Topic: Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you.
Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!
The word hero is often overused. In this essay alone, I will use the word in one form or another exactly nine times. In my case, I guess I epitomized the anti-hero - the protagonist who does not have all the qualities of the archetype but makes a difference nonetheless. Sometimes, all you need to be is yourself to have validation that life is worthwhile.
It all started as I wandered through the vacant village playground when a small arm was suddenly brandished out of thin air, and before I knew it, "WHAM!" As the unsuspecting victim to a karate chop, I staggered backwards, more so in sheer shock than in physical pain. Looking down towards the ground, I noticed my mistake. Amongst the litter of small toys lay a model G.I. Joe, flat as a pancake and crushed into oblivion by the force of my foot.
Bright-eyed and inquisitive, my assailant with his rather assertive introduction anxiously pointed a finger in my direction. I cautiously approached in fear of further retaliation, even as my body loomed over him, twice his size. With both honest intrigue and a sliver of suspicion painted across his face, the boy intently studied my features while gingerly holding his now wounded toy soldier. Looking directly into my eyes, he proudly proclaimed his new found discovery, an epiphany that ought to be broadcast throughout the world. He screeched what might have been the Bosnian equivalent of "EUREKA!" and gave me my new name, Jackie Chan.
With my straight jet black hair, golden hued skin, and almond-shaped eyes, the boy must have made the assumption that like Jackie Chan, I too was an outsider to his remote Bosnian village. And to the boy, whose name I later learned to be Branimir, I was already familiar. The heroic Jackie Chan of television and kung-fu fame and I were one and the same.
During my several seconds of internal deliberation, unsure of whether to be offended or honored by this pseudonym given to me, I stepped back to realize the irony of the entire situation. The little genius saw me as Jackie Chan, a middle-aged, destructive kung-fu expert from a foreign land that had just invaded his personal territory. Likewise, I too viewed him as a microcosm of the soil that I had set foot upon - Bosnia itself. To me, he was reclusive and uncultured; one child among many in need of a hero, a Jackie Chan.
Well, that was what I was here for, right? I guess I regarded the prototypical volunteer expedition as the means for a savior to rush in, liberating those that were suffering and lonely. I will admit, my naiveté got the best of me. Ingrained in my mind was the Americanized, almost imperialistic philosophy of not only to assist but also to heroically empower the people. It guided my every thought of what Bosnia would be like, desolate and impoverished and in dire need of individuals like me. However, the reality was they didn't need my heroics in the traditional sense. Nor did they need my pity. I was in this work camp not to save the masses from their plight, but to do exactly what was needed of me - work.
And work was what I did. Over the course of two weeks, it was Branimir who brought me back from my own little bubble of preconceived notions. I was able to prove him wrong in that I was no Jackie Chan. I was a novice, and he would ultimately serve as my instructor, my "shifu" and unofficial guide to his community. I did not need to be the bold and brash hero that cured humanity's troubles. I was simply myself, one helping hand among many, paving sidewalks and threading string through rosary beads.
This one experience, a snapshot in the reels of film that totaled my entire life, changed my overall outlook. I recognize that it is rare for an endeavor of monumental proportions, a truly heroic task, to be thrown on my lap to complete. However, I will be ready for it when it happens to come my way. In the meantime, I will take each undertaking to heart, knowing that one small accomplishment is enough to make a difference in my life or in the lives of others. And I smile with the realization that college and beyond will bring opportunities to meet another Branimir, to be the anti-hero that accomplishes the possible, not the impossible.
Bosnia forced me to discover that I was guilty of imposing my convictions, melding my pity with their poverty and aiming to provide help along with heroics. Thus, I guess it was inevitable that upon judging a book by its cover, the book would judge back, falling off the shelf to smack me in the face. Or in this case, to karate chop me in the leg. Now, I know better.
Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!
The word hero is often overused. In this essay alone, I will use the word in one form or another exactly nine times. In my case, I guess I epitomized the anti-hero - the protagonist who does not have all the qualities of the archetype but makes a difference nonetheless. Sometimes, all you need to be is yourself to have validation that life is worthwhile.
It all started as I wandered through the vacant village playground when a small arm was suddenly brandished out of thin air, and before I knew it, "WHAM!" As the unsuspecting victim to a karate chop, I staggered backwards, more so in sheer shock than in physical pain. Looking down towards the ground, I noticed my mistake. Amongst the litter of small toys lay a model G.I. Joe, flat as a pancake and crushed into oblivion by the force of my foot.
Bright-eyed and inquisitive, my assailant with his rather assertive introduction anxiously pointed a finger in my direction. I cautiously approached in fear of further retaliation, even as my body loomed over him, twice his size. With both honest intrigue and a sliver of suspicion painted across his face, the boy intently studied my features while gingerly holding his now wounded toy soldier. Looking directly into my eyes, he proudly proclaimed his new found discovery, an epiphany that ought to be broadcast throughout the world. He screeched what might have been the Bosnian equivalent of "EUREKA!" and gave me my new name, Jackie Chan.
With my straight jet black hair, golden hued skin, and almond-shaped eyes, the boy must have made the assumption that like Jackie Chan, I too was an outsider to his remote Bosnian village. And to the boy, whose name I later learned to be Branimir, I was already familiar. The heroic Jackie Chan of television and kung-fu fame and I were one and the same.
During my several seconds of internal deliberation, unsure of whether to be offended or honored by this pseudonym given to me, I stepped back to realize the irony of the entire situation. The little genius saw me as Jackie Chan, a middle-aged, destructive kung-fu expert from a foreign land that had just invaded his personal territory. Likewise, I too viewed him as a microcosm of the soil that I had set foot upon - Bosnia itself. To me, he was reclusive and uncultured; one child among many in need of a hero, a Jackie Chan.
Well, that was what I was here for, right? I guess I regarded the prototypical volunteer expedition as the means for a savior to rush in, liberating those that were suffering and lonely. I will admit, my naiveté got the best of me. Ingrained in my mind was the Americanized, almost imperialistic philosophy of not only to assist but also to heroically empower the people. It guided my every thought of what Bosnia would be like, desolate and impoverished and in dire need of individuals like me. However, the reality was they didn't need my heroics in the traditional sense. Nor did they need my pity. I was in this work camp not to save the masses from their plight, but to do exactly what was needed of me - work.
And work was what I did. Over the course of two weeks, it was Branimir who brought me back from my own little bubble of preconceived notions. I was able to prove him wrong in that I was no Jackie Chan. I was a novice, and he would ultimately serve as my instructor, my "shifu" and unofficial guide to his community. I did not need to be the bold and brash hero that cured humanity's troubles. I was simply myself, one helping hand among many, paving sidewalks and threading string through rosary beads.
This one experience, a snapshot in the reels of film that totaled my entire life, changed my overall outlook. I recognize that it is rare for an endeavor of monumental proportions, a truly heroic task, to be thrown on my lap to complete. However, I will be ready for it when it happens to come my way. In the meantime, I will take each undertaking to heart, knowing that one small accomplishment is enough to make a difference in my life or in the lives of others. And I smile with the realization that college and beyond will bring opportunities to meet another Branimir, to be the anti-hero that accomplishes the possible, not the impossible.
Bosnia forced me to discover that I was guilty of imposing my convictions, melding my pity with their poverty and aiming to provide help along with heroics. Thus, I guess it was inevitable that upon judging a book by its cover, the book would judge back, falling off the shelf to smack me in the face. Or in this case, to karate chop me in the leg. Now, I know better.