The Evolution of Writing

When I had to write my transfer essays, I wrote with an optimism that spoke of trying my best and how much fun I expected at [Insert Name] University. The student body would be diverse, and I would find a niche that I excelled in. The exciting academic programs I had read about on the school website promised to make my dreams come true. I would make sure that I succeeded at the school because I believed the school was perfect for me.

My father, who has been my editor for my entire life, read my papers and told me it was garbage. He said the essay spoke of naivety and that I did not spend the time I needed reflecting on the essays. I could not understand it. I had written with the same style I did my freshmen application essays. In fact, I've practiced this college writing approach with other students resulting in great success with their college admissions. So, why the harsh criticism?

My dad told me I could not write with the optimism of someone who didn't know what they were getting themselves into. I was a 21 year old adult. I had experienced my trial of college firsts. I had my first roommate, a roommate who dropped out because he was a depressed closet bisexual. I met new people, people who belittled me at times for the color of my skin. I experienced my first Midwestern winter, where snow quickly turns into hidden ice patches and slush. I learned I had Seasonal Affective Disorder, a condition where lack of sunlight leads to depression. I learned how boring a small city could really be. I experienced my first C's, D's, and F's. I fled into the World of Warcraft to lead a life which did not suck horribly. I had already experienced my firsts of college. I could not write with youthful optimism of the unknown. I had already faced it and knew of its trials.

I rewrote my essays. I wrote about my last day at Rose. It was the first perfect snow I had seen that year, blanketing the landscape like a postcard. I decided to walk around the campus to burn it in my memory. I had stayed up for seventy-two hours prior to my walk trying to figure out what direction my life should go. I was out of a school, and out of hope.

Prior to entering that college, I had worked tirelessly. I completed whatever I started. I was not a quitter. Throughout my high school career, I experienced success. I completed nine advanced placement courses, received the English Department award for being an outstanding student, became a California Scholastic Federation Gold Seal Bearer, and achieved other awards which separated me from my graduating class. All of those years of work meant nothing to the year and a quarter I had screwed up at Rose-Hulman.

I will never forget that last day at Rose-Hulman. Looking upon the clean, white snow, I knew I could get a fresh start too. I would survive somehow. I would build myself anew when I returned to the sun, to California. I wouldn’t finish my college degree in Terre Haute, Indiana; I would finish what I had started in Southern California.

I replaced elitism with humility and complacency with hardwork. A's I took for granted became something special. I did whatever I needed to do to succeed. I took a two-half hour bus ride to school when my car was broken, so I could make it to class. I took advantage of professors' office hours. I no longer identified myself with the awards I earned in the past. I simply want to work hard and take it one day at a time.

It was with this grittiness of experience that I wrote. I have looked into the abyss of defeat and slowly gathered myself. My fellow co-blogists cannot understand what I have gone through. You have no idea how bleak this world can be. You have not tasted humiliation. You do not understand the gift of trust. Universities will not trust me. I struggle day by day to have people believe I have potential. These experiences will continue to change my writing style. I will continue to experience firsts and learn how the world really is. Thank you dad for teaching me to write and think like an adult. You are an amazing editor who inspires me. As I evolve, my writing will evolve too.