[Student Profile]
GPA: 4
SAT/ACT: 1500
Academic focus/Extracurricular activities: arts, ballet, band, figure skating, interior design, east asian studies
[Prompt & Essay]
The feeling of personal failure is universal ― not getting a C on a test, not saying something embarrassing at a house party, but the realization of a deep-seated character flaw. For some, that realization comes with an influential encounter; for others, it comes with the natural flow of time. For me, it came as I was lying drugged up on anesthetics in a hospital bed. As I was staring up at that white ceiling, I remember that for a brief, crystal clear moment I thought, “My God, what have I done?” It was not bravery that had landed me in that hospital bed, it was pride.
I recall the accident as if it were yesterday: I was practicing for an upcoming fencing tournament when it felt as if something had hit the back of my knee; my left leg collapsed from under me. I remember the burning frustration I felt when our best fencer took me aside and asked me to perform some basic footwork. “We need to make sure you’re okay,” she said, and I took one step forward and proceeded to fall flat on my face. She said something after that, but all I could hear was the popping sound of my knee and my own thoughts telling me I was failing, that I had lost a chance to prove myself, that I was weak. I couldn’t accept it. I excused myself to the restroom, where I began to try to hit my knee into place.
Nothing was working ― no matter how much I twisted my knee or jumped on it, I still couldn’t put my full weight on my leg. I punched the wall out of frustration and heard a crack, but it wasn’t from my hand. I could no longer walk.
The next thing I remember seeing was my mom's face when the X-Ray results came: a badly torn ACL and Meniscus. The doctor said I had likely injured my knee further by trying to walk without assistance. Everything came crashing down following the surgery. I missed so much school that I fell behind in my classes, I had post-surgery depression, and I was forced to quit the fencing and tennis teams. It was painful to see my friends go on to win the next tournaments without me. I was supposed to be their mentor, the one who had been fencing since the 5th grade; instead, they were leaving me behind. I felt broken.
It was in the shadow of self-deprecation that I learned: when I dig myself into a hole, I need to put down the shovel. My knee may have given out on me, but I refused to let the rest of me give out as well. In the past few years since my knee surgery, I have vastly improved my self-awareness, responsibility, and fortitude. I moved in with my father and chose to attend a school where I could have one-on-one instruction and accelerate my learning. In less than a year, I completed my Freshman year as well as my Sophomore year and was back on track to graduate in May 2021. I have made new friends and thrown myself into my studies and flute practice, as well as picking up new activities such as debate club and building architectural models. I use my experience to help others in the Student Mentorship Club, but, most importantly, I’ve also learned to ask for help. I’ve learned my own limits and learned when to push them. I still carry the effects of my actions, but they no longer weigh me down. I don’t think of what happened as a simple sports injury; I think of it as the catalyst that spurred my growth as a person and taught me that sometimes we must look past the things we can’t change and focus on the things we can in order to move forward. And then, like the Willow, I will not break.