Finding Self Acceptance - Harvard - College statement help course

December 3, 2020 Topher Williamson

Hometown: Grand Junction, Colorado, USA

High School: Public school, 260 students in graduating class

Ethnicity: Asian

Gender: Female

GPA: 4.5 out of 4.0

SAT: n/a

ACT: 33

SAT Subject Tests Taken: Mathematics Level 1, Literature

Extracurriculars: United States National Debate Team (Member of Olympic HS Debate Team), president of high school Speech and Debate Team, president of National Honor Society, intern with Senator Michael Bennet (DC Office), president of Girls Learn International

Awards: Valedictorian, National Champion in World Schools Speaking, State Champion of International Extemp

Major: Social Studies

College statement help course

“Overzealous—O-V-E-R-‘ZED’-E-A-L-O-U-S—overzealous.” I beamed while leaping off stage, proud of overcoming my two largest hurdles— public speaking and spelling. I apprehensively anticipated applause to fill the faux “class-itorium,” but instead, my peers filled it with laughter and “You ‘zed’ it wrong’s.” Tears welled up in my eyes, but I knew this would happen. It always did. Whenever I pronounced words “The Indian Way,” I was mercilessly teased for it; friends called it my “Indian Problem.” However, as I learned, it wasn’t an “Indian Problem,” there never was an “Indian Problem,” but rather, a “Tiana Problem.” My insecurities, fueled by my peers, overtook my sense of individuality—regardless of background, I wanted to blend in, not stand out.

Welcome to Grand Junction, Colorado—(Indian) Population: my family. My relationship with the “Valley” developed through paradox—it was a curse disguised as a blessing, a blessing disguised as a curse. I held the power to define the Indian stereotype, yet I felt powerless. This feeling was contagious; it slowly crept into my day-to-day routine. I began to detest what others loved, especially PE—and no, not because of the Asian stereotypes. Every day, the 6th period bell morphed the locker rooms into the ultimate hunting ground: mean girls would surround me, as a lion would its prey, roaring, “Evolution is real because Indians are as hairy as apes!” I spent the remainder of PE frantically trying to cover my arms and legs, my insecurities oozing (literally) from my pores. It wasn’t my fault; I couldn’t change who I was. Yet these girls preyed on the insecurities of a girl whose timid qualities rivaled a mouse—this was the curse.

“An Obama rally? In Grand Junction?” I questioned my parents, dumbfounded.

In response, my parents handed me a flyer emblazoned with his iconic “O.” Several Facebook statuses later, Senator Obama strolled across the stage. As he told his story, I found myself relating to it. I’d always felt invisible because of arbitrary judgments that defined me, yet, his words gave me hope. I wanted to be like him—he, guided by overzealous rhetoric, commanded his audience’s attention. Inspired by his confidence, I knew if I wanted to break my cycle of silence I had to learn how to speak publicly. Entranced, I ventured into the sea of blue-clad supporters. I felt lost in colorful waves; yet, I felt like I had discovered myself for the first time. I, too, needed speak up for myself: I refused to continue accepting my invisibility, my silence, my marginalization in the hope of change.

In the months following the rally, cartoons morphed into CNN; pumpkin patches into Politico; nights-out into newspapers. Politics became my world, and my world became empowered. Like the world of politics, I knew I didn’t have to change myself, but rather, my ‘voters’ perspective. I wanted—I needed to be heard. I could be strong without being silent. Driven by my overzealous love of politics, I spoke out more during our class political discussions, presentations, and conversations. The more I spoke out, the less I held in—my newly outspoken persona surprised my tormentors. My stoic opposition to their teasing prompted them to stop. I was no longer “Tiana—unibrow- girl,” but rather “Tiana—politics-girl.” I redefined what an “Indian” meant to them. Being Indian didn’t mean I was passive, it meant I was passionate; it didn’t mean I was shy, but strong. Labels didn’t de- fine me; I defined them.

Now, six years later, I’ve learned to be overzealous in everything I do—politics, debate, volunteering. My actions, not my assumed identity, dictate my labels, my story, my passions. I choose to speak up, and I am heard. From being chosen to represent the United States internationally in debate to standing up to bullies, I am heard. The girl once terrified of speaking up, is speaking out; finally comfortable in her own skin. And if anyone thinks otherwise, I’ll be sure to spell it out.

REVIEW

What is most striking about Tiana’s essay is its manner of storytelling. Her writing immediately captures attention—she employs an engaging story as an introduction and her dialogue lede is striking—and manages to keep the reader’s interest by pulling in thoughtful examples and utilizing a distinct tone. Tiana’s voice pervades the entire essay making its story both personal and intimate; the reader easily feels understanding for her situation and sympathizes with the dilemma that she describes.

While Tiana’s story touches on many points in her life (the spelling bee, bullying, an Obama rally, her increasing love of politics), Tiana is successful in presenting her personal growth succinctly: The reader can track her complete transformation from a girl defined by others’ misconceptions to a girl able to create her own labels for herself. She does not spend time in extraneous details; every example she gives has a purpose. And her language, while noteworthy, is not excessive. Even the structure—one that follows each stage of her growth—is well planned and executed. Tiana’s response to adversity is incredible in and of itself and successfully presents her attributes of vocalness and tenacity, but in the end, it is the way that she presents her struggles that makes her essay a notable and unforgettable read.

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