Personal Statement: Grade 9
I’m genuinely unsure as to how to start this, but I’m fairly certain it’s supposed to be formal.
We really are off to a great start already.
This is a personal statement, and personally, I’m the most follow-the-rules-but-not-really kind of person you’ll ever meet. This statement is supposed to be formal and serious; I’m supposed to be talking about my year and my dreams for the future. But I can’t just do that, wouldn’t that be boring?
So please, put your reading glasses on and get comfy.
That’s what I was doing, in fact, while surrounded by the thick Lord-of-the-Rings-esque mountains of Bhutan. Lost in the wilderness, creeping around in the dark clutching headtorches as if they were precious treasures, or rings, I suppose. One of the things I loved most about reading the Lord of the Rings was how completely improbable the victory at the end was. I suppose that made it even sweeter, especially when, despite an illness, we hiked up to a monastery thousands of metres off the ground. To be fair, we were thousands of metres off the ground as well, but we still were a considerable distance below. Are hard-fought victories sweeter? There’s no denying that yes, yes they are.
It really was a confidence-booster, I must say. I honestly can’t believe I’m comparing trekking through the high-altitude forests of Bhutan to sitting inside a conference room, breathing in the tinny aircon air while tapping a pencil on a large round table, but I am. Out of all the conferences I’ve been to, this one gave me the most confidence. Shelaeds, a conference about women in aerospace, delivered me a reality not as harsh as ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ reality I had believed in before. Here were these encouraging, selfless women who not only had the achievements, but also the attitude. For once, I met someone accomplished who told me that I could do it too, conspiratorially, as if the secret was meant for my ears only. Likening it to the almost coded messages traded between the girls in The Handmaid’s Tale wouldn’t be such a bad comparison.
I’m sure you catch my drift now.
I really am that one kid sitting in the back of the class with a book, aren’t I? Just sitting there, reading ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ quietly as if the book itself had nothing to do with me. Actually, it has something to do with all of us. That’s it’s power. I’m going to be completely unorthodox and say that in fact, this book made me think about autonomy. (It doesn’t help that I’ve been going to a school to help students with Cerebral Palsy for the last two months). How much autonomy does the self have? So many things seem out of our control, like the fog rolling in the hospital hallways, described so vividly by Ken Kesey. I realise that we think so many more things are out of the control of students with Cerebral Palsy, smaller, more minute things. Therefore, bigger things are out of their control. Perhaps it is this mindset that the students pick up on. For when you show true belief and trust in their autonomy, well, then they have autonomy, don’t they?
It really is a strange sort of oppression.
Goodness, I’m writing about my thoughts now. This really wasn’t in the plan, I promise. I’ll try to write now like I did that Monday when I stayed in school for 24 hours straight to write letters to governments. What did I write to governments about, you ask? I really will start on one of my spiels again, but perhaps, amongst all my trials of ‘gosh, I’ve got to find something I’m passionate about,’ I’ve actually found something that perhaps I could devote some part of my life to, if not my whole life. Being a ‘voice for a refugee’ not only gave me the opportunity to actually do something about the issues we care about so much, but it also gave me a chance to care about those issues in the first place. I realise that if a week of tiredness and a sore wrist gives someone, somewhere, a chance at a home, well, that’s completely worth it, isn’t it?
It would really be a dream to see me, in the future, a dedicated and motivated individual, working at UNICEF, but I’ve got too much curiosity and too little time. As a child, I was your cookie-cutter maths and science nerd, visiting NASA, reading astrophysics books, the whole shebang. Today, I’m your cookie-cutter confused teenager, tied between two opposing ideologies. I read books based on history like Catch 22 and The Man in the High Castle, and sigh in happiness as I read the last line, and then read extreme dystopia and science-fiction books true to the nature of my childhood written by Philip K. Dick, Yevgeny Zamyatin, etc. and finish those books with a snap and a smile of satisfaction. How I wish I could blend my deep interest in philosophy (if you haven’t already, read Sophie’s World, and if you have, read it again) and ethics with astrophysics, but the pair are as unlikely as a Percy Jackson book written by John Steinbeck. It would be even more wondrous if I could do something useful and beneficial with my life. But that’s the dream everyone has.
In all seriousness, all I can think of is teaching. With the way I go down the rabbit-hole, I think it’s quite a suitable choice. Perhaps I can be an ‘inspiration’ to someone or encourage people to do great things. Shape the youth of the world, or something like that. After all, with the amount of time I spend on ‘intellectual’ pursuits, being in a learning institution is a place I think I’ll be quite happy for a long period of time. However, for now, I think I’ll just pray Holden Caulfield catches me.
I’m running out of wordcount.
Anyway, what really is the point of this statement without mentioning probably the most impactful book of my year (I refuse to use the word ‘favourite’). I’ve been building up all this book tension and it’s not gone anywhere. So, despite all of the amazing books I’ve read this year (Native Son, Fahrenheit 451, 1984, just to name a few out of the many I’ve read and adored this year) the book I have chosen to hold the esteemed title of ‘Most Impactful Book This School Year’ is… (I sincerely hope you’ve drumrolled). ‘The Clockwork Orange’.
If you’ve read this book, without the use of a dictionary or a notebook filled with definitions you’ve tried to figure out, I commend you.
Not only does it add even more thought-candy to my stash about autonomy, it relates to my year almost too perfectly. The struggle of free will and choice is one that I suppose all children must go through, wading through the wishes of their ancestors and their own mind, and the questions of ‘Do I really have free will? Can I do whatever I want? It doesn’t matter. I’m doing it anyway.’ Teenage angst at it’s finest.
It also addresses social concerns (I’m really putting it too lightly here, this book made me cry) and surprise surprise, I’m ridiculously curious about government, society, ethics, the whole 7-course meal. With the interest in philosophy that I possess, teenage angst becomes ‘Is it better to have choice and be an awful person than not have choice yet be a model citizen?’
Such questions could be argued until the end of time.
For the meantime, I’ll scrap all that serious stuff and talk about how ‘the difficulty in understanding the language in The Clockwork Orange really highlights my struggles with Mandarin Chinese’ and how ‘the theme of classical music in The Clockwork Orange is also something that I really personally relate to because I’ve gotten a lot more passionate about music lately.’
There we go, perfect. Crude and awkward reflection over.
All jokes aside, I really do hope you’ve enjoyed reading this large compilation of book references, attempts at dry humour and a teenage girl’s half-developed ramblings on obscure topics, and I hope all the things listed before make reading this a lot less boring for you.
To break the rules even more in the spirit of teenage angst, I’ll end with a quote, and leave you to interpret it yourself. Thank you for reading. (A smiley face is supposed to be here but formality is of utmost priority).
“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.”
-Holden Caulfield (The Catcher in the Rye, J.D Salinger)
