i deviated from my common app, because i was lazy, and i dont think i like it...
thoughts on it?
With my eyes slightly closed, I swipe my bus pass on the metal fare box and proceed to choose the spot in which I will stand for fifteen miles and forty-five minutes, when I will finally arrive at Palm Springs High. My relaxed, somnambulant stage is quickly interrupted by the twittering of students, gossiping of old ladies, and the intoxicating blend of coffee and "Top Ramen".
As I look out the windows on the bus, I think about the mountains at a distance; mountains that have been a part of my surroundings since birth. I begin to remember hiking up those mountains with my father; I remember running away to those mountains and hiding in a secret cave with my brother; I remember, and instantly I am transported to my childhood years.
As my father violently argues with my mother, my sister sneaks off into our room, my brothers naively ignore the argument and divert their attention into the Nintendo, and I silently look out the window at the mountains, thinking about the world that I am forced to survive in.
Though at the time I was only eight years young, I can still smell the chorizo and eggs on the stove; I can still see the dirt stains on my fathers torn t-shirt; I can still see the empty beer cans on the dinner table. It is impossible to forget the sounds of my father drunkenly screaming at my mother, whose cheeks were flushed red with pain and humiliation.
My world made sense because I knew of no other. To say that my father was a violent, jealous, drunken mess is an understatement now, but back then, it was a terrible misstatement! My father was the sweetest man on Earth. He was justified in beating my mother-he was simply "teaching her how to behave". He was justified in drinking day and night-he supported his five children and his wife, so why shouldn't he drown his stress in alcohol? He was justified in abusing his youngest daughter-simply because she was his daughter... right? At age eight, nothing was more true to me than his reasoning, and because of my adolescent mind, it was shocking to me when my mother filed for divorce two years later.
Walking towards school from the bus stop, I take a look at the mountains, still at a distance. I realize that my father was not the only person with an addiction. Everyone needs something to be addicted to; everyone needs something that makes them happy. Some people choose food, some people choose drugs, and some people choose love. I could have easily drowned my sorrows in alcohol, smoked marijuana until I could not think of my past, and given my body to someone for love; I could have killed my mind so I could forget. Instead, I choose to embrace my mind and the memories it has kept safe for years-because those memories, which make up my world, have taught me that I can choose the life before me. I can choose what to become addicted to and I have chosen to become addicted to my future.
Due to my addiction, I have thought about what I want from my life. I do not want to go to a university and waste my time on drinking alcohol or consuming drugs, but I do want to take advantage of what It has to offer; I want to squeeze everything I can out of it, and leave, knowing that I satisfied my thirst. My dream is to attend a university and become addicted to it. I want to teach people that addictions can be positive, if you choose them.
thoughts on it?
With my eyes slightly closed, I swipe my bus pass on the metal fare box and proceed to choose the spot in which I will stand for fifteen miles and forty-five minutes, when I will finally arrive at Palm Springs High. My relaxed, somnambulant stage is quickly interrupted by the twittering of students, gossiping of old ladies, and the intoxicating blend of coffee and "Top Ramen".
As I look out the windows on the bus, I think about the mountains at a distance; mountains that have been a part of my surroundings since birth. I begin to remember hiking up those mountains with my father; I remember running away to those mountains and hiding in a secret cave with my brother; I remember, and instantly I am transported to my childhood years.
As my father violently argues with my mother, my sister sneaks off into our room, my brothers naively ignore the argument and divert their attention into the Nintendo, and I silently look out the window at the mountains, thinking about the world that I am forced to survive in.
Though at the time I was only eight years young, I can still smell the chorizo and eggs on the stove; I can still see the dirt stains on my fathers torn t-shirt; I can still see the empty beer cans on the dinner table. It is impossible to forget the sounds of my father drunkenly screaming at my mother, whose cheeks were flushed red with pain and humiliation.
My world made sense because I knew of no other. To say that my father was a violent, jealous, drunken mess is an understatement now, but back then, it was a terrible misstatement! My father was the sweetest man on Earth. He was justified in beating my mother-he was simply "teaching her how to behave". He was justified in drinking day and night-he supported his five children and his wife, so why shouldn't he drown his stress in alcohol? He was justified in abusing his youngest daughter-simply because she was his daughter... right? At age eight, nothing was more true to me than his reasoning, and because of my adolescent mind, it was shocking to me when my mother filed for divorce two years later.
Walking towards school from the bus stop, I take a look at the mountains, still at a distance. I realize that my father was not the only person with an addiction. Everyone needs something to be addicted to; everyone needs something that makes them happy. Some people choose food, some people choose drugs, and some people choose love. I could have easily drowned my sorrows in alcohol, smoked marijuana until I could not think of my past, and given my body to someone for love; I could have killed my mind so I could forget. Instead, I choose to embrace my mind and the memories it has kept safe for years-because those memories, which make up my world, have taught me that I can choose the life before me. I can choose what to become addicted to and I have chosen to become addicted to my future.
Due to my addiction, I have thought about what I want from my life. I do not want to go to a university and waste my time on drinking alcohol or consuming drugs, but I do want to take advantage of what It has to offer; I want to squeeze everything I can out of it, and leave, knowing that I satisfied my thirst. My dream is to attend a university and become addicted to it. I want to teach people that addictions can be positive, if you choose them.