Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
I hit a boy with a soccer ball in the third grade after he said "you can't kick a ball"- safe to say he would never accuse me of a physical impotency ever again. I saw blood, he saw blood. I was too young to face the reality of what I had done, and I was unable to find a practical way to acknowledge things that upset me. It wasn't until my grandpa began losing his memory that I found stability- how ironic.
Grandpa always wanted to do puzzles with me. Initially, I was reluctant. As a child, who knew he had the world figured out, I dismissed the idea of doing puzzles with my Grandpa. Little did I know, puzzles were the best way to delay the symptoms of his disease.
All puzzles have an algorithm, there is a strategy, a process. First, locate the edge pieces. By finding the structure, you find a way to begin. After that, find a common color arrangement or an area that is simple to take on. Place all the pieces that fit this area; essentially, complete a puzzle within the puzzle.
Our biggest accomplishment was the recreation of "The School of Athens". Not a painting, but a 6,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. During its construction, there were many times I wanted to quit. The most simple section had a group of scholars, teasing me. Pythagoras and his students in the second section was also excruciating, but the most difficult task of the puzzle was the last: distinguishing Plato and Aristotle among a pearly yet dull background. Over 1000 pieces of the same shade of white pushed me to my limits. The puzzle was daunting me; the battle became personal. Through all this, I was prone to giving up. Every time the thought of abandoning the puzzle arrived, remnants of the distraught feeling I felt in third grade returned- completing the puzzle was the only viable option.
Suddenly, puzzles took on a new meaning. I had finally found a constructive way to deal with things that troubled me. When I moved schools, my only source of placidity came from jigsaw puzzles. Once, twice, three times; I finished a puzzle, gave it a look, then tore it apart to start over, finishing it faster each time.
As years went by, puzzles were no longer puzzles. I began to see puzzles all around me and I approached them the only way I knew how. Every day in Calculus, I stare at the problem until I can find some way to begin it, locate the edge pieces, using the right pieces to solve my problem. In chess, I see the second move before the first one is made, accompanying my moveset to my opponent's. It's very tiresome but I find comfort in knowing that it's just a puzzle.
Years and years of doing this and I began to see less blood. I filled the hollowness I encountered in third grade, and with it, I gained a new interest. Working on puzzles had helped me gain focus, determination, and patience. My love for computer science stems largely from this. Programming requires the same logical and pragmatic approach that puzzles do. A computer cannot think, so in order to get it to do any useful work, one must provide it with a program. A program is a list of instructions that describe how to solve a problem, and as an individual who grew up solving problems, I excelled in this area.
I hit a boy with a soccer ball in the third grade after he said "you can't kick a ball"- safe to say he would never accuse me of a physical impotency ever again. I saw blood, he saw blood. I was too young to face the reality of what I had done, and I was unable to find a practical way to acknowledge things that upset me. It wasn't until my grandpa began losing his memory that I found stability- how ironic.
Grandpa always wanted to do puzzles with me. Initially, I was reluctant. As a child, who knew he had the world figured out, I dismissed the idea of doing puzzles with my Grandpa. Little did I know, puzzles were the best way to delay the symptoms of his disease.
All puzzles have an algorithm, there is a strategy, a process. First, locate the edge pieces. By finding the structure, you find a way to begin. After that, find a common color arrangement or an area that is simple to take on. Place all the pieces that fit this area; essentially, complete a puzzle within the puzzle.
Our biggest accomplishment was the recreation of "The School of Athens". Not a painting, but a 6,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. During its construction, there were many times I wanted to quit. The most simple section had a group of scholars, teasing me. Pythagoras and his students in the second section was also excruciating, but the most difficult task of the puzzle was the last: distinguishing Plato and Aristotle among a pearly yet dull background. Over 1000 pieces of the same shade of white pushed me to my limits. The puzzle was daunting me; the battle became personal. Through all this, I was prone to giving up. Every time the thought of abandoning the puzzle arrived, remnants of the distraught feeling I felt in third grade returned- completing the puzzle was the only viable option.
Suddenly, puzzles took on a new meaning. I had finally found a constructive way to deal with things that troubled me. When I moved schools, my only source of placidity came from jigsaw puzzles. Once, twice, three times; I finished a puzzle, gave it a look, then tore it apart to start over, finishing it faster each time.
As years went by, puzzles were no longer puzzles. I began to see puzzles all around me and I approached them the only way I knew how. Every day in Calculus, I stare at the problem until I can find some way to begin it, locate the edge pieces, using the right pieces to solve my problem. In chess, I see the second move before the first one is made, accompanying my moveset to my opponent's. It's very tiresome but I find comfort in knowing that it's just a puzzle.
Years and years of doing this and I began to see less blood. I filled the hollowness I encountered in third grade, and with it, I gained a new interest. Working on puzzles had helped me gain focus, determination, and patience. My love for computer science stems largely from this. Programming requires the same logical and pragmatic approach that puzzles do. A computer cannot think, so in order to get it to do any useful work, one must provide it with a program. A program is a list of instructions that describe how to solve a problem, and as an individual who grew up solving problems, I excelled in this area.
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