This could be my college essay?!? Version II
What do words mean to me?
My eighteen years can be best described by my long, sometimes troubled, relationship with words. Words have given me direction and profoundly shaped my life. The written word has always put me ahead of my peers, raised me up. The spoken word once isolated me, but now provides me with an avenue for achievement.
What do I mean by “words“? Quite a bit. I’m in love with rhetoric and writing, speechmaking and reading. There is nothing that mesmerizes me and moves me more than the clever and insightful use of words- in a speech or novel, or casual conversation. It doesn’t matter from where or whom it comes from. I’m wildly enchanted by Nabokov’s wordplay, and Camus’ clear moral prose. I’m the kid who sat in wondrous glee when my AP US History teacher read the ‘Cross of Gold’ speech to my class. At the same time, I have an unbridled passion for using words myself. Few exercises give me the satisfaction of that I get from writing stinging polemic. I’m the rare beast who enjoys giving speeches to large audiences. I absolutely crave the feeling I get after stringing together an artful metaphor or phrasing a biting rhetorical question.
Words have not always come easy to me. In fact, for well over half of my life I was an extremely limited communicator. I was fine with written word- an early reader, in fact. Not so lucky when it came to speech. I had a rather nasty speech impediment, coupled with a tendency to talk really, really fast (I retain that tendency to this day, but only when really excited, like when I‘m talking about Zimbabwe). It wasn’t easy to get overcome- it took me until seventh or eighth grade to feel comfortable speaking to others. I’m not going to lie- I was a very lonely kid. There was a wall between me and my peers- when I talked, they simply couldn’t understand me. It also didn’t help that I didn’t have a favorite athlete, but instead a favorite Civil War battle (Chancellorsville) and thought that shark t-shirts were mega-awesome. The speech impediment didn’t just fade either- I had to work hard. I missed hours of class, multiple days a week, to work with a speech pathologist. Each night, I had the mind numbingly boring chore of reading a word list- just repeating the same words over and over again, in hopes it would click. Eventually, it did. By the time I got to high school, it was all but gone, leaving nothing but a vestigial awkwardness in some words.
Thankfully, throughout this I was reading. A lot. In fact, I’m willing to bet few other kids have been lectured by teachers, multiple times, for reading books during class. The books weren’t trite preteen novels either. I distinctly remember being put in “timeout” for reading the Count of Monte Cristo instead of listening to a math lesson.
However, there are definitely two periods to my reading life. Before Crime and Punishment, and after. Before Crime and Punishment, I read books to pass time or distract myself. Sometimes for a good story. After Crime and Punishment, I became a literature junkie. That summer, I read some of the books that would change my life. Crime and Punishment was monumental to me, because Doesteovesky said so masterfully described the events unfolding. The story could have been about grass growing and I still would have loved it. Dosteovesky’s descriptions were brilliant and real, even in translation. I was enchanted at first glance, pushing through the book over the course of a lazy weekend.
. Soon after, I picked up Resistance, Rebellion and Death by Albert Camus. If Crime and Punishment showed me the power of words as art, Resistance, Rebellion and Death showed me the power of words as statements of one’s beliefs, and essentially, of one’s self. Camus’ clear and moral prose inspired me deeply, and forever enamored me to rhetoric as a tool of politics, especially politics of justice and ethics- the kind Camus loved.
That same love of rhetoric drove me to join my school’s Model United Nations, the best decision I’ve ever made. It was a little daunting to join a club based upon public speaking, but I forged ahead. I’m without a doubt a more complete person for it. Model United Nations hasn’t just been a club- it’s been an experience, and a life changing one at that. Through it, I’ve been able to pursue an unlikely hobby- speechmaking. I live for the feeling of power and fulfillment I get when I make a powerful speech during a debate. It’s my version of a touchdown or a buzzer beating shot. I live for the sensation I feel when as Iran I ask the United States a unanswerable question, or as Russia piece together a powerful analogy to drive my point home about nuclear proliferation. The power I feel when I address a large audience denouncing Robert Mugabe, hearing the silence of their attention, is immeasurable. I can’t help but think that it’s partially because it represents such a magnificent break with my past. Once I feared speaking privately to one classmate, now I bask in joy as I speak to 300 of my classmates.
The only future I see for myself is in words. Although I have no set occupation in my mind, a common thread amongst possible paths is their focus on words. Some days I want to be a lawyer, and defend those with nobody else to turn too, like a modern day Clarence Darrow. Sometimes I want to be a historian, and write about the people history has forgotten. One of my personal heroes is Howard Zinn, not because I agree with everything he has to say, but because he includes the perspectives of those long ignored. Other days I want to be a politician, and bring about meaningful change to my nation, change that is long overdue. I want to vocally stand up for those who lack voices, to speak out for those unable to do so. I can relate to them, even if it is on the smallest scale. Not a soul stood up for me when I was mocked for my impediment, and when my incomprehensible response were met with derisive laughter. I won’t allow that to happen on a grand social scale, as it does every day.
I want to go to the University of Chicago because I see it as a key part of all of those futures. When I look at Chicago, I see overwhelming brilliance coupled with a deep social responsibility. Both appeal to me. I don’t want to settle when it comes to college. I want a college that will challenge me; a college that will teach me. I want a college that shares my love for words, and will give me the words to change the world. I see that in Chicago. I look at the illustrious list of alumni, and see names like Vonngeut, Friedman, Bork, and Roth. Intellectual giants, some of which I deeply respect and others only begrudgingly . It shows me that Chicago produces brilliant minds, and if I hope to achieve my lofty goals, I need that. At the same time, a quick glance at the list of student organizations on campus showed me that Chicago produces strong consciousness as well. When I see organizations like the ‘Free Burma Project’ or ‘Students Take Action Now: Darfur‘, I don’t just see causes I agree with. I see that Chicago is packed with kindred souls. That means the world to me.
My eighteen years can be best described by my long, sometimes troubled, relationship with words. Words have given me direction and profoundly shaped my life. The written word has always put me ahead of my peers, raised me up. The spoken word once isolated me, but now provides me with an avenue for achievement.
What do I mean by “words“? Quite a bit. I’m in love with rhetoric and writing, speechmaking and reading. There is nothing that mesmerizes me and moves me more than the clever and insightful use of words- in a speech or novel, or casual conversation. It doesn’t matter from where or whom it comes from. I’m wildly enchanted by Nabokov’s wordplay, and Camus’ clear moral prose. I’m the kid who sat in wondrous glee when my AP US History teacher read the ‘Cross of Gold’ speech to my class. At the same time, I have an unbridled passion for using words myself. Few exercises give me the satisfaction of that I get from writing stinging polemic. I’m the rare beast who enjoys giving speeches to large audiences. I absolutely crave the feeling I get after stringing together an artful metaphor or phrasing a biting rhetorical question.
Words have not always come easy to me. In fact, for well over half of my life I was an extremely limited communicator. I was fine with written word- an early reader, in fact. Not so lucky when it came to speech. I had a rather nasty speech impediment, coupled with a tendency to talk really, really fast (I retain that tendency to this day, but only when really excited, like when I‘m talking about Zimbabwe). It wasn’t easy to get overcome- it took me until seventh or eighth grade to feel comfortable speaking to others. I’m not going to lie- I was a very lonely kid. There was a wall between me and my peers- when I talked, they simply couldn’t understand me. It also didn’t help that I didn’t have a favorite athlete, but instead a favorite Civil War battle (Chancellorsville) and thought that shark t-shirts were mega-awesome. The speech impediment didn’t just fade either- I had to work hard. I missed hours of class, multiple days a week, to work with a speech pathologist. Each night, I had the mind numbingly boring chore of reading a word list- just repeating the same words over and over again, in hopes it would click. Eventually, it did. By the time I got to high school, it was all but gone, leaving nothing but a vestigial awkwardness in some words.
Thankfully, throughout this I was reading. A lot. In fact, I’m willing to bet few other kids have been lectured by teachers, multiple times, for reading books during class. The books weren’t trite preteen novels either. I distinctly remember being put in “timeout” for reading the Count of Monte Cristo instead of listening to a math lesson.
However, there are definitely two periods to my reading life. Before Crime and Punishment, and after. Before Crime and Punishment, I read books to pass time or distract myself. Sometimes for a good story. After Crime and Punishment, I became a literature junkie. That summer, I read some of the books that would change my life. Crime and Punishment was monumental to me, because Doesteovesky said so masterfully described the events unfolding. The story could have been about grass growing and I still would have loved it. Dosteovesky’s descriptions were brilliant and real, even in translation. I was enchanted at first glance, pushing through the book over the course of a lazy weekend.
. Soon after, I picked up Resistance, Rebellion and Death by Albert Camus. If Crime and Punishment showed me the power of words as art, Resistance, Rebellion and Death showed me the power of words as statements of one’s beliefs, and essentially, of one’s self. Camus’ clear and moral prose inspired me deeply, and forever enamored me to rhetoric as a tool of politics, especially politics of justice and ethics- the kind Camus loved.
That same love of rhetoric drove me to join my school’s Model United Nations, the best decision I’ve ever made. It was a little daunting to join a club based upon public speaking, but I forged ahead. I’m without a doubt a more complete person for it. Model United Nations hasn’t just been a club- it’s been an experience, and a life changing one at that. Through it, I’ve been able to pursue an unlikely hobby- speechmaking. I live for the feeling of power and fulfillment I get when I make a powerful speech during a debate. It’s my version of a touchdown or a buzzer beating shot. I live for the sensation I feel when as Iran I ask the United States a unanswerable question, or as Russia piece together a powerful analogy to drive my point home about nuclear proliferation. The power I feel when I address a large audience denouncing Robert Mugabe, hearing the silence of their attention, is immeasurable. I can’t help but think that it’s partially because it represents such a magnificent break with my past. Once I feared speaking privately to one classmate, now I bask in joy as I speak to 300 of my classmates.
The only future I see for myself is in words. Although I have no set occupation in my mind, a common thread amongst possible paths is their focus on words. Some days I want to be a lawyer, and defend those with nobody else to turn too, like a modern day Clarence Darrow. Sometimes I want to be a historian, and write about the people history has forgotten. One of my personal heroes is Howard Zinn, not because I agree with everything he has to say, but because he includes the perspectives of those long ignored. Other days I want to be a politician, and bring about meaningful change to my nation, change that is long overdue. I want to vocally stand up for those who lack voices, to speak out for those unable to do so. I can relate to them, even if it is on the smallest scale. Not a soul stood up for me when I was mocked for my impediment, and when my incomprehensible response were met with derisive laughter. I won’t allow that to happen on a grand social scale, as it does every day.
I want to go to the University of Chicago because I see it as a key part of all of those futures. When I look at Chicago, I see overwhelming brilliance coupled with a deep social responsibility. Both appeal to me. I don’t want to settle when it comes to college. I want a college that will challenge me; a college that will teach me. I want a college that shares my love for words, and will give me the words to change the world. I see that in Chicago. I look at the illustrious list of alumni, and see names like Vonngeut, Friedman, Bork, and Roth. Intellectual giants, some of which I deeply respect and others only begrudgingly . It shows me that Chicago produces brilliant minds, and if I hope to achieve my lofty goals, I need that. At the same time, a quick glance at the list of student organizations on campus showed me that Chicago produces strong consciousness as well. When I see organizations like the ‘Free Burma Project’ or ‘Students Take Action Now: Darfur‘, I don’t just see causes I agree with. I see that Chicago is packed with kindred souls. That means the world to me.