1.
The description of the St. John’s program is exactly how I would want any college program to be. The "great books" method of learning is my ideal pathway to enlightenment. Questioning and constantly reentering the terminal of discovery is how I want to spend the next few years of my life. Anywhere I go I will excel, I know this, but I think that I would do so exceptionally with the type of program you have to offer and enjoy myself at the same time. On the verge of epiphanies and nirvanalike knowledge is how I want to feel exiting your school and I chose St. John’s because I see that being a reality. Being a student searching for my next runway I have come across multitudes of colleges and universities, none have made me so excited to continue my educational career as a student than your college. Growth is my destiny, the destiny of a student with open ears, mouth and heart, soaking up everything that I am able to soak up, being a limitless sponge.
With middle school drawing close to an end I began to wonder about my future in high school; which I went to and what I would do there as well as how. I began to plan out my life. Throughout middle school I became extremely interested in theatre and decided I wanted to continue the craft. I am a firm advocate of “follow your heart”. As soon as I heard there was a high school just for me I began to gear up. The High School for the Performing and Visual Arts was a far from traditional high school. I wanted a school that focused on what I wanted to do, which wasthe arts. So I made a decision most kids my age did not even know theyhad. When I made my intentions known to my counselor she discouraged me giving the excuse that my grades were far too average. Even some ex-students said that it was too hard but I did not believe them I just thought they were not determined enough to hack it. The only thing standing in the way of my dream high school was an audition. I recognized thatit had to be done and so I put all my time into that audition. When I received my acceptance letter and then attended the school so many people said I could not, I knew I was doing something incredible. I had made a life altering decision at a young age. Although I could not see myself going to any other high school, HSPVA does have some draw backs. A lot of focus is put on your art area and academia but there is no one there who can teach you how to balance them. Therefore a lot of walls are run into. Also I have a very strong dislike of the separation of the students in a public school atmosphere. Most of my friends are involved with the honors program. I feel that they are given more chances for substance than the regular students. As an example, I myself was placed in an honors class due to fact that the counselor had no where else to fit me. I enjoyed the challenge and felt alive being talked to as an intelligent individual. I also believe and count my lucky stars I had that opportunity to be taught by that teacher. He made world history so astounding. Some teachers forget that we, the students, are intelligent individuals. All the students who attend HSPVA were able to get into this special high school therefore should be given a chance to be truly challenged. When you begin a rigorous training in the theatre craft you become naturally more aware of the subtext of the world as well as yourself and others. Theatre is the ultimate quest for humanity. Humanity is searching for understanding. If you can understand yourself you can understand the world. Sometimes people never understand themselves. I do not quite understand myself but I am closer than most people on their journey, due to this school.
2.
Reading is habitual for me. I grew up around stacks of books because my father had no bookshelves. Now it seems the same for me, except I have a bookshelf but at the moment there is no more space on it. Books are stacked above books, beside them and in little crevices available. It’s like Jorge Borges said, “I can’t sleep unless I’m surrounded by books.” This is true for me. There is a stack taller than my lamp on my bedside table. There is no room for my glasses. I am glad. I like it like this, and I owe it to my father. My father, who made me read The Catcher in the Rye years before I was required to in high school and also introduced me to Descartes because he had similar questions I had. He introduced me to philosophy and theatre, fellow knights on the quest for understanding. My father read “Psyches Story” from The Golden Ass to me while I fell asleep, leading me into another interest, mythology.
On all of my quests, I usually found my way to Half Price Bookstore. During this one particular journey, I stumbled across a book for a dollar, without a back page summary. I took a chance based on the first paragraph and the cover and the price was right. Lanark: a life in four books by Alasdair Gray is about the life of Lanark, or Thaw. The novel is separated into four books which are not placed in chronological order. The third part of his life is the first thing you read then it goes to the beginning of his life and then it jumps to the end. In the book about his childhood, there is this chapter called The Key. Thaw believes that the key will answer everything from, algebra to asthma, and also that it is a precise, mysterious, illusive idea or tangible thing, he does not know. He thinks that on his neighborhood strolls that he might somehow hear it escape from the lips of a girl playing jump rope or read it on a scrap piece of paper blowing in the wind. Life is like that, searching for a purpose, a master key that will solve any and every problem and unlock any and every mystery.
Upon reading this, my entire outlook was altered. My eyes opened enough to read it and then they opened even further to live it. In the story, Thaw adopts this unceasing hope of discovery, and these unrelenting eyes which envision life as a lamp of opportunity therefore opening all explanation available in his mind’s beacon. Retaining that child-like want of solution but also still allowing oneself to remain in the mystery, is what I believe one needs to become a true writer. I want to be a writer.
Driving in my car, I keep my eyes open to all the things around me. Their colors and their uniqueness and I feel unique in a world with a million different greens and a million shades of reds because I know that there are millions of ways to describe them. I explore all the different ways or unique way I would describe the things I see. When I drive quickly past the incandescent heart shaped leaves every morning, they appear in a long blur by the longstanding fountain in front of the Warwick Hotel. Soon I became aware that my key was my writing, my passion. The strange thing is that a couple of years before I had no real passion. I was always jumping from one thing to another, which I still do in some degree but writing is home for me. With my writing I have never gotten stale. Eventually I find those answers through my key, I am okay with not finding them as well. Through my constant endeavor to find the right words and to create new ideas and concepts, the answers or theories arrive to challenge those questions. My words are my confidence. They are my excuse to cry, live and be the only person I can be. With them I can breathe freely and without restriction.
3.
During the summer before I turned twelve years old, I traveled outside of the country for the first time, destination: Madrid, Spain. As I exited off the plane, tired because I had not slept all day, I remember the walls of the airport being under construction and the whole memory seems to have a green-yellow tint. I could tell something was different, besides the fact that it was foreign soil on which I was walking. I hurried ahead of my father to the conveyer belt in urgency to retrieve my luggage as soon as the car wash-like strands of plastic spit them out. Once armed with provisions I became an adventurer like Davy Crockett or Lewis and Clark and just as big and strong and ready for action like Paul Bunion. I was in the backseat of our rental car taking in the sights of downtown Madrid as my father and step-mother were trying to pick out a decent looking inn. The inn room was about the size of my bathroom back home, but I felt so adult getting to have my own room that the inconvenience of no walking space made no difference to me.
The next day we packed up the car to the brim and headed towards Northern Spain. I do not remember how long we drove in the car. All I remember is daydreaming. I stared out the window and imagined myself running in the tall, yellow fields that stretched for miles next to the road or turning into a Pegasus and breaking through the roof of the compact rental car and flying into the mountains millions of miles away. The summer was full of dreams that year. Soon enough we were weaving in and out of Spanish mountain sides and up and under them as well. This summer was also the summer I read one of my favorite children’s books, Julie of the Wolves written by Jean Craidhead George. So being in the mountains of Spain and reading about the tundra of Alaska was a new experience, getting to be in two places at once. I do not know how long it took us to reach the mountains but once we arrived it was like a cold splash of euphoric water rinsed my eyes clean of the city I left so far away. Everything was more natural. The air alone was so much cleaner and colder and simply put, perfect. My Spanish improved as if I had always spoken it and my heart felt truly at home in a foreign country. That night was mixed with hunger and adoration. We had not stopped to eat yet. I ignored the growl of my stomach and focused, unblinking on the scenery. I love describing the feeling I get when I think of Spain. It was like my ancestors awoke something Garcia in me. In a small town outside of Leon called Buezia, so small it is not on the map, I visited my grandfather's family. The first lady I met was named ChuCha. (I can not quite remember how she is related to me but her son's children are my cousins). When I first saw her she called me Rosa, I did not know she was calling me beautiful, I thought she had gotten my name wrong. I remember being thirsty and asking if she had any orange juice, she said yes. When I followed her into the kitchen I saw that she was squeezing oranges into a glass. I was perplexed, staring at the work she went through to give me a glass of orange juice. My father said she would have given the shirt on her back for us. I believe it. Half of the town was related to me somehow and with them we had lunch, many lunches in one sitting. They all talked and I watched not really understanding them. My father said I could go walking around the village. Once again I was thrown at this, I asked what if I was to get lost and he said it was impossible. So I set out to prove him wrong and in turn finding he was unavoidably right. I made so many turns I lost track, but I always ended up back at the same spot I left from. On my walk I noticed things like keys in the doors of the houses. I thought that was stupid to leave your keys in the door, anyone could walk in but everyone knew everyone in the town so I suppose it didn’t matter. As I rounded the corner back to the place my father was chatting with the villagers, I saw one of the ladies in the front with two kids my age. As I approached, she introduced me to them. The girl bent over and kissed both my cheeks, as did the boy, much to my surprise. I had never been kissed by a boy before. We walked around the village again and soon headed towards the entrance of the town.
We walked further outside of town and began to climb a mountain off the side of the road. We climbed so high that I could see the whole village and at that moment I became scared because this was the most freedom I had ever had and it frightened me to think I was doing something dangerous or wrong. So I carefully but quickly make my way down the mountain. I came to this part where I just couldn’t see any safe way around and my whole body tensed up and I began to hyperventilate. Looking beyond my feet scared me, it was too far to jump but there was no other way. I looked at the other kids and they were assuring me that it was okay; telling me in their broken English that there was nothing to worry about. After a few minutes of this, I decided I could stay forever on this mountain forever and my desire to leave overcame my fear. I took a chance, breathed a solace "what the hell." and jumped. I swallowed my heart and I closed my eyes and when I landed on both my feet, ungracefully but without falling I stumbled away. After I landed I realized that I had not jumped that far, it looked like size of four steps of the stairs at my school and I wasn’t frightened anymore, instead I was exhilarated. I ran most of the way back to the house to tell my dad of the experience but when I got there all I could do was give him a hug. My head flooded with memories of what had happened. I thought I had faced death himself and won.
I was searching my past trying to find an experience that sincerely affected me and then this memory hit me. I knew at that moment when I was eleven years old that my life was going to be different. Without this experience, I do not think I would be the person I am today, the kind of person who is able to put things into perspective. It was your question that brought this memory back to life. After I remembered this experience I told my mother and the funny bit is that she said that she could see a change in me after that trip as well.
Being a writer is my destiny. I believe learning the great books is an incredible tool and a necessity for being a truly great writer. Every writer has a favorite writer. Great writers read and study great writers. I see what needs to be done and I do it to further my key. Just like HSPVA was a great high school match for me I think that St. John’s College is a perfect match for me. Your method just sings to me. I get it. Books are important to me. Books are another way humanity attempts to understand and fulfill that want of knowledge; which they write and share. Theatre and Writing are not cross country from each other. Instead they share the same backyard, the backyard of the absolute. I hope you realize as I do the immensity of this match and consider me one of your students, aching to know.