ESSAY 1: MIT _____________________________________________________________________________________

One shake; two shakes; three shakes; “Gah! It was so close too!”. “Nope,” said my counsellor, her face set as she shot down my draft. “Trust me,” I pleaded, “keep reading.” “FOR ARCEUS’ SAKE!” I screamed internally. For the two millionth time that day, Tapu Fini broke out of the Poké Ba- “Desmond. Livingston. Edwards. You. Are. Not. Applying. To. College. With. A. Pokémon. Themed. Essay. Understood?” she enunciated. Of course, I could see where she was coming from; this was a risky venture. No sane person applies to college using Pokémon. But that was exactly why I had to be the one to do it.

My quest to capture all the Tapu legends throughout my playthrough of Pokémon Moon version had been going fairly smoothly thus far. Sure, I may or may not have gotten lost in Haina Desert on a few occasions, and had the unfortunate experience of having my system crash after a successful capture, but the three previous Tapus were captured without too much agony. Tapu Fini, on the other hand, was determined to prance all over my heart strings. It was not the first Pokémon to test my patience though; I can recall many not so fond memories of brain racking captures in the past: from FireRed’s Mewtwo, to Rayquaza in Omega Ruby, and everything in between. Nevertheless, they all eventually yielded to my resolve, and despite Tapu Fini’s stubbornness, its fate would no doubt be the same as the obstacles I had previously faced; it would be conquered.

In order to achieve this, I had to make use of a decade of experience and lessons from the series. Failure to prepare, such as neglecting to stock up on repels before exploring a cave, results in tasks becoming much more difficult or even impossible. Lack of determination, like quitting after the first failed capture, will never lead to success, and reluctance to try new strategies, for instance using the same Pokémon or the same moves without variation, will give rise to similar disappointing results. Finally, collaboration, such as two Pokémon Trainers battling side-by-side, greatly reduces the difficulty of a task.

As I progressed, however, I soon noticed that these lessons learned from Pokémon could also be applied to my life. When I failed to adequately prepare for a class, following what was being taught became exponentially more difficult; when I refused to persevere through difficult concepts, I never fully grasped them; when I clung to inefficient practices, like unending procrastination, similar negative effects recurred; and working with my peers to tackle a project, made it much less arduous than when I attempted it alone. I also recognized that these lessons would also be useful in my future career in biochemical engineering. The virtues of preparedness, determination, adaptability and cooperation are stressed very heavily in the sciences, and it is their application which tends to produce significant scientific breakthroughs. While enjoying the Pokémon franchise, I ended up conditioning my mind towards the sciences, both through the character building lessons learnt, as well as the scientific concepts present in the series, such as aspects of genetics represented by individual values (IVs), and evolution and natural selection in the evident differences based on the species’ habitats.

Pokémon has been, and always will be, a major part of who I am. Whether trying to avoid Zubats in a cave, or developing a new drug; trying to catch a legendary Pokémon, or isolating a particular gene in a genome; trying to conquer the League champion, or revolutionizing the world, the lessons I have learned will never fail. I will always remember that with enough preparation, determination, innovation and cooperation anything can be achieved. One shake; two shakes; three shakes; “Gotcha! Tapu Fini was caught!”

ESSAY 2: PRINCETON ______________________________________________________________________________

Perfection is unattainable. It’s a fact that I’m normally familiar with. But don’t try telling me that when I’m working. Graphic design is all about getting something to look a very particular way for a very particular purpose so perfection is something that I, as an amateur graphic designer, flirt with every day.

The familiar blue window opens as Photoshop starts up. New file, black canvas. Ideas start to run through my head. This shapeless void is my playground, the start of my creation. Having just been to the National Air and Space Museum in Washington D.C., I finally realised that my subject was already on the screen: space. I reach for my brush tool and place a soft white spot offset from the centre of the screen. My star. Not satisfied with it, I proceed to make it brighter, as if it would be blinding if one looked at it for too long. Rays shooting out of the screen fooling the onlooker into believing that they’re out there floating adrift in the starry sea. Every pixel in the perfect place, every ray the exact brightness to make the effect perfect.

Satisfied, I move to the next piece of the interplanetary puzzle: the planets. Perplexed, I think for a spell, “How will I solve this problem? How can I make a convincing planet?” It’s completely new to me, something I’d never done before, but the challenge tempts me, tantalises me, forces me to find a way to make it feasible. Finally, inspiration hits: a flat rock texture that’d been sitting on my hard drive waiting to be transformed. Initially, seeming like nothing more than a simple black and white texture, I twist it to my own design, the metamorphosis from flat square to disc to sphere is satisfying in the utmost. Coloured in shades of red and orange, it takes its orbit around its parent star, bathed in intense blue starlight on one side, atmosphere glowing with energy while the other is engulfed in the planet’s own shadow.

Three more planets take shape in the same fashion, all meticulously placed in their respective positions like precious stones in a king’s crown. Eager to find any flaws, I scan the image over and over, making little tweaks, changing colours. Committed to creating an image to challenge even the most breathtaking of images captured by the Hubble Space Telescope, hours fly by like solar wind. Finally I take a step back and look at my creation, the hours of eye strain entirely worth the dopamine release of viewing the final product. An image I pride myself on to this day, is it perfect? No. Can I improve it? Yes. Can I make even more impressive work now? Yes. And that’s the beauty of it.

Perfection is a myth, a fabrication, just an idea. Like an asymptote, I’ll always approach but never reach it. It's an ideal that will never allow me to rest or get complacent and will always force me to improve myself for my sake and the sake of others.

ESSAY 3: GRINNELL ________________________________________________________________________________

I’d like to think I was born in water. Sadly, I know this is not the case so I’ll settle for “thrown in at birth”. And perhaps I was. I’ve known how to swim for as long as I can remember. It’s always been a major part of my life because if I wasn’t at swimming lessons, I was competing. I joined Tornadoes Swim Club at seven years old and immediately hated it. I didn’t care that I did well or that I later made the Jamaican National Development Squad at age 10. I was always looking for some way to escape training and I believed that my talent was all I needed to stumble across any victories I encountered. I was eventually proven wrong.

When I was 14, during a training session, I discovered my arms were covered with hives. Later, it was dubbed “heat urticaria”-- I was allergic to my own body heat. Any training session was abruptly terminated by an outbreak, so I was forced to quit swimming. I felt lost during the first few months. The situation was laughable. For so long I’d wanted to eradicate the routine-- training five days a week for three hours-- but now that I finally had a legitimate excuse, I was experiencing withdrawal. Fear took over my life, putting it on hold. Even an activity as effortless as taking a walk in the sun could cause an allergic reaction. I hated myself for taking something as simple as being healthy and able to swim for granted. Though not being able to swim was unsettling, it enabled me to perceive other areas in my life that I’d previously failed to develop. With my attention diverted from swimming, I discovered an affinity for languages that I continue to pursue diligently. I also learned to appreciate my analytical mind as it relates to Mathematics, aiming and achieving first in my grade level for the CSEC examinations. I learned to struggle for success in things that I’m not naturally inclined to. Playing on, despite having a low aptitude for guitar. At some point I stopped breaking out in hives . My father speculated that the allergy had materialised out of a mental block towards swimming. I thought it seemed plausible. I decided to rejoin Tornadoes. By this time it had been two years since my first reaction and I was now ready to take on the hard work I never did when I was younger. My mind fantasised about returning to the pool and once again being on top. I was delusional. On the first day back I did half as much work as everyone else as a result of my nonexistent stamina. My coach understood the frustration that came with not being successful though I doubt she understood it emotionally. All of my friends had moved on, leaving me behind. I felt like a fourteen year old being dragged down by a sixteen year old body. I couldn’t make the movements exactly the way I wanted. I remember thinking that my talent had abandoned me and bore what was left after years of wastefulness. However, I didn’t let it hinder my ambitions. One year later, I’m able to feel myself improving though I know I still have a long journey to get to where I want to be. Sometimes, thoughts born of anxiety may surface such as “What if I never return to where I used to be?” When this musing occurs, I take a deep breath and let it go because if such ideas exist then it means that I am not working hard enough. Perhaps, I may never perform as exceptionally as when I was younger but I will persevere even if I never reclaim my position. I've decided that I am okay with that as long as the pool remains a constant in my life.

ESSAY 4: ROLLINS _________________________________________________________________________________ I have always marveled at the fact that I can capture moments, views, and natural occurrences like the perfect rainbow, not only in my mind and memory but share them with others through photography. I remember the exact moment that I took that photograph. On a trip to a small coastal town in my home, Jamaica this desire came true. Unlike my friends who are only looking for the ‘click’ that ends up on social media, I wanted to capture the essence, the very soul of the moment. That day the colors around me were dazzling. The blue water shimmered turquoise at the edge of the snow white beach, taking on deepening hues as it neared the horizon, joining with the sky in a clear shade of azul. Palm trees in deep shades of green swaying gently in the light late afternoon breeze adding color for the soon to be copper red sunset. People around me seemed to be oblivious to the ever-changing spectacle of colors. They posed in the water and flashed numerous smiles and made what was their idea of modelesque faces, taking pictures that would never have a soul or depth, just being scattered into social media, artificially and carelessly. It was then that I realized why we live in a world consumed by the idea of digital photography. We spend our time focusing on rotating, cropping, sharpening and filtering pictures, trying to create what is not there because we never value a picture or the memory for the way it was prior to editing. We want to change everything until it suits our ideas of how it should be. What about taking the world, as it is, the beautiful along with the disturbing. That afternoon I produced my first photograph that I could feel and which even made me able to recreate the smells of the sea and plants. Ever since my camera has become my constant companion, my eyes to capture the world. That’s what makes my polaroid camera distinctive; it is sentimental, imaginative, and above all, it is honest. It produces photos of moments you cannot change or edit, capturing one moment in time, in its most natural form and those photos remind me that it is okay if things are unique and for the most part, entirely imperfect. There is no delete button on a Polaroid camera; the world portrays itself as you saw it in a particular moment. Through photography and my Polaroid camera, I have found a part of who I am, a way to define myself. It has set me apart, intensified my individuality, and given me the opportunity to see the world through my own eyes, separating me from what is considered typical. To use a common expression: “what you see is what you get.”I have never been the type of person to change who I am to please other people. In that way, I am natural and “unedited” like a polaroid picture. While taking pictures on my Polaroid, I analyze what scares me, what makes me happy; what is unpredictable. I never really know how the picture I take is going to come out, however, I know it is honest. My life in that way resembles that of my camera. Whether it is through the decisions I make or the way I say things, like the instantaneous characteristic of a polaroid I am both passionate and spontaneous.

ESSAY 5: HARVARD________________________________________________________________________________

I belong in Westeros, home of the seven kingdoms. You may be wondering, why on earth would anyone want to live in George R. R. Martin’s murderous domain? Fret not, all shall be revealed. The Game of Thrones universe, demands maximization of potential at a tender age. With the threat of one’s light being snuffed out unexpectedly, frailty cannot be tolerated. You see, I was formerly your typical, timid child, ensconced under his parents’ wings. At school, home, wherever I went, I was always reclusive. I liken myself to Sansa Stark, who endured betrothal to the embodiment of depravity himself—King Joffrey. Despite not suffering the daily sadistic whims of a prepubescent tyrant, I have weathered my own mental torture. Can you imagine being elected to a position that forces you to tackle your greatest fear on a weekly basis? Well, that was me. I detested public speaking, crowds, everything that involved interactions with unfamiliar people. After being elected to the Student Council, I promptly attempted to decline but the powers that be—my 8th grade teacher—would allow no such thing. She saw within me what I hadn’t seen in myself. So here I was, having to make weekly presentations to piercing eyes. At the time, even death seemed a less injurious punishment, but I had no choice. Eventually, the trembling of my hands morphed into reinforcing gestures and my cracking voice became forceful with epithets of confidence. The Westerosi also cherish freedom in thought. So much so, that those who think differently become ‘grand-maesters’, second only to the monarch. I too value liberated thinking. I will not deceive you in saying that I was never one of the automatons typically mass-produced by the Jamaican educational system. I was, and I was highly praised for my ability to regurgitate facts verbatim. This changed when I represented Jamaica at the London International Youth Science Forum, travelling alone for the first time, abandoning the safety net of my parents and friends. The paradigm shift from discussing celebrity gossip with peers, to debating the proprietorship of King Richard III’s remains with Dr. Turi King, imbued within me an introspective nature and curiosity. Subsequently, I undertook an interdisciplinary and explorative approach to life; becoming academically and socially independent. The homogeneity that pervaded my daily environs was shattered. I was no longer solely surrounded by conservative Christian values. I was now rubbing shoulders with individuals of contrasting ideals and beliefs, persons who were different from me—and I reveled in it. Sure, I may have been questioned—rather drilled—but it forced me to think, discern, and question what I stood for and why. In hindsight, the utopia (or as some would prefer—hell) of Westeros would have undoubtedly banished my former self to ‘the wall’ (where the unpardonable are sent to live out their days). Do I wish I had changed earlier? Yes. If I inhabited this cutthroat realm, would I have changed earlier? Maybe. I do know that if I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be writing to you today. Survival of the fittest is often viewed as brutal, but I see it more as the forging flames of a blacksmith. Exhale, I’m not heartless. In my formulation of this principle, those deemed unworthy by the selection pressure are not exterminated, rather they are thrust into the purging flames perpetually until they have been moulded into better versions of themselves, like Tywin Lannister's melting of his Valyrian sword to create improved dual blades. Finally, the Westerosi saying, “Brace yourself, winter is coming!” is especially applicable to my life not only because I, an islander, am preparing to experience the coldest temperatures of my life, but also because it empowers me to strive for the greater in all pursuits.

ESSAY 6: UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO BOULDER_________________________________________________________

Poker, like poker players, is a deceptive beast. The game seems simple on paper, but becomes complex in practice. My hopes of becoming a poker prodigy were quickly crushed as it became clear that I would UFC be exempt from the steep learning curve that most beginners face. I began spending most of my time studying strategies, and honing my mental calculation abilities. As I became more familiar with the game, my performance improved until I eventually plateaued. Game after game, I suffered recurring losses to hands that should have been easy wins. I began watching live games and interviews with professional players, in the hopes that I could adopt some of their winning traits. As I hovered on the brink of giving up the sport, I stumbled upon an interview with a famous poker player. It was thirty minutes of poker advice, that had nothing to do with strategy or calculations, but rather the psychology of poker- the main tenet being never second guess yourself.

It was then that I recognized the self-doubt that plagued my decision-making at the table. I was always able to play the hand well enough, until a pivotal decision presented itself. I would begin to second guess myself as the pressure built, resulting in checking or even folding a hand that I should have won. I began to notice that the self-doubt that plagued my poker game also plagued many aspects of my life. I loved to tell jokes and stories, but only around people who I knew would laugh. I refused to make announcements during my school’s assembly. My constant self-doubt had held me back for my entire life. I decided to fix this, starting with poker. Having studied all the strategy and psychology, I forced myself to become a decisive player. If a large bet were placed on the table, I’d analyze the aggressor as thoroughly as possible. No detail was too small. If his eyes were looking away from me, that’s usually a sign of weakness, but for more experienced players it could be a form of reverse psychology. Since I don’t know my opponent’s skill level, I discard this potential piece of evidence and scan again. I sometimes notice a slight twitch. Like when the body begins to shiver, certain body parts can move against that person’s will when they are uncomfortable. Unlike eye contact, a twitch cannot be easily faked. Rid of self-doubt, I don't second guess myself. With the little information I have, there are only three potential moves. To fold would be a significant loss. Matching their bet in a call would result in future skepticism because it would mean I wasn’t confident enough to raise, but a raise would be nothing more than a blunt gamble, and I hate gambling. The time comes to make my move. I decide that folding would be a quick death, rather than potentially suffering an even bigger loss. Since I don’t plan on dying just yet, I eliminate folding. Eventually I take a risk, but not a gamble. I call my opponent, making an effort to remain confident as the cards are revealed. He shows his cards, revealing a hand much stronger than mine. However, not all is lost. Although I was confident in my decision, and still ended up failing, this is only one of many hands in a game. I remain content with my decision because I did my best with the information available to me. If I second guessed every hand in a game, there would be no way to ever be successful. Like hands in a poker game, there are many instances in life where difficult choices must be made and risks taken. I’m no longer afraid to speak publicly, or to tell jokes amongst strangers. Sometimes the joke will hit, and sometimes it will miss, but I’m never afraid to take a crack at it.

ESSAY 7: DUKE____________________________________________________________________________________ My lungs aching and limbs burning, I climbed out of the pool, still staring in disbelief at the scoreboard. I just swam out of lane three, and right beside that three was another three, indicating third place. I should have felt pride, but I only felt fatigue. My entire body was hot and my breathing refused to steady or slow. The congratulations from my teammates sounded like one big distant voice, though they were right beside me; probably because I was concentrating on staying upright. But before I could sit, my coach shoved a Gatorade bottle into one hand and my relay teammate took the other and pulled me along to the starting blocks. I just limped along with her, struggling to sip from the bottle I could barely hold upright. Then, I heard the whistle command me to return to the blocks for my next race-- my second within the last five minutes. Qualifying for the CARIFTA Games was the ultimate culmination of months of strengthening and training I had endured. My coaches gave me a choice regarding the events I would swim. I could swim ten events, or just six. It was anticipated that I would medal in the first six events. I could reach the finals in the extra four events, but it was likely that I would not place between first and third. The points won from reaching the finals could, however, contribute towards Team Jamaica on a whole, but competing in ten events would definitely be a gruelling task.

There is a difference between participating and being truly engaged, and I believe one of my defining qualities is the level of commitment I give to everything I do. Unfortunately, my insistence on being engaged and my willingness to sacrifice prove to be my fatal flaws. I consistently prioritize the group above myself as an individual, and though this may seem noble, it can be a hindrance to my personal; mental, physical and spiritual development. As an athlete, you’re constantly told the cliche, ‘there’s no ‘I’ in team,’ and for years I internalized this and wouldn’t consider making a decision based solely on my wants or needs. Events and responsibilities were always piled upon me, and because I enjoy working as a part of something bigger than myself, I did not blink an eye.

That is, until those CARIFTA Games. Studying the times of my competitors in other nations encouraged me, because I was slowly but surely passing everyone in my strongest events.So when presented with the opportunity to contribute a little more to my team, saying no was not an option.

However, as I mounted the block for the second time in five minutes, I thought to myself: ‘this is madness’. I swam my heart out in that race, only to finish my leg in fourth place, when I was should have finished in second. The fatigue from my bronze medal swim prevented me from swimming as I should have in the relay. Spreading myself too thin is a bad habit of mine. At times it feels like I have not realized my full potential in anything I am involved in because I’m never completely focused on one thing in particular.

I would never say I regret the choice I made. Although I only earned three medals, I helped to increase Team Jamaica’s standing. The decision stimulated self-reflection and ultimately a change within me. I still throw myself into the work I do, but on occasion I also make decisions that are solely in my best interest and I encourage other individuals to do the same. It is a delicate balance, being a part of a group, and it is undeniably important and difficult to strike that balance. I have yet to achieve it, but everyday I grow closer to that perfect harmony.

ESSAY 8: UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND_________________________________________________________________

It was just three weeks into getting my driver’s license, and it had already been the twelfth case of a car “following me”, however this time (like every other time) I knew it was legitimate. With my eyes keenly glued to the rear-view mirror more often than on the road itself, this suspicious car was definitely on my tail. Left, right, down the hill, around the corner, and even swiftly past the gas station, the car followed me closely. At the stop light now, near to my destination, I ask myself two very important questions, “Do I continue on to my friend’s house and let this psychopath killer capture me or do I make my way to the nearest police station?” As the opposite stop light turns amber, there is little to no time to determine my fate before the traffic light flashes green. Intimidated, of course, I decide to take a detour. I see that the car is no longer in my rear view mirror. Cheeks flushed, I register that this was just another false alarm. It’s quite an odd combination to be too observant and to overthink. I can relay numerous scenarios where this combo has landed me in painfully embarrassing situations. My family and friends never seemed to understand what goes through my head nor the reasons why. “You’re so weird”, “it’s not that serious”, oh and who could forget “Just get over it, this is silly” - as if ‘getting over it’ was that easy! I like to think that perhaps my same suspicious attitude and slight paranoia also makes me perceptive (and may possibly even save my life one day). Who knows, I might just be rescued from a fender bender by carefully observing my mirrors. Off the bat, it may seem like an unfavorable trait, but I have matured to appreciate my innate ability to notice fine detail. How else could I have survived being perfect for more than half the years of my high school life? With my penetrating eye, I can spot infringements like ankle socks that are against the dress code and gum chewing from miles away; I can discern whether one’s uniform skirt is less than the specified two inches below the knee and; I can even spy a tiny extra earring glistening in the distant sun. By paying close attention to detail I find that my judgment of character is spot on. Noticing and analyzing people’s body language and behavior, I can decipher their intentions and consciously surround myself with those who radiate positive energy (most of the time!). Being around the right people allows room for personal growth - whether spiritually, physically, or mentally. I expect to continue using this ability to discriminate in college - from choosing courses to choosing friends. While I hope to take risks, and I won't always make the right choices, I know that I can depend on my discernment to make strong choices. Little miss paranoid, that’s who I am. I hold my meticulousness liable. Though some may consider it a curse, to me it’s a blessing and somewhere in all the madness, I do find a balance. Just as Usain Bolt has perfected his stride, I will perfect mine. I will take pride in being able to see what others miss - in college and beyond.

ESSAY 9: ITHACA__________________________________________________________________________________ What drives you? What’s your passion? What keeps you motivated? These three questions have been long asked by men and women since the dawn of time. While some of us may have been born with the answers, others have journeyed to them, many times being thrown into blind panic when the answers seem lost. I wanted to find my answers to these questions, so I embarked on one of the most fulfilling adventures of my life, that of finding my passion. The thought of realizing my passion excited me, but I didn’t know where to start. My family was ripe with musical talent, so I was expected to follow suit. Although I loved music, I felt the need to break away from what was familiar and do something different - try something new. With this in mind, I figured I’d try a more hands-on activity, possibly a sport like Football. So, I joined my high school team and devoted myself to the practice sessions. Day after day, I immersed myself in football strategies, being washed in the heat of the sun with sweat trickling down my back, running laps until my legs felt numb - it was intense. Then one afternoon at practice, I saw the perfect shot. I aligned myself, the ball and goal squarely in my view. With all the drive my right foot could channel, I powered the ball at my target and suddenly found myself staring up at the sky. Not only did I completely miss the ball, I had fallen flat on my back. As I laid there, eyes fixed above, I realized it was the perfect time for defeat to get me, but I knew that this was a journey. On any journey there is always the possibility of making a wrong turn, but a wrong turn doesn't mean you’re lost forever. There are side roads, back alleys and bridges that can take you exactly to where you need to go, so it was time for me to realign my directions. How about trying another road? I thought to myself. Who knows, it may lead me exactly where I need to be. So I put my goals into my pocket and journeyed down another path. Even though I had been resolute in avoiding the arts, I still felt an undeniable calling to be involved. I mulled over all sorts of ideas that popped into my head. Then the light bulb flickered on, why not try acting? My ears perked up and my interest piqued. I decided to audition for my first play, desperately hoping to get a role. I recall anticipating the phone call to deliver whether or not I had been accepted. It was a nerve racking experience; it felt like an eternity. But once they finally called, they informed me that I got in, I was fired up. Even though I only received a spot in the choir to sing the chorus, I found that simply being involved was enough. Lead role or chorus, I had fallen in love with acting. As I dove deeper and got lead roles, I realized that acting provided me with a platform to make a real impact. I found that I wanted to change lives and raise awareness about real issues often ignored by the noise of society. I had finally found my passion, and engaged in it purposefully; it became an integral part of my life. I no longer felt directionless, or worried about failing. This aspect of my journey came to a fulfilling end. It is a well-known fact that water always finds its level; I find that so it is with people, we always find our level.

ESSAY 10: NEW YORK UNIVERSITY____________________________________________________________________

Walking into Studio 1B, I scanned the foreign faces that surrounded me: some admired themselves in the reflection of the glass door, others were biting their nails and tapping their feet restlessly; another group stretched on the floor in the midst of casual conversation. After about 30 minutes, during our first water break, I tried to get more familiar with the girls who I would be dancing with everyday for 2 weeks of my summer. I couldn’t help but notice a group standing about a foot from me by the barre; they seemed so confident. “She obviously hasn’t been doing ballet since she was born, like us. We should show her up,” they whispered. I felt so out of place. They bragged about their countless national trophies and gossiped about the girls who couldn’t do perfect triple pirouettes, while I admired the detailed design of the floor and was fascinated by the size of the studio. Growing up in Jamaica, I’d never seen anything like this. For them, this was everyday life. As the pianist played, they gracefully glided across the room; I felt a heart-wrenching pain brewing in my chest.

Prancing across the studio, their fluidity and emotion-filled movements translated effortlessly from the centre of the room to the end of the barre. And, despite my greatest efforts, I could not help but admire their poise and beauty. Immediately, I began to question myself. I wondered how it could be fair for them to be so unfriendly, but to also have such stellar talent. However, instead of focusing on their displeasurable qualities, I decided to think about everything I could learn from these girls; it didn’t matter how negatively I may have felt about them in the moment. The way they honed their craft was something I needed to do as well. After my summer intensive, I knew introspection was necessary. I remembered all the times I could have possibly learnt from people, but was reluctant because of their negative attitude towards me. It was my responsibility however to appreciate both the good and seemingly “bad” in others, as we are all products of our experiences. I would lose out on major opportunities if I allowed my emotions to dictate my response to persons because of their behaviour. It was a hard, but invaluable lesson. I realized that this was somewhat of a pattern for me - I thought of my growing lack of enthusiasm in my Business course for example. Perhaps it was up to me to make a connection with the teacher I found a bit unapproachable, instead of just accepting it. When school re-started, I resolved to change my perspective, and although it was hard, I knew it was possible AND necessary for my own learning. More and more, I came to know that I couldn’t give up every time I encountered uncomfortable situations or

personalities. It was my duty to see and act beyond my emotions. It was difficult, but a challenge that I was willing to embrace. As someone desiring to become a global citizen in my pursuit of International Relations, these experiences have helped me to realize that throughout my interactions, I must put my assumptions aside and be willing to appreciate persons for how/what they may be able to contribute to a cause, despite how difficult it may be to get along with them. Now, with my teacher for example, I find myself focusing more on the content of her lessons, rather than how I feel about her. In doing so, I’ve realized that the vast amount of knowledge and skillset that she wishes to share with us is much more valuable than I had thought. Furthermore, I daily remind myself that beyond our individual traits and/or beliefs, people are united by our common

desire for development, and the fulfillment of this outweighs any disputes we may have with one another.

ESSAY 11: FLORIDA INTERNATIONAL UNIVERSITY_______________________________________________________ The day of the finals arrived. It was a piping hot day but nothing held me back from getting on to the pitch. The whistle blew to signal the start of the match and my team briskly got on the field. As we were about to start the match, my coach came up to me and said, “You know, you have the potential to be a lot better if you could just lose a little weight.” Honestly, while I had recognized that I wasn’t as fit as the other boys on the team, it had never occurred to me to lose weight. I was always a fat kid growing up, but I never took into consideration the effect it had on my athleticism. About a week after the talk, I realized that if I ever wanted to reach my full potential in soccer, I would have to lose a few pounds. One day after school, I stared at the treadmill that had sat on the patio for my entire life, never touched by my own hands. After some mental struggle, I finally pushed myself to climb on for the first time ever. It was easily the most boring thing I have ever done. My memory of that first week of running is vivid. The twenty-minute sessions I set for myself daily felt like hours. My stamina was so low at that point that I had to take breaks every five minutes, unable to run any longer. Despite my hesitation, I trained myself to run for 20 minutes every night after I finished my homework; I never, ever cut the time short, no matter what. Running had never been an activity I found fun; actually, it had always been something I dreaded. Making it a part of my daily routine took a lot out of me mentally as I really had to “put my mind to it” to achieve the goal. However, after months of training, I grew to love running as it became second nature. To this day, I still use the treadmill daily. Once I realized that running improved not only my physical stamina, but my mental stamina and courage, I loved it even more. Five months passed and after nights of listening to the sweet sound of reggae music and smelling the air, salty from my sweat, I started to see a dramatic weight loss that encouraged me to run more instead of quitting just because I reached my weight loss goal. Seeing the results made me want to set more goals pertaining to running such as trying to run for a longer time or at higher speeds. But more than that, the process of losing weight changed my outlook on life on a whole.

On the pitch I was a different person. More than just running faster and scoring more goals, I became a better leader, mentoring younger players who, like I once did, lacked focus and drive. At one point, one of my younger teammates had not been playing with enough effort and everybody was getting frustrated with him. Instead of denigrating him like everybody else, I had a talk with him and told him a motivating manner-- “Dylan, tune out everybody and play your best, because we both know that you can play very well, so get your head in the game and focus on your actions and decisions.” It never took long for him to start playing like he normally does, just because an elder came up to him and gave him some advice. After reflecting on the new step I’ve taken in my life, I’m glad that I can now share my experience with other people and be a mentor for kids who struggled like I did.

ESSAY 12: COLUMBIA______________________________________________________________________________ They called me Black Adam, or Bladam for short. Granted they were not completely wrong-- my name is in fact Adam and I am black; however, this oversimplification of my identity, thrusted upon me by my peers, had an impact on my psyche that was much more complex than the level of creativity that had to be mustered in order to generate my nickname. It was day one of rehearsals for the school musical, and I had signed up to be on the crew. I walked into the auditorium and immediately had a rush of excitement come over me. In front of me were endless opportunities for success within the department, and the prospect of making new friends was alluring. I was put on a team tasked with the job of constructing a colossal pirate ship, and coincidentally, one of my team members was also named Adam. Someone would yell out “Adam!” and both my name sharing comrade and I would respond. Eventually, the other crew members came to a consensus that one of us would have to be called something else or we would spend the entire show in bewilderment. Naturally, one of us was given a nickname and that lucky recipient was me. From the moment I heard someone call me Bladam, I knew I did not like it. It stemmed from a much different place than a normal nickname like Lizzy from Elizabeth. My nickname was based on a physical attribute that I had no control over. The fact that the other student was still called Adam, but I had to be Bladam, made me feel like I was less than him. Why did my identity have to change, but his did not? For the first time I saw how society automatically thinks of white as the default, or the norm, from which anything else is a deviation. Toward the end of my time on the crew of that production, I decided to read The Color Purple by Alice Walker. This novel is centered on multiple different themes ranging from family to violence but the aspect of this novel that really spoke to me was the self-love radiating from the main protagonist, Celie. As I watched Celie rise up from a life of abuse and racism to a life of success and happiness, I felt empowered. How could I let people call me Bladam knowing it came from a place of ignorance? Tolerating this went against everything I learned from Celie. I immediately switched gears. The first time I pushed back against this nickname my peers gave me was when a fellow crew member called me Bladam in a casual conversation. My response to him was, “Who is Bladam?” He laughed and I continued with, “No seriously who is Bladam? I’m Adam but I don’t know who Bladam is.” After this interaction I felt so revitalized. I took back my identity, and for the first time expressed that I would no longer allow people to reduce me to a stereotype. Making me feel like I was nothing more than the color of my skin may not have been the intention of all the crew members. Their subconscious decision to select Bladam, a simplistic two syllable six letter word, however, is the epitome of profiling that takes place when someone meets me for the first time. My name is Adam. I am black. But that is not the extent of my existence. Celie taught me how to transcend this labelling, and once I accomplished that the people around me took notice and began to see me for more than my race. No longer was I the butt of endless black “jokes” or told I resemble celebrities with whom all I shared was skin color. Bladam died and once again I was simply Adam.

ESSAY 13: NOTRE DAME____________________________________________________________________________ “Scuba diving?” my brother asked. “Yep, here at Iberostar you can get fully certified by doing a short course,” the attendant replied. “Mom, Dad, can I do the course? Please, pretty please?” He pleaded. My parents turned to each other, eyebrows raised. After speaking to the attendant for what seemed like an eternity, they issued an ultimatum. “Here’s the deal- we don’t want to supervise you guys all over the place so you can only do the course if all three of you do it together.” Images of newspaper articles and TV shows with shark attacks flew through my mind. I envisioned my regulator falling out and being too far down to reach the surface. “C’mon David, do I ever ask you to do anything?” My brother was not letting this go. I wanted to respond, “Every day,” because, in reality, he always asks me to do things, but not being in the mood for an argument, I just shrugged my shoulders. “Think about all the cool things you could see!” he prodded further. I mulled the idea over for some minutes, shocking even myself when I decided to do the course so that my siblings could take advantage of this opportunity. Right after lunch, we went to the dive shop for an introductory course and the list of requirements. After going through the list of dives that were scheduled, I was feeling a little excited, but then the divemaster walked in with three rather large books and I looked at the first objective on the list-- “Read the dive book in preparation for a theory exam.” My jaw dropped. Hours later I wished I had spent a couple more minutes considering my decision. While I was enjoying the company of my dive book, people were enjoying the sun outside. For the cause, I spent my ‘vacation’ in a cycle of wake up, eat, study, eat, study, and repeat. The next couple days were a mix of emotions as I grew frustrated with the immense amount of reading that was required but also excited about the possibilities I began to see. As I went on more dives, got more comfortable underwater, and saw more marine life, I gained more motivation to succeed in the course. Days later, the theory exam sat on the table before me. I didn’t think I would care about the exam but after growing to love diving, I was dying to get certified. After that section, we took to the sea for our practical and the sea breeze calmed my nerves. Losing my regulator was one of my biggest fears about scuba diving and it took all my courage to remove and replace my regulator but everything else was a breeze. After the practical test we enjoyed the first completely relaxed dive of the vacation and it turned out to be the best as we saw turtles, eels and stingrays. The experience got even better the next day when we found out that we passed. As I look back on the whole thing now, I can definitely say I’m happy I got certified because despite the fun it sucked out of that vacation, it gave me the opportunity to enjoy so many relaxing dives on other vacations. The process taught me that being open to new experiences can provide great opportunities for adventure that I would never have seen as an option before. Now, I’m more receptive to new ideas and pursuits. I’ve gone from a child who would write off anything unfamiliar, to a young man who’s excited about learning how to cook, how to be a mentor, and how to learn from people with different perspectives. Scuba diving went from being a spur of the moment sacrifice, to being a passion and an amazing source of relaxation for me. I’m definitely grateful to my brother, not such a bad vacation after all.

ESSAY 14: COLUMBIA______________________________________________________________________________ Excitement radiated off me. It was my first day of seventh grade at a new school-- St. Andrew High School -- and we were introducing ourselves. I’d just completed my self-introduction when my teacher asked whether I’d lived in Jamaica my entire life. When I responded, “Yes,” she continued, “Wow, I would’ve never expected that.” I didn’t understand the comment then, but I knew the girls snickering in the back did. I shrugged it off, determined that this affront wouldn’t ruin my day. While I knew I was more sheltered than most kids, it had never been held against me until then. If I didn’t recognize a dance, I was laughed at. If I didn’t say something a certain way, I was mocked. I’ve always strongly identified as Jamaican. It’s the only home I have ever known. It’s the only place where I can immediately determine the best back roads to avoid rush-hour madness. I understand the local language Jamaicans call Patois. I am Jamaican; however, I wasn’t considered authentically Jamaican at St. Andrew. This treatment forced me into a shell, and I became accustomed to being alone. Though my love for books sprang from this period of my life, I wouldn’t ask questions in class, or speak out about things that genuinely interested me because each time I’d be met with backlash. Throughout this period, I wondered why no one ever spoke up; teachers and older students witnessed the harsh treatment I experienced every day. However, on some level I knew, as I never forgot the day I played silent witness to bullying. “Ahhhh, look at that girl’s dirty shoes!” Shadé shrieked. My “friends” and I had approached a little girl covered in playground dust as she played on the swings. Consequently gliding behind their victorious leader, my friends’ laughter followed behind her. I still remember the sadness on the girl’s face as she realized that it was her shoes we were referring to. As the youngling’s eyes teared up, I knew I could never again call those bullies friends. Trudging back to my classroom, I cursed myself for my silence. In some ways I understood why others would stay silent, whether it was the fear of not fitting in or of joining me on the other side of the comments. However, remembering the incident with that little girl, I decided I would no longer be the shy girl who bit her tongue whenever she had something to say. Years later, I witnessed an aggressive ninth grader and a group of silent witnesses viciously make fun of a seventh grader. The victim, obnoxiously weighed down by his bag, wore brown glasses and a uniform one size too big, and a bit overworn. I stood a few feet away, watching as these ninth graders approached him. The verbal attack began-- “Hey, need a new uniform? I got a few extra if you want.” “Your mom make that bag for you or you actually paid for that?” Laughter erupted as the little boy desperately try to escape the abuse. Watching this, I recalled the little girl, the tears streaming down her face, and I knew that I had to stop them. So I stepped in. I could immediately see the look of fear cross their faces. The strength of my words struck them. After reprimanding the leader and sending him to the principal's office, I spoke with the silent boys. They all confessed to feeling guilty, and I encouraged them to find a new friend-- someone who pushed them in the right direction. I also told them about my own experience, and how eliminating negative people from my life had benefited me. For weeks to come, I never saw any of those boys together, and while it was rewarding to use my own voice for good, the real win was that I had encouraged others to do the same.

ESSAY 15: PRINCETON______________________________________________________________________________

What is your superpower? When I was asked this seemingly elementary question, I was surprised at the emptiness that clouded my mind. I initially thought of the superheroes that I’d been exposed to: the Flash’s super speed or Hulk’s extraordinary strength, but my knowledge of such things expanded only so far. With my small frame, 20/80 vision and mediocre physical strength, I highly doubted that I would find my gift in the dynamic realm of fiction. However, the fearlessness with which Thor wielded his hammer and the precision of Green Arrow’s bow, made me think of the first time I held my violin. I was standing in the center of my kitchen with feet apart as I used two rulers to practice on my makeshift violin. At

five years old, I was overcome with uncontrollable excitement in anticipation of my first violin class, so of course, I had to be prepared. I had always thought that I had chosen violin, especially since I had demanded it to be mine. Now I know that it was the violin that had done the demanding. As I place my violin under my chin to perform I try to tell a story, sometimes formulated from the depths of my imagination. I often ponder over the marvel of music. Even without words, it has the power to open minds and hearts and share the stories of diverse people. When I perform abroad, the differences in belief systems, culture and lifestyle that often separate us seem to fade and the lessons from these travels stay within me as I remain imbued with the cultures that I fold up and take home with me every year. However as my experiences in the classical world grew, I began to long for that understanding of Jamaican culture. In all my music-related travels, I became tired of being the only “raisin in the bread” surrounded by those whose language and demeanor were out of sync with my own. Looks of sheer horror and confusion were regular responses when I shared my abysmal love for oxtail and beans, because who in their right mind ate an ox’s tail? As I grappled with my inner turmoil, I ruminated on the significance of this struggle. I felt like Kara Danvers as she navigated the ropes of her Supergirl double-life. Though I was not troubled with saving the world from impending doom, I did often hide behind the comfort that fitting in afforded me in the same way that SuperGirl hid behind her glasses. But like SuperGirl, I could not hide forever and I began to crave sharing my experiences and love for classical music at home and my culture while abroad. These two disparate worlds had become the things that defined me at my core. I am a lover of everything classical but I am also defined by the cadence of my speech and richness of my skin. The power that I wield through my violin would not be power at all without the guidance of my cultural identity. This synergy of my loves has motivated me to expand my knowledge of the world and allowed me to experience it through a unique lens that has shaped my perspective on life. The cultural capital I’ve acquired has allowed me to bridge the gap between the aristocratic culture of classical music and the dynamic culture of Jamaica. With one foot on either side of the bridge and hands outstretched I am constantly trying to connect the people and ideals of these two worlds in my life and theirs. So when asked the profound question, what is my superpower? I think, as my bow lands on the final chord of the Bruch Violin Concerto and I smile at the myriad of faces in the audience, that it’s the undeniable fact that I am a girl of two worlds--living in both but existing in one.

ESSAY 16: LAFAYETTE______________________________________________________________________________

My skin, injected with a generous amount of sun, illuminated the atmosphere all about me. My body glistened in its home-made oil, as my heart powered through the game. It was now the third quarter and the sweat rallied at the crown of my head, streaming down my face. Focused. I went on-side once more, cautiously toeing the line and eagerly awaiting the “hwis” that echoes the start of play. I was off! I blazed past my opponent into the centre third of the court. Fearless. As my sneakers made intricate music with the warm concrete, my arms pumped, and my knees bent. I catapulted towards the ball, flying through the air to meet its projectile motion and reacquaint it with gravity. But my opponent was more ready than I. Instantly, almost magically, she appeared and intercepted the ball - my ball. I was spellbound. My eyes were wide shut, blinded by failure. I felt as though I let my team down, but unbeknownst to me, one of my greatest lessons was about to unfold. I lay still, contemplating the many losses I’ve endured throughout my life. Being the daughter of a single mother, I steadily found ways of helping to ease the financial trepidation that bound us. I had to be resourceful. I entered pageants, essay and debating competitions, and acted in a local TV series as well as theater productions. I was willing to go out on a limb for opportunities that could really improve my life - our lives. And now my sixth form education, one of the most critical periods in my academic career, dangled a huge price tag before our eyes - well, game on! My eyes and ears were alert for the next opportunity. Instagram buzzed beneath my fingertips and I jolted to a

pause. A scholarship! I found my solution, and immediately went to work. Play by play I constructed my essay, perfectly positioning each word like the players in a back line drill. Three passes until the shot - reread, revise, restructure, submit. Confident. But weeks passed in silence. Then I saw it - the list of scholarship winners. I immediately recognized the final name on the list. It was not mine. It belonged to someone with whom I worked. She had gotten the scholarship - my scholarship. In the periphery of my mind, I had heard my coach bellow, “Mark it back!” I was too busy being angry with myself for allowing the opponent to take possession of my ball. “Mark it back!” The instructions came again with a volume, pitch and rigidity that had increased tenfold.This time, I was home alone, lying in bed with tears cascading down my cheeks. I cringed at the thought of hearing the command again, so I quit beating up on myself and marked it back. It was then I realized that the netball court is no longer an enclosed space with two poles erected at both ends - the court is real life. I revisited their page and this time I saw my name! The post read, “We’ll be awarding the fourth and final scholarship this Saturday. Come prepared for an interview!” I suited up and did my best. I didn’t receive the fourth scholarship, but instead walked away as the fifth (bonus) scholarship recipient; I changed the game. Life is a series of events - many not unfolding as planned. There’ll be losses, setbacks, disappointments, anger and

sometimes even hopelessness. But there comes a timer when the pity stops, and determination must take over. Netball has granted me more than free lunches and authorised absences, but also life lessons. There will be challenges - badgering myself is useless. It’s better if I transform those losses into fuel that drives me to work twice as hard, twice as smart and twice as diligent. So, I refuse to waste time or stop working at my goal, until the final whistle is sounded.

ESSAY 17: COLUMBIA______________________________________________________________________________

When my mom said that the car was overheating one morning, it was not a major concern. It only arrested my attention when the car broke down on the stretch of a major road leading to my high school, Campion College. Campion is a prominent school with many students from privileged socioeconomic backgrounds. With this in mind, I fought the urge to feel inferior as my mother's discolored car pulled in to collect me daily, and I ignored any assumptions others might make based on its appearance. As my mother pulled over, every part of me cringed. She exited our Lancer and inspected the car’s engine. I watched her and hoped that somehow she wouldn’t say what I didn’t want to hear. She poked her head through the window and said, “Shan you need to stand on the sidewalk so that your ride can see you.” I blankly stared at her; what an appalling solution. I reluctantly grabbed my school bag and came out of the car. My heart pumped faster with every stride that I made to the sidewalk, and while standing there, I checked my watch every minute, wondering when my ride would rescue me. Fortunately, I was saved by a fellow Campionite. Unfortunately, he was a popular, attractive boy that was in a higher grade than me. I wanted to curl up into a ball and drown in my own tears. When I encountered the same boy during school I thought that he wouldn't acknowledge me ,but he did, revealing to me that he didn’t care. It dawned on me then that I had made my own insecurities create predetermined beliefs of peoples’ views of me, which negatively affected me. It was now fourth form, the start of my senior years at Campion and I was still the girl who deliberately missed on opportunities because of my fear of being seen. I really wanted to change but I couldn't find the willpower to actually make that change. I attempted to talk to more persons but I quickly retreated to my introverted self. Out of desperation, when all hope was lost the don't care mode was formed.The “don’t care mode” is a mental state that i harnessed to effectively get things done. I created this zone in order to unleash my bold and fearless self. It starts with me analyzing all the pros and the cons that will result from me doing the task. This usually leads to a Eureka moment that I am preventing myself from making use of an opportunity to grow as a person. I then make the simple yet difficult decision to enter the don't care mode. With every exhalation after the decision I become more and more courageous. My thoughts become filled more with the task at hand and less of my ideas of persons opinions. With this new method of facing my fears, I’ve been able to maximize my Campion experience because I am willing to take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself. Whether it be to volunteer to say a motivational speech for assembly or to participate in cheerleading even though I’m not the best dancer. I have become a leader who performs her duties well because I’m able to be who I am, and I consider other people’s unknown backgrounds, always taking into account the fact that I do not know their adversities. Through the don’t care mode, I now know that I am worthwhile not because of what I have or what I know, but

simply because I exist; because I am human. Due to this very fact, I am driven more than ever to keep on climbing over every mountain of fear because whatever lies on the other side of each of those mountains is so much greater.

ESSAY 18: NORTHWESTERN_________________________________________________________________________

I sat at the then large dining table at my grandmas house. From all sides I was surrounded by old people. My 11 year old brain couldn't imagine being 23, my brother's age, much less 70 like my grandma. They all talked feverishly while shoveling food into their mouths. Topics from vast areas of interest were being discussed from literature to crime to domino games - not one opinion or comment was left out. I didn't dare comment because my prepubescent mind couldn't even begin to understand discussions of societal construct. But I listened carefully, taking it all in - the reasoning of opinions, then agreements and then further questions. A cycle of discourse; it was amazing! The most heated discussion I'd had at school was about my sticker collections, so this environment was a new and fascinating one which I couldn't wait to take part in.

As the years passed by, my points of view became more sophisticated and the dining table got smaller as I grew physically. Something else had changed, the adults started turning to me for my opinion! My Uncle Tony’s eyes genuinely searched for my outlook of the topic of discussion. My brain sorted through all the data that had been acquired through the years of listening in history and social studies classes, and my mind tried to pull files from all the general discussion I had observed. My response was scattered with spacers such as , “um and like” in attempt to gather my thoughts, but in spite of this my answer was understood and the discussion carried on. I leaned back in my chair and felt appreciate, valued satisfied with my participation. Mummy glanced at me with approval and turned back to the conversation. I started training my brain for the next marathon of discussions . In all areas of conversation I engaged myself. In my math and biology classes I paid close attention to the wording my teachers used, ensuring that I understood the concepts of the Pythagorean Theorem and Darwin’s Theory. My arm constantly shot up to ask questions. I've become infamous i for asking questions and searching relentlessly for answers. In my lunch group I took the initiative to be like uncle Tony. I asked my friends questions that stretched past “Did you see what happened in Pretty Little Liars last night?!” And ventured into more philosophical and important questions. “Is human nature innately good?”, “ How do you think the education system in Jamaica could be improved?”, “How many licks does it really take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?” I made sure that I was attentive to all the responses. And when it was my turn to share, although I felt their eyes peering at me in search of my opinion, I wasn't intimidated and fully expressed myself using hand gestures, eyebrow raising and eye widening. I was prepared for my next visit to grandma’s house. As we got seated at the same dining table, the conversation began. I took the initiative to butt into the conversation without being asked and inserted my opinions. My input while still slightly scattered, was greatly improved and my use of words was more literate. After the conversation had diminished into tipsy old folks dancing, my uncle Tony pulled me aside and commended me for my educated responses. I felt like I was finally accepted into the adult world! Filled with excitement, I sat reclined in my grandma’s armchair watching Mummy dance. I looked forward to interacting and problem-solving with intellectuals from all corners of the world. Now that I’d crossed over into the realm of mature discussion, I looked forward to gathering more knowledge for my repertoire. The next generation would look to me as I looked at my mother twirl around in bliss, and I can only hope to help develop the minds of others like the elders before me have.

ESSAY 19: UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH FLORIDA_____________________________________________________________

I wiped the sweat off my face, as I created a narrow hole using my finger. I leaned over the seedling tray to see if all the holes were the same size. After nodding to myself in approval, I took one of the swollen seeds and placed it in the first hole. After repeating this fifty times, I covered the seeds with a thin layer of soil. I took the watering bucket next to me, and sprinkled water over the now planted seeds. I was careful not to overwater the plants because this would cause a disaster. I did not want disaster. I wanted healthy Morning Glory plants with bright, blue flowers. With one final smile directed to the tray, I walked inside to read more about the conditions needed to speed up germination.

The first time I saw green leaves emerging from the soil, I was doing my morning watering. This occurred one and a half weeks from the planting day. Developing a green thumb is more difficult than people realize, because planting is not just an art,or a task that requires much discipline, it’s a science that involves observation and problem solving. In this science you must ensure the plants are put in the right conditions. Not too much or too little sunlight, but just the right amount. The same goes for water, not too much or too little. The golden rule is to not drown the seedlings. Too much water attracts ants, as I learned, when I checked on the plants one morning. Black ants disguised themselves with the color of the seedling tray as they moved in and out of the soil. I left the ants to roam freely, until the next afternoon when I started to see the effects. The leaves became discolored, turning into yellow-brown shade. I had to save the remaining plants, so I rushed to my gardening guru next door to figure out how I could rescue them. I sprinkled the the powdery substance that she suggested, over the soil hoping that this would fix the issue. The next morning there were no ants moving about; my plants were saved. The gardening exercise is like a group assignment, you have to learn how to work together and be patient to achieve the best results.

I can’t rush the seeds to germinate faster or beg the stem to grow taller each day. With planting, comes patience, and I have to be patient, even if it takes weeks. This continued practise, has helped me to be tolerant in most aspects of my life. I realized this when I volunteered at a Robotics Summer Camp. As a mentor to younger inner city children, I couldn’t be harsh with them. I had to sit and explain the steps to design a robot, even if it meant reviewing the concepts one hundred times. Surprisingly, after explaining the same thing to them about five times, I felt indifferent. No harsh thoughts came to my mind. Planting helps me to build character. Positivity fills my mind more. I now think in “What ifs?”, like “What if this withered plant can become healthy in the end?” or “What if Jamaica can use the Caribbean sea as a source of energy?”.

The more I garden, the more impossibilities become possible. When I began planting at age 13, I never thought it would have such a great impact on my life. With each phase, I’ve learned to think outside of the box, to love others with patience and actions, to bind communities together through connection but most importantly - I’ve learned to infuse all of these qualities to make me who I am. Someone who uses her interests, and wants to grow, and transform through the maturation process that is life.

ESSAY 20: WESLEYAN_____________________________________________________________________________

She took the mic from the podium and began to walk towards my table. I waited anxiously to see what she would do next. “Close your eyes, relax your shoulders, control your breathing.” It was an unusual request, not something you’d expect from a presenter at a leadership conference, but I did it anyway. For the next minute, we sat like this. All of a sudden, I was increasingly more aware of my surroundings. She kept a low tone and her voice became more distinct as she neared our table. I could feel the brief disturbance in the air as she passed. The room was silent- except for her slow voice, which made each word she spoke more commanding. I was amazed at how captivated I was by her speech. Her approach was engaging and every point she raised resonated with me. During the exercise, she spoke about mindfulness and integrity. She encouraged us to pay careful attention to our thoughts and feelings and to appreciate the events taking place in our lives in the present moment. She urged us to be the individuals we wanted to be and to have all of our efforts consistent with the outcome we desired. Her advice stuck with me - it prodded at my struggle with vulnerability. For a long time, I thought it was just in my nature- I would only ever feel secure in a guarded space. My reservation was what protected me from shame and disappointment, but it also prevented me from pursuing the things I felt most passionate about. I thought to myself, what would happen if I stopped being preoccupied with anxiety and fear and allowed myself to be vulnerable? Maybe I’d be more susceptible to hurt and judgment, but then, maybe I could make strong connections with others. I’m certain of one thing, I want to make an impact on people’s lives. This will mean demolishing the walls I’ve hid behind, embracing my insecurities and doing the things that will bring me closer to my goal. So, I decided. I want to share: to share knowledge, my experiences, likes, dislikes and thoughts- whatever I feel strongly about- in order to enlighten someone even in the least significant way. With this newfound sense of direction, I took action. In just a few weeks, I mustered up the courage to reach out to a local summer school in a rural community where I hosted two academic guidance seminars for ninth graders. Being raised in a setting where few people pursue their passions and interests but instead settle for a “practical” job, I found it essential to share the choices I made, at each part of my journey, with upcoming students so that they’d be able to demonstrate their maximum potential too. I quickly fell in love with the feeling of sharing my ideas. It stemmed from seeing a head turn at something I said or having their attentive eyes follow me as I moved through the room. They might have learned something new about their options or that there were more opportunities out there than they had initially thought. Maybe they would really consider my advice and be inspired to chase their dreams. I hoped that what I shared would spur them to choose the path they wanted in the same way that I was inspired to choose mine. I didn’t stop there. Soon after, I auditioned and was cast for the panel of a nationally televised youth talk show, and I later went on to start a TED-Ed club at my school. My decision is set in stone, and my path is defined by it. I will approach each step of the way with confidence and courage, expose myself to new challenges and learning experiences and wholeheartedly experience everything life has to offer. With this new outlook on life, there’s no telling how far I’ll go.

ESSAY 21: NORTHEASTERN__________________________________________________________________________ “Who are you?” my counsellor asked me. I knew she didn’t mean “what is your name?” or “where are you from?” She meant, "who is Sydney?" "as a person?” In my head I thought, "I don’t know, oh my gosh, I actually don’t know the answer to this question.” It was like time froze and the gears in my head turned and turned. I imagined a million mini me’s in my brain, frantically searching in file cabinets, emptying folders, and searching their desktops. 'No results'. I didn’t want to sound stupid and I wasn’t going to lie. I felt like shrinking down in my chair until I was so minuscule that I was invisible. I wasn’t scared of her. She had kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Yet, I was still searching for something ‘intelligent’ to say. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I looked at the bookshelf behind her, the ceiling, the desk: “um...” Why didn’t I say “I don't know”? I couldn’t; I just couldn’t. I hated knowing that I didn't know the answer to something. On top of that, the room was dead silent. It was like the whole world was waiting on me. The only thing that I could have possibly heard was my anxiety, loudly whispering “say something! Anything!” My likes? Dislikes? Background? How do I define ‘me’? As I sat in her office, I thought - how unhealthy is this? Sydney, calm down. A lot of people don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t really know because things are always changing. When I was four, I wanted to be a ballerina. When I was six, I wanted to be a vet. When I was ten, I was obsessed with working in an office. I would pretend to take calls and arrange important meetings. When I was fourteen, I made mini films with my best friend. When I was sixteen, I started my own cheesecake-selling business. I don’t really know because I am still trying to figure it out. I want to seize every opportunity that comes my way. I want to explore and experience new things. I want to establish new relationships. I want to globalise my business perspective. I want to grow - intellectually, psychologically. As I thought about how to answer her question, I realised: I can’t go through life scared of being wrong or sounding stupid. That's how you learn. As mortifying as it sounds, mistakes and embarrassing moments teach you everything. Not only in school, but in life. If I always knew the answer, or pretended like I did, I would never learn anything. Science has never been my strong suit, and just the other week I had to approach my teacher for help. We started looking at past paper questions, and I knew that if I didn’t reach out to her my grades would start falling into the toilet. I confronted myself and faced the fact that I won’t always know the answer, and that’s okay because now I’m no longer worried about my report card, I learnt to advocate for myself. I had to admit it to myself before I admitted it to my counsellor. I don’t know. I don’t need to know. There are some core values that will never change; for me, it’s being compassionate, proactive, dedicated. But other things change all the time, I will continuously change, even as an adult and I won’t always be the same person. Right now, I'm still trying to figure it out. My life is just beginning, and I know that opportunities will always be available, I just have to be confident and take them.

ESSAY 22: YALE__________________________________________________________________________________ The sun rose over the Blue Mountains bounding Kingston to the north, warming the air which filled my lungs as I ran.

The houses diminished as they whizzed out of view and I eventually ended up on a busy thoroughfare. After a few paces, I took a right turn onto my favourite street on the route: a kilometre of uninterrupted uphill road. Lush, green vegetation swayed with the morning breeze or in the wake of a passing vehicle. The meandering road urged my feet to keep moving after each step. John Mayer pumped through my headset, making the run easier. I was alone on the road, apart from the occasional taxi or labourer. These hurried taxi drivers barely care about other

vehicles on the road, much less a helpless youngster jogging. So when I came up to an especially deep bend, I crossed to the outside to make sure I could see any wild taxi that might swing around the corner. After making sure to look both ways, I crossed and made it around intact. Now I had to get back over. So, being the expert crosser I’d proven I was and engulfed in my music I stepped out without checking if the road was clear. I got to the middle when all of a sudden my ‘Spidey sense’ made me stop and look up at what was going on around me. What greeted me over my shoulder was monstrous. Looming less than a foot behind me was a big, yellow bus, rocking from having suddenly drawn its brakes. Looking up, I grasped what had just happened while the red-faced conductor yelled, “Get those things out of your ears! Pay attention!” I gasped for air as I nervously apologized. When I finally crossed the road, I caught sight of the line of cars waiting behind the bus and felt like curling up into a ball and tossing myself as far as possible. I don’t know how I didn’t collapse right then and there. What made it even worse was that I was fully aware of the danger I faced; my mother had warned me about running on that road. I won’t lie, that morning still haunts me. The fact that I was so close to disaster really forced me to step back and examine my life. Experiences like visiting a home for disabled kids with my classmates every couple months, have taken on a whole new dimension. I maybe would have never thought this way, and I don’t mean to trivialize the children’s situations, but look how easy it would have been for me to end up in a similar state to theirs. And what an ordeal that would have been to put my family through. That’s why I haven’t run on that road since and have been trying to listen to my mom’s advice more. I know that she, like elders often do, speaks from experience (though I doubt she’s ever been hit by a bus). That morning also reminded me how important it is to be vigilant and pay attention to what’s going around me. Coupled with that, I’ve learnt to be more aware of myself and how I’m moving through my surroundings and my life. So I think it’s good that these lessons have been impressed on me because I see them defining my upcoming years in college. In the next four years I hope to heed the advice and respect the wisdom of those higher than me. Also, I also don’t want to walk about aimlessly but, rather, I intend to be conscious of what’s happening on my campus and actively participate in the school and wider community. And, as always, I hope to remain grateful for my life, all I’ve learnt and the opportunities I still hold. That way I can make the most of my journey and hopefully dodge a couple more buses along the way.

ESSAY 23: LOYOLA ________________________________________________________________________________ As I heard the familiar sound of buttons being pressed, of various unfamiliar voices, and of my shaking hands, I could feel my increased heart rate perfectly match the tension I battled with. My competitive interest in Super Smash Bros. stemmed from videos my cousin showed me of competitors battling each other in Super Smash tournaments .The finesse with which they played the game inspired me to compete in tournaments as well. Once I resolved to work towards competing at any local competition I could enter, I began to practice almost nonstop. When I wasn’t in training mode, furiously pressing buttons and losing track of time, I studied videos of professional players to gain ideas and a better understanding of the game. The players that really caught my attention were the Japanese; they were the most fundamentally sound, the most

disciplined and their approach to learning anything resonated with me. I began to emulate their learning process: become an expert in the fundamentals, master the core tool, proceed to more intricate techniques, and find ways to implement them. As I applied this approach, I slowly began to observe changes in myself. I had become intuitively creative, instead of unimaginative. I had amassed countless hours of effective fundamental training, and I was now able to use those deeply ingrained methods to practice more sophisticated techniques, allowing me to create any combination of moves. Another attribute of the Japanese players that I admired and sought to emulate was their level of acceptance when

playing. Regardless of any frustration they experienced, they simply nodded their heads and accepted what had occurred, looking toward finding victory in the match even while down. Trying to adopt this trait proved a challenge at first – telling myself to just move on if I made a mistake wasn’t as simple as I previously thought, considering the strong negative emotions that accompanied it. To combat these emotional pitfalls, I focused on the end goal, disregarding how poorly I felt, telling myself that as long as I’d accomplished my goal, it was all worth it. Finally, the level of patience the Japanese exhibited was a feat of strength I found inspiring. While others easily

succumbed to their impulses, the Japanese remained calm, always thinking about their next option and how to respond to their opponent's next play in order to close out a set. It’s natural to want immediate gratification – especially in a situation where nervousness is prevalent and impulse can influence your decisions strongly. However, as I experienced situations such as this, tired of losing to my own desire for a hasty finish, I began telling myself there’s nothing wrong with taking things slow. Bouts of impatience that occurred in important matches were managed with this mental mantra: “The end goal is far more important.” Not limiting my new outlook to Super Smash Bros. I honed these traits outside of the game as well. With every situation that called for me to demonstrate my newfound approach, I found it more ingrained in me. These traits have caused me to have a more positive mindset, something I’ve always desired but could never obtain, freeing me from frustration and self-deprecating thoughts. Where I had once been quick to berate myself for making a mistake by ruminating on the issue, I now assessed why and how I made a mistake so that next time I could do better. When I became impatient with myself or others, I found myself quickly moving towards leniency, giving myself and others the time to accomplish goals. Though I am fully aware that I have not yet fully mastered the skills that Super Smash Bros. and the Japanese have taught me, I know that if I approach each situation with patience, understanding and a drive to define my weakness and target it, I’ll be okay, as consistency and time are vital to improvement and change.

ESSAY 24: COLUMBIA______________________________________________________________________________ It wasn’t a serious contender for winning the writing or acting Academy Award, nor was 3it the most thought provoking or the most action-packed piece of cinema I had ever seen (because I really love watching movies) but to my eight year old self, the film was unrivaled. Weeks after the final credits rolled, I talked incessantly about the plot twists, the well-written character arcs and the stunning visual effects. The movie snowballed my life and unlocked the door to the magnificent realm of Science Fiction. The movie was Iron Man. After this marvellous experience, I had to know more at once. It didn’t take long before I binged my way through several superhero movies and cartoons, both exceptional and cringe-worthy, but most paramount: I discovered comic books. I was enthralled with the otherworldly storylines and the unique and colourful artwork. I was amazed at how 2D drawings of Superman flying seemed to sweep off the page, how you could experience a character’s personality in the unique font types and speech bubble shapes, and how, in just a couple pages and picture panels, I could experience such a spectrum of emotions. I became inspired to start drawing and painting seriously and used this newfound interest to balance my usual science-oriented personality. I also developed a passion for theorising without the bounds of reality. My imagination became an uncontrollable machine fuelled by the incredible works of science-fiction found on each glossy page. Inventions such as the Iron-Man Suit or Spiderman’s web-shooters became foundations for me to build upon and encouraged me to ask the ‘what-ifs?’ What if we built an arc reactor as a renewable energy source to power a whole continent? What if AI could evolve to be affordable and have a snarky, yet loyal personality? What if there were a lightweight mechanical suit for paraplegics controlled simply through thoughts? My curiosity lead me to fall in love with the act of researching: uncovering new facts and utilizing my accumulated data to conceptualize different ideas, from the perplexingly far-fetched to the lucidly simple. I was able to develop a more open mind as I theorized with others and learned from varying points of view. Actually, some of my dearest friendships have stemmed from our mutual obsession with superheroes and discussing the latest issue of our shared copy of Batman. In fact, throughout the several series, Batman and Iron Man have stood out to me the most because they use their natural abilities and given resources to be the best they can be, and help those that can’t help themselves. They think of larger-than-life plans and create seemingly unrealistic futuristic technology in the service of others even though they feel normal, at times flawed - they too make mistakes, fail, and get hurt. I’ve been told that when I’m preparing for exams, I’m akin to a particular member of the Justice League. Attending one of the top schools in my country, there’s a great deal of emphasis on doing well. Sometimes I feel like Batman: apart of an elaborate team of metahumans yet superpowerless, except my metahumans are extremely intelligent and competitive girls. Just as he prepares excellently and trains exceptionally hard to fight for what he believes, in school, and life, I try to emulate these traits. Likewise, Iron Man has taught me that though being a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist may be nice, making mistakes and learning from failures, is invaluable. Fortunately, failure has become less of a fiend. I’ve been working on learning from disappointments rather than just falling apart at the seams. I like reading and watching these characters save the world, but I love who they are as people. The qualities they possess, I try to echo in my everyday life. I don’t need an invisible jet, a batmobile or Spidey-sense to be kind, help others, make a change and simply do the right thing.

ESSAY 25: UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI___________________________________________________________________ The door opens, then clicks shut. The intruder scurries to the lone seat. While all eyes shift around her, Sam stares ahead, her eyes never moving from the brown swirl in the middle of her table. You’d probably never notice that she was a part of your class, but as someone who notices the venation of leaves that gather along the side of the roads I zoom by, she couldn’t fly under my radar. The teacher drones on about Calculus, finishing with the age-old question, “Does everyone understand?” I seemed to be the only one with a sincere, affirmative response followed by reluctant groans from the rest of the class. As my gaze wandered, I noticed her furrowed brows. She stared at the board and back at her notebook in a never-ending cycle, willing herself to understand. In her struggle, we made eye contact. Embarrassed, she looked away. I knew she didn’t understand, but she was too shy to ask for help. “Okay, let’s take a five-minute break.” I pulled my chair over to her table while she pulled hers in the opposite direction and stared at me as if I were an alien. “I can help you. I’m Domonique.” In a voice barely above a whisper, she replied wearily, “I’m Sam,” pushing her book to me. I tried to explain but I could tell she was still lost. I scribbled my number in her book as class resumed. GAME ON! I accepted my mission: even if it took me the whole night, I’d find a way to make her understand. The light flickered on my laptop as I poured through innumerable websites. After hours of endless searching, I had a plan! I practised teaching Mr Snuffles, my stuffed bear, and he understood L’ Hôpital’s Rule and was able to answer all the review questions. My plan was a guaranteed success. Suddenly, an ear-splitting wail alerted me to a notification on my phone. The name on the screen shocked me-- Sam. I guess my chance would come sooner than expected. The conversation was awkward at first as she fought her introverted nature with simple sentences and hushed tones. My first attempt was met with a frustrated sigh. I brushed it off and decided to get to know her better. As she started to come out of her shell, I noticed we were somewhat similar. Before long, we were laughing at each other’s jokes. Bingo! I thought of all the experiences that we could both relate to and how the L’ Hȏpital’s Rule related to each experience. She was shocked at how easy it was once she understood. I’ve recently realized that not everyone is like me, and in Sam, I found an opportunity to build a bridge with someone who learns and thinks differently. My initial plan was based on my learning style, which is why Mr. Snuffles understood everything the first time around, but Sam took me by surprise. Sam challenged me to view a problem from every perspective, which forced me to question things I hadn’t before. In the end, Sam understood the concept when I connected the abstract to the physical, and I realized that her weakness was in connecting the two worlds. As an abstract thinker, I was forced on a road that required me to take the theories floating in my head and apply it to tangible quandaries. I learned that my abstract way of thinking isn’t always the best route because often it ignores realism; it ignores why these theories exist-- to help people in society. Math will always be something I’m passionate about, and I’ll always be an abstract thinker but as an advocate for others and a teacher at heart, I cherish the lesson Sam taught me-- remember Domonique, to observe the other thinker, identify their way of understanding, and then bridge your ideas with theirs.

ESSAY 26: TULANE________________________________________________________________________________ It's October 1, 2017, and I've dedicated this month to Inktober. Every day is a new prompt, and every piece is completely in ink. I sit on the living room couch in anticipation. Today’s prompt is “Swift” and I raise my pen in preparation to mark the page of my sketchbook. The whiteness of the page is intimidating, the permanence of the black ink even more so. No take-backs allowed. I no longer have the simple luxury of an eraser. I picture what I want to draw, a character from a series of short stories I recently enjoyed, running for his life, something I desperately want to do. I wonder if I'll be able to execute it as well as I've imagined. I hesitantly make the first mark with a shaky hand, then another. The pose takes form and I insert a few lines to indicate motion. I'm somewhat satisfied with the result, and post the image to Instagram as proof. The remaining thirty days feel daunting, but I'm young, unafraid, and ready to begin. Day two. Disappointment. I tell myself that I’ll never work in bold pen ever again. Day four’s drawing is the most detailed, taking the entire school day and filling the page for the theme “Underwater.” On the fifth day, my sketchbook gets wet in a torrential downpour, the ink on the corners of the pages bleeding through onto once pristine pages, blurring the edges of each piece. The sixth day passes in a blur and the first week is almost finished. There’s three more to go. I begin to regret my life decisions. On the seventh and eighth days I test a silver pen and a green highlighter. I revert to the silver pen and trusted black ink on the ninth day. I return to the bold pen on day fourteen, once again regretting the decision. Just like that, I've done two weeks’ worth of drawings. The nineteenth day has the silver ink revisit my page for the sake of a visual pun about “Clouds.” The twenty-first day

brings the return of the bold pen, in a final chance to redeem itself or be forever cast away to the pile of unused art supplies. They say that the third time’s the charm and, in this case, the bold pen lives to see another day. The twenty-fifth day is eventful. I don’t draw for the entire school day and immediately pass out when I get home after dark. I wake up with a start. It's eleven-thirty and I've neither started the piece nor checked the theme. I frantically search for my sketchbook and a pen to start the drawing before the day ends. The day’s theme is “Ship.” Easy enough, I think. I draw as fast as my fingers will take me and immediately go to post the image. 12:01A.M.-- I’m late. I go to draw today’s “Squeak” as I mourn. I’m hung up on this slip up. One minute off. It rings in my head as I draw a two page spread of day twenty-seven and twenty-eight’s “Climb” and “Fall.” I broke the streak with only six days to go. No one seemed to notice it, but it was my biggest failure of the month. The last day. I'm exhausted and exhilarated as I set up for the last piece, “Mask.” I wrap things up with an old character of mine sitting on the side of a building feigning happiness. As I make the last few strokes, I feel triumphant, yet a bit empty. A month’s worth of work, finished. I survived the trials and tribulations of this challenge. No, I more than survived. I thrived and was proud of my dedication the past thirty-one days. The one late day still sticks with me as a reminder: if you have to do something daily for a month, do it in the morning.

ESSAY 27: GEORGETOWN__________________________________________________________________________ April 9th 2019. After months of setting aside time each day and weekends of binge-watching, Naruto finally came to an end. During Thanksgiving break of 2018, rather than searching through Netflix hoping that a title would pique my interest, I took my friend’s advice and watched the first episode of Naruto. I soon became engrossed in the ninja world and the journey of Naruto Uzumaki. Throughout the show, Naruto desired to escape the shackles of the label that villagers put on him. He yearned to redefine himself. I became enamored with the show, but it wasn’t until I found myself crying during a scene that I realized how deep my connection ran. “Calling us jinchuriki, what gives you the right to label us? Who are you to decide someone else’s fate?” This rang true to the emotions I felt during my earlier adolescent years. Jinchuriki: a derogatory term meaning mutant with a sealed tailed beast. One of Naruto’s biggest hurdles was to break free of the villagers’ judgement, a struggle I know all too well. Born in France to a Trinidadian mother and Guadeloupean father, my life was unique. I spoke three languages and was able to code switch just as easy as it was for me to enjoy eating boeuf bourguignon, pelau or a bokit. I surfed comfortably between different cultural worlds and my pigmentation was never an issue. But that all changed in third grade. Upon moving from France to the United States, I was faced with labels based on my skin color, accent, hair texture and anything else that stood out. During my first week of school, I was called a “French hobo” for having a French accent when I spoke English. Like Naruto, I was judged for something out of my control. Even after losing my French accent, the labels continued. A few years later, I wore box braids and was called “Medusa” by some of my peers. To compound that, I was told by a classmate that I was “not even black” because of my pale skin tone and hazel colored eyes. She thought that I was not dark enough to “claim” my blackness. Despite time passing, assertions were constantly made about me - ones that never aligned with how I saw myself. Though I was not a powerful ninja with a tailed beast sealed inside of me, I did relate to Naruto’s attempt to conform for acceptance. When my classmates teased me, I would remain still as stone in an effort to avoid yet another label, maybe even that of #angryblackgirl. Unconsciously, I began suppressing aspects of myself. Though I loved my cultural and linguistic heritage, it was simply too heavy, so I hid anything that would accentuate any differences between my peers and me. This meant quickly skipping over zouk and soca on my iPod shuffle when listening to music with my friends. Out of fear, I decided that assimilation would be easier, when really it caused me more pain. After 400 episodes, and a lot of training, Naruto was finally able to receive acknowledgement from the villagers. Similarly, through tons of soul searching and courage, I was able to communicate all of my identity and gain understanding from my peers. It was at that point that my strong character, resilience, sense of self and determination were forged and I enrolled in many activities ranging from soccer to ballet. With every activity I discovered more about myself and began feeling at ease. Though it took me much longer than 400 episodes, I began to realize that in trying to define myself, I was picking apart different aspects of my identity to narrow it down to just one or two things. What I learnt was that all of who I am is something to be proud of and I am not just the sum total of those things, I am even more.

ESSAY 28: MIT____________________________________________________________________________________ The whip of the sand stung my skin as I carefully pulled my wetsuit over my shoulder. My equipment, laid out along the shore line, awaited its long anticipated voyage out to sea. Hair a mess, mind at ease, I looked toward the horizon and pictured the scene waiting for me beneath the waves’ soothing curls. I grab my air tank and follow my routine procedure; the process acting as an outlet for my perfectionistic ways. Everything calculated, everything precise as I double-check the gauge and re-evaluate my sturdy weights. The time had come to load the boat. My father and I hoisted up the freshly assembled diving apparatus and set off to our drop spot. I slowly slid on my BCD and perched myself on the teetering edge of the boat. My hand tightly gripped onto the mask as I tilted backwards allowing myself to fall to the mercy of gravity. Bubbles filled my frame of vision and the force of the water established its power over me. At this moment, I was most vulnerable.

The ocean’s mischievous nature has always been able to generate fear in me. A type of fear that engulfs you as the pressure of the water encases the lining of your wetsuit and uncertainty begins to take over. It was a familiar feeling. In a previous dive, there was a miscalculation in my weights and nearing the end of it I felt my body lifting up to the surface at a pace that would cause my lungs to rupture. Swimming downwards against the upthrust was futile especially with my air supply so low. I bang my knife against my tank to send a signal to my father. He grabbed hold of me and we took turns breathing from what he had left of his air supply until we could safely surface. It was reasonable for me to have a fear of the ocean. Everything is unpredictable, but choosing to go under the water

wasn’t about trying to eliminate that fear. It was about finding a way to maneuver through it despite the agonizing process. This was imprinted in my mind the first time I allowed myself to be submerged in water. If you’re afraid to push yourself past mental, physical or emotional barriers, then you will be missing the chance to experience something that could potentially shape the way you view the world and yourself. Foot by foot I descend into the water, constantly reminding myself to breathe in, and breathe out. 50, 60, 70, 80 feet. I can feel the pressure setting in. My heart rate increases as my movement slows, and I halt at my desired depth. The colours of the corals develop more vibrancy as the undersea world begins to take shape. The deafening silence, only broken by the sound of air bubbles released from my regulator, is refreshing from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I ponder, how something so breathtaking can only be seen by a set few with a little plastic license and an air tank. It’s amazing how at ease you can be with yourself and your surroundings when you’ve come so far and get the chance to relax. I lived for these moments; the moments when you lose yourself but are in no real rush to regain complete control.

Breathe in, breathe out. A sharp pinging in the water disturbs my daze. It’s my father summoning me back to reality. We rise as the weight is lifted and the pressure fades. I bob to the rhythm of the waves patiently waiting for the last of the equipment to be passed up to the boat man. I haul my own body over the side of the boat and tumble into the rubble of tanks and tubes resting along the floor of the vessel, tuckered out from that long 45 minute work day.

ESSAY 29: UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO__________________________________________________________________ Most people think marathon day is the most stressful for the runners, since they have to wake up at the crack of dawn, and try to do what most people would never attempt in their lifetime. Those people have obviously never tried to spectate a marathon that their mother was running. I knew how to get to the course, well mostly. Just one long journey to the end of the green line, and a short walk to the road. Getting to mile 17 was easy enough – but then I decided to surprise my mother at mile 23 near Fenway. Instant Mistake. I was met with huge crowds and massive amounts of confusion added to the thousands of people already trying to watch the marathon... fantastic. Somehow, I managed to get through the crowds, but again, that appeared to be the easy part; by the time I returned to Fenway, the station was more packed than a New York subway during rush hour. Of course I could try to walk, but the streets going in my direction were just as packed, and the sun was beating down. I couldn’t take a taxi, since most of the roads were closed for the marathon, so I decided to wait for a train, but I made it to my destination regardless. Direction, the noun, can be most simply defined as either ‘a course along which something moves’ or ‘the management or guidance of something’. Whether that direction refers to the position of one place in relation to another, where you want to go in life, or how to find the nearest Starbucks, all are valid and important. Some men never want to ask for directions, always wanting to at least look like they know where they’re going, lest

they appear to not be in control of the situation. I may have inherited that from my father who has a tendency to go barreling down pitch-black country roads in the dead of night at 50mph, insisting that he is one hundred percent sure of where he is and going on and on about how he doesn’t want anyone to think he’s lost. Long story short, we’ve been lost in the middle of nowhere quite a few times. I always feel the need to know where I’m going, but will not hesitate to slow down to ensure that I’m on the right path to get me to my chosen destination. I need to have some idea of what is to come before I even set out on the journey. As such, I’ve developed a very good sense of direction, partly out of necessity, and partly so I can go barreling down country roads in the dead of night with confidence. While not from my father, I did gain my sense of direction and desire to plan from my upbringing. With a mother who would plan every family vacation down to the minute, I’ve been taught to go into every situation with not only a plan, but also a backup plan for the backup plan. Of course not everyone my age shares this mentality, preferring instead to take life as it comes, but I’m not content sitting idly by and hoping for the best. If I have a goal, I also need to have a plan of action. Not everything in life is going to be as hectic as navigating Boston on Marathon Monday, but I’ve had to navigate and learn from a few roadblocks along my journey, that will help me in the future. I have a

plan in mind with every workshop I’ve been to, every late night spent at the studio, or days spent studying for an upcoming test and every other stop I’ve made on my journey. Equipped with this sense of direction, I hope to make many more interesting stops in the future on my way to where I hope to be.

ESSAY 30: ALABAMA STATE UNIVERSITY_______________________________________________________________ It was beastly hot and this was the third time my dad was teeing up his ball on the thirteenth hole of the Father-Daughter tournament. Again his annoyed seven year-old watched him hit it into the bush. I rolled my eyes and stomped away from my father whilst he hit his fourth ball. I contemplated whether I really liked this demoralizing game. But why not play the game? It's only painstakingly frustrating and time consuming. However, I had plenty of time considering my only friend was a delightfully plump three year old girl. Maybe it was a way to make new friends? My focus was averted to my father when I heard a thick Bajan accent yell “FORE!”. I cringed as I watched him hook the ball into the bush once again. Shamefully, a year later I was standing on the practice tee seeing red, steam coming out of my ears. Every shot I hit was about ten feet off the ground and far left. I was my father’s daughter. Low and left. The thought of swinging right came to me, maybe it will go right - I would much prefer that. Low and left. Jeez, what could I be doing wrong? Low and left! Frustration kicked in, where the ball went no longer mattered. Straight! The ball was all I could see in the distance with the green background of trees and a blue sky. It landed five feet from my target flag! The shot was imprinted in my memory as if it were on replay. It was then that I realized what my frustration, when channelled into determination, could achieve. Maybe I could be the next female Tiger Woods. Fast forward a couple years to a much taller, slimmer twelve year old on the brink of transitioning into high school. I was an outcast. I was called names for my dark chocolate skin, pushed in the hallway and shoved into lockers “accidentally”. Hurtful messages were sent and posted, tears rushing down my face upon reading. Many a day I sat in that pungent bathroom crying, matching my mood to the dark shade of blue walls that surrounded me. Every day I sprinted like Usain Bolt back to the car on my way to Mickey's Magical Disney Kingdom, except it was green. Always greeting me with her thousand watt smile, Esther would give me a bucket of range balls and I would skip off to practice. Straight. Low and left. Straight. Straight. Way to the right. Low and left. Straight. And it repeated itself, some days being better than others, but the recurring pattern was channelling my day’s frustration into this tiny ball and using all my might to hit it straight and far. All my problems aside, this was my passion and I wasn’t going to leave without hitting twenty perfectly shaped balls. I was learning to ignore the savage beasts of bullies and focus more on my game. I was getting better and it was exhilarating to sink my twenty-foot putts. In time my hard work paid off and I was winning championships, fist pumping my way to the prize giving to collect my shiny confidence builder. My new-found confidence helped me to push past barriers and boundaries that I didn't know possible. Today, after a successful tournament, adrenaline races through my veins and I’m on top of the world. I have such a great appreciation for the people that stood by me and supported me. People like my parents, family, coach and teammates are such beautiful blessings in my life. My faith played a huge part in this, having to trust that God had a plan for me. I think He made me experience these horrifying events to mold me into the hardworking, genuine, stubborn person that I am today. This journey in my life through golf has been emotional, but it shaped me - Thank God!

SUPPLEMENTARY ESSAY 1_________________________________________________________________________ QUESTION: If you could compare your life to a game that you enjoy, what game would you choose and what aspects of the game are reflected in yourself? With a light cue in hand, I took a stance. As I kneeled over, my fifteen opponents came into view. As I aligned the cue ball, I conceptualized which of these seven opponents I would make my allies. Adjusting my cue slightly back, just behind my shoulder, I took a shot at my targets. They scrambled across the board, randomly colliding with each other akin to the Brownian motion of pollen grains. While they appear to be the same, these balls have different meanings. For me, the pool table is the metaphorical playing field of all my life decisions; where success and failure are dependent on which balls I hit. With some I must align myself, others I have to navigate around and one I simply avoid until the time is right. Observing how they were positioned on the table, I aligned myself with the solid colored balls and it was my task to get them all in a pocket. These solid balls are the positive traits that make up and help me develop as a person. I need to ensure that I draw my cue and connect with these balls at the perfect angle, maintaining precision and accuracy. Unfortunately, the shots I take are not always angled to perfection. There are some points in the game where I slip up and miss an easy shot like failing to complete an assignment or project in the best way possible. This can be disheartening, however, it is my ability to keep pushing forward that allows me to acquire victory. I continue to build myself around the solid balls and improve my arsenal of traits because continuing to push forward helps me to navigate the obstacles that I face. The striped balls stare and attempt to intimidate me with their ability to intercept my positive traits. Laden with negativities such as fear, procrastination and doubt, they endeavor to stop me from prevailing. In the past, these obstacles have affected me substantially, but I have learned to approach them at different angles to acquire positive outcomes. I see these challenges as obstacles I must accept to build my confidence and determination. The steps I take allow me to navigate around my obstacles correctly, thus maintaining composure and balance. When I have various tasks to complete, I lay them out independently and tackle them one at a time, thus reducing the temptation to procrastinate. It is from these negativities that allows me to grow as a person. Growing up, failure acted as my black ball - the eight ball. Failure is something that is repelled by my character because I always want to live up to the high expectations of my family and friends. Throughout high school I strived to form the perfect character - a model student that others looked up to. However, during my college applications, failure stared me right in the face. This came in form of an unexpected test score. Knowing who I am as a person and what I wanted to achieve in life made me realize that I was more than a test score. This demoralizing factor made me resilient and appreciate that facing the black ball is the final step I had to overcome before attaining success. Life, like pool, is a game of luck and skill. However, this game is not just about my traits and obstacles, but it is also about how I choose to navigate the game. As the cue, I am the driving force that opens up the opportunities that I face. I know that based on how the cue ball is hit, it will impact me in significant ways and therefore has allowed me to properly orchestrate my decisions to produce the best outcome possible. ESSAY 2__________________________________________________________________________________________ QUESTION: Briefly discuss a current global issue, indicating why you consider it important and what you suggest should be done to deal with it. The rise in xenophobia today, for me, is incredibly worrying. This past semester, at the conclusion of my AP U.S. History course, we were given the opportunity to do research and present on a topic of our choice. I chose to look at Brexit with an explanation of what would actually happen while focusing on its causes. The closer I looked, the more I realised I didn’t like what I was seeing. At the time of the referendum, the refugee crisis in Europe was all over the news; each country was having its own struggles with coping. The biggest reason behind Brexit was a rise in

anti-immigrant feeling. With the Schengen system in place with the EU and government-subsidised healthcare, England is an attractive place to live so London has always been a multicultural city. However, the half of the country that voted ‘Leave’ was looking at the refugees entering their country with fear and resentment, and envisioning a future without jobs and without an efficient healthcare system. Brexit was essentially a vote against globalization; the ‘Leave’ camp promised a quick reduction in immigration. Even the explanation that blames overly restrictive EU laws is grounded in the immigration issue: these restrictive laws were generally about Britain’s inability to restrict legal immigration. I saw parallels between Brexit and the 2016 U.S. election, and was much more alarmed by the changing atmosphere I felt in a country that had hosted me as an international student for almost two years. Almost every day brought a shocking new soundbite from Trump; I watched in disbelief as Americans listened to him spout hate about Mexicans and advertise his wall. However, as much as I was horrified, I still didn’t see him as a serious contender — I thought there was no way he could win, and yet I was wrong. My school is fondly called “the bubble” because of the way we feel sheltered from the outside world. But outside the bubble, I can feel the change in the air. Recently, as I was flying home from school through the Miami airport for the holidays, I handed my Jamaican passport over to the customs officer, accidentally pulling my British one out at the same time — I have dual citizenship with the UK— only to have the customs officer tell me that he recommended I use my British one instead, because of the “negative connotations” associated with being Jamaican. Of course, I politely smiled and nodded, but I was incredibly offended. Then I realised the officer had quite a strong accent. This man was quite probably speaking from personal experience, possibly of having been discriminated against for his country of origin, or even just for his accent. I was still offended, but no longer thought the man’s words were a personal attack. Rather, it was an internalization of the message society sends: being different is not okay. In some ways, society has made progress, as our world has become more global, but does today’s political climate not feel like a reaction against this globalisation? Trump and those like him have thrived in an environment pervaded by fear and insecurity; the people who voted for Trump, or Marine Le Pen, or Brexit see themselves as abandoned by their governments at a time when they most need help. Promises of government “for the people” won them over at a time when there were undoubtedly unresolved issues surrounding the integration of new migrants. Maybe, as I’ve read some columnists argue, the left has lost some of its base by appearing to care more about diversity or free trade than terror attacks, allowing radical nationalists to dominate the centre, moving their ideologies out of the shadows. How do we fix xenophobia? Can we? To start, we need to recognize that these groups calling for a return to some idealized, race-restricted past are damaging our democracies; they create divisions and play on fear when we need unity. Then, we need to re-establish trust in our government and in our media. Those who feel left behind need to be brought back into the fold and made to feel as if what’s important to them matters too. There has to be cooperation instead of polarization. Among other diverse causes, xenophobia is a response to insecurity and mistrust so we need to get to the roots of those feelings. I’ve thought a lot about this issue, but there’s only so much I can learn alone, no matter how many New York Times articles I read.