(Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you've already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.)
I sit, nestled against the sturdy bark of a willow tree in Central Park, Karaganda, watching the vast, cloudless Kazakh sky. The world expands beyond the city, and from my quiet vantage point, I feel timeless, as though time and space have opened up just for reflection. My physical self fades away, and as I watch unseen currents carry clouds across the sky, I feel as though I'm drifting in a stream of thought, alone with my questions, diving deep for answers. Not long ago, though, I would have thought such moments were a complete waste of time.
Before attending senior classes at Nazarbayev School, my paradigm was substantially limited; opinions, prejudices, and ideas were shaped by the sterile environment of my junior years. I was herded by result-oriented, fast-paced, technologically-reliant parameters towards programming and math. I was taught that one's supreme accomplishment should be specialization.
Subconsciously, I knew this was not who I wanted to be, so I seized the chance to try various school activities. However, as soon as I arrived, I felt out of place. No one wanted to spend time with a beginner, and there was no sense of teamwork even in the group activities.
Instead of pleasing everyone, I decided to try my hand at soccer, the sport I was good at. At the beginning of my senior year, a soccer tournament was set to occur. Having agreed with the PE teachers, I organized it in the world championship format.
That day, the soccer ball darted across the field, leaving a faint trail of light with each kick. The final match brought the classic showdown-2-2, last point, the fabled golden goal. Winning would mean first place for our team, but a misstep would land us as runners-up. With the ball in my possession and close to the goal, I faced two choices: attempt the shot or pass to my teammate. Relying on team spirit, I passed. My teammate missed, and we took second place. Later, regret gnawed at me. I revisited the decision repeatedly, thinking, "What was the best move? Should I have taken the shot?" To clear my mind, I watered the garden, read Dostoevsky, and spent hours on Codeforces, solving complex problems that led my thoughts away from the field.
However, I needed new perspectives, something beyond my analysis. I watched similar plays in professional matches on YouTube, replaying them to reflect on my mistakes and imagine possible outcomes. None of the choices was 100% reliable, but some decisions were less risky and more precise. My strategy failed at the moment when I followed my feelings rather than logic. As Sun Tzu writes, "Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat." I've always loved building strategies, much like in chess, but now understand what it means to distinguish between their effectiveness and to make the best decisions at the moment instead of orchestrating it beforehand.
I am most enamored by strategies that cultivate ingenious and practical enrichments for humanity, focusing on the highest reward with the lowest risk and effort. Recently, my friend and I stumbled into a breakthrough after a table tennis match, sketching out an AI bot that can navigate legal regulations as a virtual lawyer. Now, we're determined to develop it further.
Programming still fascinates me, yet I seek a broader perspective, one where I can use statistical analysis and find optimal strategies. My time at the National Bank of the Republic of Kazakhstan deepened my understanding of programming and economics, letting me contribute to sector analysis in our economy. I realized then that my former career aspirations couldn't encompass the range of tasks I truly wanted to explore.
After much soul-searching, I have landed on data science as the perfect synergy of the fields I love. All it took was giving a pass on a football field.
I sit, nestled against the sturdy bark of a willow tree in Central Park, Karaganda, watching the vast, cloudless Kazakh sky. The world expands beyond the city, and from my quiet vantage point, I feel timeless, as though time and space have opened up just for reflection. My physical self fades away, and as I watch unseen currents carry clouds across the sky, I feel as though I'm drifting in a stream of thought, alone with my questions, diving deep for answers. Not long ago, though, I would have thought such moments were a complete waste of time.
Before attending senior classes at Nazarbayev School, my paradigm was substantially limited; opinions, prejudices, and ideas were shaped by the sterile environment of my junior years. I was herded by result-oriented, fast-paced, technologically-reliant parameters towards programming and math. I was taught that one's supreme accomplishment should be specialization.
Subconsciously, I knew this was not who I wanted to be, so I seized the chance to try various school activities. However, as soon as I arrived, I felt out of place. No one wanted to spend time with a beginner, and there was no sense of teamwork even in the group activities.
Instead of pleasing everyone, I decided to try my hand at soccer, the sport I was good at. At the beginning of my senior year, a soccer tournament was set to occur. Having agreed with the PE teachers, I organized it in the world championship format.
That day, the soccer ball darted across the field, leaving a faint trail of light with each kick. The final match brought the classic showdown-2-2, last point, the fabled golden goal. Winning would mean first place for our team, but a misstep would land us as runners-up. With the ball in my possession and close to the goal, I faced two choices: attempt the shot or pass to my teammate. Relying on team spirit, I passed. My teammate missed, and we took second place. Later, regret gnawed at me. I revisited the decision repeatedly, thinking, "What was the best move? Should I have taken the shot?" To clear my mind, I watered the garden, read Dostoevsky, and spent hours on Codeforces, solving complex problems that led my thoughts away from the field.
However, I needed new perspectives, something beyond my analysis. I watched similar plays in professional matches on YouTube, replaying them to reflect on my mistakes and imagine possible outcomes. None of the choices was 100% reliable, but some decisions were less risky and more precise. My strategy failed at the moment when I followed my feelings rather than logic. As Sun Tzu writes, "Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat." I've always loved building strategies, much like in chess, but now understand what it means to distinguish between their effectiveness and to make the best decisions at the moment instead of orchestrating it beforehand.
I am most enamored by strategies that cultivate ingenious and practical enrichments for humanity, focusing on the highest reward with the lowest risk and effort. Recently, my friend and I stumbled into a breakthrough after a table tennis match, sketching out an AI bot that can navigate legal regulations as a virtual lawyer. Now, we're determined to develop it further.
Programming still fascinates me, yet I seek a broader perspective, one where I can use statistical analysis and find optimal strategies. My time at the National Bank of the Republic of Kazakhstan deepened my understanding of programming and economics, letting me contribute to sector analysis in our economy. I realized then that my former career aspirations couldn't encompass the range of tasks I truly wanted to explore.
After much soul-searching, I have landed on data science as the perfect synergy of the fields I love. All it took was giving a pass on a football field.
