like an airbag had deployed against my ribs. Turbulent whitewater enveloped me. The devil on my left shoulder, my body and human instinct, told me to panic: to fight the wave, and battle upwards. The angel on my right shoulder, my mind and past experience, told me to relax: to let my body go limp like a ragdoll. For the first time, I shoved the panic aside and pulled in my composure. As the turbulence subsided, my mind could only grasp gratitude: the gratitude I had for still having air in my lungs, for steering clear of the reef, and for Nature once again humbling me. I felt a great sense of accomplishment in overcoming panic in the midst of a tumultuous situation. My ability to relax under pressure is derived from surfing, which has proven advantageous in my other life passions, particularly in science.

  In my AP Chemistry class, the dreaded final exam was to be a qualitative analysis. My teacher gave every student a five milliliter test tube of clear liquid that had either three, four, or five ions in it. We were to isolate and confirm the ions we had in two hours, and we would need every minute.

  Monday, May 24, 2010 was the infamous final exam day. Twenty-nine minutes into the lab, an ominous, unmistakable odor wafted up from my workspace. This didn’t seem possible. I had followed all the steps. I had added nitric acid, heated, centrifuged, and decanted, then added sodium hydroxide, heated, centrifuged, and decanted. I had gently squeezed the bottle of six molar hydrochloric acid to release two drops, anticipating the colorful precipitate that would reveal the answer. Instead, the putrid smell of rotten eggs was erupting from my test tube. I realized that the thiosulfate ions, which should have been removed, were still present and had bonded with the hydrogen ions from the hydrochloric acid to form hydrogen sulfide gas. The tube nearly slipped from my hand. I had made a crucial error. I could feel the panic creeping up my limbs as the whitewater began to envelope me. However, the angel on my right shoulder reminded me to stay calm. I started over, going through each step meticulously. My newly focused and relaxed mentality empowered me to find all four ions successfully with minutes to spare.

  Surfing has taught me that when I get caught up in the whitewash, I must relax in order to survive and surface with the best outcome. This is the same in science. Science is the study of nature, and nature offers many unexpected difficulties that must be met with calm in order to achieve deeper understanding. It is both the thrill of surfing and this deeper understanding that is my reward when I overcome these challenges by maintaining perspective and composure in moments of chaos.

  Alyssa F

  I didn’t submit this essay to any colleges because the colleges I applied to did not require an essay.

  Accepted: Biola and Azusa Pacific

  Attending: Point Loma Nazarene

  Curled up tightly in my (hopefully) bug-free sleeping bag, the knowledge of lying on a small, rotting, scratched-up, spider infested bunk bed left me with one last burning flicker of motivation—do it for the kids. Although the hornets guarding the water fountain were a less-than-welcome surprise, the meals were something short of tasty, and the constant battle of my arachnophobia was etching deeper worry lines, camp was quite frankly the best week ever.

  I was lucky enough to attend my very own ‘Sixth Grade Camp: Round 2’ over the summer when a group of sixth grade girls were in need of a counselor. Now I’ve always known of my love for kids—I’ve spent over a year with the preschoolers at my church and every summer I make room to volunteer for local church camps. The more time I spend coloring outside the lines or playing silly games with each little rascal, the more I fall in love with offering my time to be with them. When this camp opening presented itself, I just knew I should take it.

  Looking back, I wasn’t just there to counsel six girls; I realized that they had a lot to teach me too. I saw what it really means to love someone, and to put their needs before my own. When Lina was sick and I had to skip a lunch to bring her to the nurse, she taught me to love. When Marissa explained to me how her mom died of MS, I could feel my heart growing like the Grinch’s. The way that eleven-year-old told me of her mother’s death as I sat on the cold dark deck, cross-legged and teary-eyed, will haunt me forever. She explained with an expressionless face how her mom lost movement in her legs, then her arms, then more and more until she could only move her neck—until she died. I was shocked at the bravery of a girl her age, having to watch her mother deteriorate in front of her eyes. It made me sick. I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I had to comfort her. I told her the story of how my mom got cancer when I was her age, but I felt guilty saying that she lived, saying that I had something so precious that she will never get back. Throughout that night I listened to other stories of girls whose lives have been much harder than my own, and the only thing I could think to do was love them deeper.

  That week I was given the rare gift of being constantly immersed in loving others, and it’s something that’s truly changed me. Whether it meant waking up at 2:30 in the morning for chilly, sleepy bathroom treks, talking under the stars until we fell asleep mid-sentence, or sitting up in a three-story tree house braiding an endless amount of heads during story time, those six girls deepened my love for other people and my desire to humble myself so I can serve others. Of course I don’t always succeed in that department, but I have a reason to try. I’ve seen the good that comes out of selfless love— it’s worth fighting for.

  Caroline

  Illuminated

  Gingerly dipping my toes into the frigid maroon seawater, my expectations for the surf session faltered. Tonight was the last night for the “red tide’s” bioluminescence to brighten the big blue. It is rumored that once pure darkness sets in for the evening, movements disturbing the water’s stillness light up as a bright green blue streak. To be honest I was a total skeptic of the phenomenon, but that’s just my charact
er.

  I hadn’t always been so cynical, but what kid naturally is? Being a direct product of my environment, I just so happen to be the perfect subject of study for the average psychologist and whoever else concerned with the results of children being drug about the country by the military from here to there, there back to here, and then maybe over yonder past a few more states. Time after time, like a bad eighties song playing back to back on a broken radio with no operating controls to change the station, I moved across the country. I made friends, and then lost them. Made some more, those soon disappeared also.

  I adapted and became a solitary introvert only concerning myself with the intangible and the negative…

  Before I could finish this reflection on my character (I often analyze my current being) the foamy white wash broke my thought and consumed my flailing body. I was brought back to the present: waiting for dark to break the sunset so I could see this so called “glow in the ocean.”

  While the others examined the surrounding seawater, my incredulousness grew. I seemed to be the only one who could not distinguish whether or not it was the bioluminescence or my eyes tricking my mind. But then, as the sun sank deeper into the ocean, my heart, which was once separate from my mind, leaped up and captured my thoughts. That faint blue streak glowing before my eyes turned my attitude right side up.

  As the sky grew darker and darker, my spirit became illuminated with every single movement I made through the water. I flipped and splash and most important of all I laughed all while watching the magic happening around me. The gleaming bright blue streams surrounded me, flowing with me, radiating from me. The total awe I experienced was like nothing else I had ever known, nothing else I had ever felt before. Consumed by the glowing aura of the Sea I allowed everything else to completely disintegrate with the fading of the spent algae.

  My newly illuminated self has awakened and I now suddenly see life just a little more clearly than before. It is as if nature has instilled in me a newfound beauty and I forever owe the world and life itself my gratitude. All life has potential to be beautiful, and if one is fortunate to recognize the opportunities, nature will lead the way to repairing oneself.

  Maddy Goss

  Accepted:UC Berkeley,Villanova,Southern Methodist University,University of Texas, Austin,University of Massachusetts, Amherst,Colorado University, Boulder,University of Oregon

  University of Alabama, Pennsylvania State University

  Attending:Pennsylvania State University

  I am a gymnast. Those four words are how I have described myself since I was five: five days a week, four and a half hours a day. I knew no other path nor would I have wanted one. The echoing gym walls, the chalk-filled musty air, and the reverberation of the floor are the descriptions that accompany my earliest memories. The joy of pleasing a coach negated the fear of a four-inch beam, four feet off the ground. However, not many have the ability to defy gravity and soon, neither did I. Upon breaking my arm, I was sentenced to immobility and a cast for six months. I was determined to come back stronger than I had ever before.

  Although I was forced to stop training through club gymnastics, I found a new, but undeveloped, gymnastics program at my high school. This offered a less demanding, more inclusive atmosphere. I initially doubted the coaches and my new teammates; however, this was disproved after a few short practices. We were immediately thrown into the competition and established a name for our up-and-coming program, attempting to be recognized for our performances.

  When first hearing the news from the doctor, I immediately thought I was done with the sport because I could no longer perform to the best of my abilities. I came to realize that all circumstances are not solely defined by being the best. I learned that leadership and supporting others can lead to just as much fulfillment; I was nominated captain of the Varsity team. As I was unable to contribute to the scoring of the team, my place came to lend more support than I could have on the floor. I helped coach and guide all through their victories, losses and injuries. I was recognized with the 2009 CIF Sportsmanship Award; I felt a strong sense of accomplishment, as I was able to help support my teammates. I never gave up trying to accomplish my goal to resume competing, though. This work paid off. The tactics endured through grueling practices and competitions offered the determination I needed to keep pushing forward and to overcome fear of potential mishaps.

  I now am able to compete all-around as three years later my elbow has fully healed. Last season I prepared long and strenuous hours to compete my favorite event, the floor exercise. I respected my coach’s guidance and my teammates reciprocated support. I pride myself with the reigning title as Avocado League Floor and Beam Champion and furthermore that of CIF Floor Exercise Champion. The season enabled me to test my limits. Various other coaches and judges realized my progress and success. I was awarded with CIF Gymnast of the Year. I came to realize my success was attributed to my teammates and coaches, whom I first second-guessed. I am no longer just one mind on the beam; I am a girl who helps all to reveal the true strength of the team behind the seemingly dusty and clouded atmosphere of the gym.

  Neela Mohan

  Accepted: Cal Poly SLO, University of California Los Angeles, University of California Berkeley, Georgetown University

  Attending: Georgetown University

  Scars

  My left knee is home to two scars. Though they look similar, each represents a different aspect of my character.

  I lined up on my P.E. number as the teacher scanned the rows and marked tardies. "We will be participating in relay races today," she announced. On the outside, I resembled my forty-odd classmates - green mesh shorts, grey polyester T-shirt, trendy bracelet - but it was my inner thoughts that set me apart from the rest of my classmates. For me, "participate" translated to "compete," and these relay races were not just easy participation points; I wanted to win.

  I selected the team that would lead me to victory and began to warm up my muscles, just as I would before one of my soccer games. When it was time for our race, my team assembled and decided that I would be the last leg of the relay; I loved the pressure. We lined up on our marks on the dirt tract and my mind instinctively focused; I envisioned myself running to the best of my ability and winning the race.

  The race was quick, and in a matter of a minute, I was clutching the baton, darting for the finish. I would not allow myself to lose; my body and my mind propelled me to the front. My eyes were glued to the caution tape posing as the finish line. And then it happened. My worn out New Balance shoes lacked the traction to grip the gravel of the dirt track, and moments before I was destined to pass my opponent, I took a long, painful, knee-scarring slide. Scar number one: competitiveness.

  But, the race was not over yet. Although blood was streaking down my dusty leg, I rose to my feet and strived to regain momentum. There were only thirty yards to go and the first place girl was now several yards my superior. It didn't matter; I was on a mission and would not give up. I gained ground until I overtook my rival. The desire in my eyes matched the smile on my face as I clinched victory and broke through the finish line a champion. And then it happened. Just when I thought the race was over, the gravel turned to ice and I took another spill. Scar number two: dedication.

  In reality, the relays might have been silly, recreational races that warranted 60% effort at best. However, I pride myself on not settling for anything short of what I know I am capable of, and this has paved the path for high standards. Whether it is playing soccer or taking a test, I aim to be the best. When I want something, I fight for it. This has allowed me to play for one of the best soccer teams in the nation and be at the top of my class. As my dedication and my competitiveness drive me through life, my scars will always be along for the ride as a constant reminder that I always compete.

  Discuss any events or special circumstances that have affected your academic record, as well as any adversities you have overcome.

  Julia Farrell

  My Life as a
n Overgrown Child

  Sometimes I wonder if living with autism forces you to live as an overgrown child.

  I know that it’s a handicap I will never get rid of. I know that I can’t read people’s intentions no matter how hard I try (and believe me, I try). I know that I come off as too enthusiastic during certain activities, and people react by trying to ignore me or staring at “the freak”. I know that I still live in daydreams of magic and superheroes.

  I have reason to worry. I have an aunt on my mother’s side and an uncle on my father’s side with some form of autism (neither have had it categorized). We’re all fans of comic books and Star Wars and Star Trek, but my aunt relies on her brothers and sisters to feed herself and her son and my uncle never moved out of his parents’ house.

  I don’t want to be like that.

  But I have hope. The TV show Bones has a lead character and supporting cast member that are believed to be autistic. The main lead has an extremely prolific career, regularly going to other countries and enjoying high government connections. The other character has a close friend that he lives with and a strong family life.

  Maybe I can be like them.

  But who I am must be considered. I wasn’t kidding about living in daydreams of magic and superheroes. For nine years and counting, I’ve turned on some music and walked in circles at any time of day, daydreaming scenes from unwritten stories. They star superheroes with amazing powers that consider themselves family and always save the day. One character that I’ve come up with in recent years is violent and sexual and unfailingly loyal, trying to hide her fears behind physical action. It’s a fragile strength, but: it is strength.