I'm sure many of you are familiar with the prompt, but here it is again: "Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story"
Ever since I can remember, trains have fascinated me. Their whizzing, clacking, humming, and choo-chooing made my heart skip with delight. As a child, I often turned my first floor into a train-yard, where I constructed my own lines out of anything that I could carry - Styrofoam boxes, chairs, cushions - and scooted around my house like an itchy baboon. To the onlooker, I was a mad-child stringing together meaningless items and squatting on top of them. For me, each box or chair was a different rail car and each pillow linked them. Pulling them behind me, I was king of the world.
So, as you can imagine, once I boarded my first real-life train, I was blown away. It was a snowy December afternoon when my grandfather, on his first trip to the US, and I climbed into a replica Orient Express. What I had imagined on those nights in the family room suddenly surrounded me. I clambered up in my seat and pressed my nose against the cool window. Up to that point what my imagination had constructed was only fantasy, but once the train jolted forward, and my grandfather steadied me, I gasped from the world outside blurring past: imagination and adventure became tangible.
Today, as I reminisce about my wonderful obsession with trains, I see how far I've traveled in my life and how much they have meant to me, in connecting me with people and in discovering new experiences. This past summer, 3,750 miles from home with nothing but a backpack, camera, and 4 years of high school Spanish, I sped towards Machu Picchu in an electric blue diesel train. Each click and clack of the track reminded me of the nights filled with imagined whistles and billowing smoke plumes, of the excitement brought by my intrepid construction and exploration. Never in my wildest dreams could I have believed that I would be racing towards an ancient Incan civilization.
My heart raced, partly from the frosty air and partly from the whole idea of Machu Picchu, and I suddenly realized that in 48 hours, I would also work in El Hogar San Francisco, a home for destitute children with disabilities.
After spending a week with incapacitated children, I would understand something special: though disadvantaged, they have a certain perspective on life that is so innocently resilient, that living and helping them with activities becomes more of a lesson for the helper than the helped. I would watch them dry dishes, sweep the floor, stack cups, wipe tables with alacrity and skill and I would learn a great deal about appreciation of life seeing the kids afflicted with cerebral palsy, club feet, and tuberculosis hobble and clean with their childish clumsiness.
I sank into my seat and looked out into the passing trees. The curves and splits of the track which wound through the valley and to our destination eluded me; but I knew what lay ahead was marvelously exciting. It dawned on me that I was once more on a train heading to yet another adventure and with each mountain folding away, I felt closer to the ancient city and awaiting children.
As I grow older and the age of locomotion dies away, I realize that trains have evolved in design and function, much like I have grown. But the excitement that comes with its power to explore the expansive, unknown world and its ability to link people have not changed. These things continue to influence me, carrying me farther into the future - both literally and figuratively. What I once built for imaginative exploration is now what takes me to thrilling places for greater things. With this in mind, I tow my experiences behind me like the trailing cars of my Styrofoam train - my imagination, grandfather, Peru- and barrel towards a horizon of endless possibility. And I gladly say,
"Full steam ahead!"
Ever since I can remember, trains have fascinated me. Their whizzing, clacking, humming, and choo-chooing made my heart skip with delight. As a child, I often turned my first floor into a train-yard, where I constructed my own lines out of anything that I could carry - Styrofoam boxes, chairs, cushions - and scooted around my house like an itchy baboon. To the onlooker, I was a mad-child stringing together meaningless items and squatting on top of them. For me, each box or chair was a different rail car and each pillow linked them. Pulling them behind me, I was king of the world.
So, as you can imagine, once I boarded my first real-life train, I was blown away. It was a snowy December afternoon when my grandfather, on his first trip to the US, and I climbed into a replica Orient Express. What I had imagined on those nights in the family room suddenly surrounded me. I clambered up in my seat and pressed my nose against the cool window. Up to that point what my imagination had constructed was only fantasy, but once the train jolted forward, and my grandfather steadied me, I gasped from the world outside blurring past: imagination and adventure became tangible.
Today, as I reminisce about my wonderful obsession with trains, I see how far I've traveled in my life and how much they have meant to me, in connecting me with people and in discovering new experiences. This past summer, 3,750 miles from home with nothing but a backpack, camera, and 4 years of high school Spanish, I sped towards Machu Picchu in an electric blue diesel train. Each click and clack of the track reminded me of the nights filled with imagined whistles and billowing smoke plumes, of the excitement brought by my intrepid construction and exploration. Never in my wildest dreams could I have believed that I would be racing towards an ancient Incan civilization.
My heart raced, partly from the frosty air and partly from the whole idea of Machu Picchu, and I suddenly realized that in 48 hours, I would also work in El Hogar San Francisco, a home for destitute children with disabilities.
After spending a week with incapacitated children, I would understand something special: though disadvantaged, they have a certain perspective on life that is so innocently resilient, that living and helping them with activities becomes more of a lesson for the helper than the helped. I would watch them dry dishes, sweep the floor, stack cups, wipe tables with alacrity and skill and I would learn a great deal about appreciation of life seeing the kids afflicted with cerebral palsy, club feet, and tuberculosis hobble and clean with their childish clumsiness.
I sank into my seat and looked out into the passing trees. The curves and splits of the track which wound through the valley and to our destination eluded me; but I knew what lay ahead was marvelously exciting. It dawned on me that I was once more on a train heading to yet another adventure and with each mountain folding away, I felt closer to the ancient city and awaiting children.
As I grow older and the age of locomotion dies away, I realize that trains have evolved in design and function, much like I have grown. But the excitement that comes with its power to explore the expansive, unknown world and its ability to link people have not changed. These things continue to influence me, carrying me farther into the future - both literally and figuratively. What I once built for imaginative exploration is now what takes me to thrilling places for greater things. With this in mind, I tow my experiences behind me like the trailing cars of my Styrofoam train - my imagination, grandfather, Peru- and barrel towards a horizon of endless possibility. And I gladly say,
"Full steam ahead!"