Undergraduate / Growing up in Art, and Grade Stress ~ UCF prompts [3]

After realizing the word count was 500 words for BOTH prompts, I defiantly had some word cutting to do. I hope my message remained concise. Any suggestions are appreciated.

How has your family history, culture or environment influenced who you are?

My family history comprises of interaction, rather than blood. Adopted as a baby from Lima, Peru I was brought to states at four months. There is no record of my birth parents, the only evidence, and the genetic roots that paint my body. In essence I am a first generation, the first mold. This pattern of uniqueness would remain a constant.

Before I could stand, I was thrown into a world of art. Nights were spent listening to classical music. Days were spent learning about the famous artists, diving into the words of Twain, Shakespeare, and Orwell. For years I believed every child lived this way. It never occurred to me, most children didn't converse about politics and they didn't have long talks about ethics. My parents instilled a thirst for theological exploration. At a young age I was allowed to collect pieces of knowledge and comprise my own, unique view on the world.

This foundation of free thought has remained with me, shaping me into a collage of views, away from the mainstream.

Undergraduate / My own stress has been my obstacle ~ UCF Prompt [5]

If there has been some obstacle or "bump in the road," in your academic or personal life, please explain the circumstances.

(I'm slightly scared to enter this, simply because I don't want to give the wrong impression. But, I figured I'd want to make a true, raw, very influential answer. Any help, is greatly appreciated. Thank you.)

There was a time I was unable to live. Trapped in my own stress, I was blinded from the miracles of everyday life. Preferred torture method: grades. Patient's response: by 15, I was convinced test scores defined me and my worth was weighted by As. After all, academic excellence resulted in a top school, a successful career, and eventually a "successful life."

In hindsight, I can see the warning signs. I became obsessive of giving only perfection. I would spend hours on a simple summary assignment. If I couldn't finish a work packet, I lost the will to turn it in. Everything was "all-or-nothing". The few times I would forget my homework meant nausea for the rest of the day.

In addition to my normal academics, I participated in band. Competition was fierce, and our school was one of the highest ranked bands in the county. Our final was simple; we had to participate in the All-City Band tryouts. Failure to do so would mean an instant failure in the class. I was ready: weeks of practicing and hours of memorization had me geared for the audition. I had everything in check, other than the signed entry sheet. Time stood still as I watched the rest of the students turn their sheets, while I frantically searched for it. I had left it at home. It was the deadline, and I was missing the crucial part of the equation. As I walked out the school doors my body quaked, struck by the emotional blow of a failed class.

I went to bed unusually early that night. My parents assumed I needed sleep for the audition, they had no idea I was sitting on my bed, reviewing my life. "There are so many people with better grades, so many people to compete with. This is it. This will haunt me forever. I might as well end it now. I just ruined everything. "

Outside the light grew dimmer, the house cooled. My feelings became stronger, and in a wave of despair I concluded, this was the end. I looked at the aspirin bottle taken from the bathroom, and filled my hand. Through the tears, I suddenly realized what I was going to throw away. I was going to miss the sunsets, the spring afternoons, the chess games with my father, the laugh of my mother.

That night, I awoke to the real world. I was able to see every day as a gift, thankful to see every small miracle for what it was, to embrace the sights, smells, and sounds.

The next morning, I walked into the band hall, ready to fail. I walked in, ready to give up years of hard work, and see my GPA plummet. The Director glanced at my late paperwork, gave a halfhearted scold, and told me to start practicing for the audition. That year, I made the All-City Band.

Occasionally, I think back to that night of mortality, and I am made thankful for what I have taken back.

Through the years, my GPA has dropped from that perfection, but the lesson remains. Worry is a wasted emotion. My life is much busier now with work, school, being electrician/plumber/computer tech/general grunt for my mother and keeping an active social life. I smile, proud of the ability to juggle them all. My hands are dirty from the process, covered in strange memories, glittering with achievements, sullied with disappointments and failures. Yet through all the hardship and laughs I wouldn't change it for the world. I now look forward to the new challenges ahead of me, anxious to give my blood, sweat and tears. No longer do I look for perfection, but the thrill of gathering experiences.