How I Got Into College

   As I close my eyes, Miss Leadingham tells us to envision our lives next year. I see myself in Ithaca's forms, waking up early to get a practice room before my first class. Quietly, I creep into the soundproof room and close the door, even though no one can hear me. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, a ritual now, savoring every moment I have here. This is where I'm meant to be, to live and breathe and learn, I think to myself. I love that I have been given the opportunity to come here, what I can accomplish, who I can become in the next phase of my life. Studying English, and writing, and music, and film and everything I can, I love it here. I'll love it there. I'm scared, of course, I won't know anyone, and I have never made friends with ease, but I know I'll love it at Ithaca, despite those fears.
   I have found solace in words, but I can't find 500 of them, or even 1,000 that describe those feelings enough to make you fall in love with my application. How can you expect any high school senior to write the essay that really describes who she is to people who don't even know her – in 500 words? I want to make a good first impression, to tell you all about my life, the events taht have made me who I am today, how learning my brother does drugs, actually brought us closer together, even though it tore my family apart; how finding Ithaca had the academic programs i needed and the extracurricular activities I wanted made me certain of the next step; how breaking my ankle and starting high school on crutches ended my hopes of a gymnastics career; how finding writing and what it could do for me, helped me find myself; how music is the most emotional experience in my life on a daily basis; how I felt connected to Ithaca and its musical history in an instant. But I can't. I can't tell you all about myself, or even one life changing moment, because some of those are times in my life I don't care to relive. I can tell you about the defining moments that I cherish because I love who I am now, because of them, but am also afraid to describe to people who can't see life the way I do. I wish I could tell you how all of that feels in 1,000 words because even more than that, I can't describe to you how the quiet little town of Ithaca made me feel like I was home, in a place that I had never imagined existed.
   My defining moments are those that happen inside my head, where others can't see and judge and compare me to anyone else. For years I wanted to be a gymnast, and a chemist, and a veteranarian, and then a writer.
   "You may begin the test now," the proctor tells us. Already bored out of my skyll, I flip to the first page of the 9th grade math standardized state test. Forty-six questions later and no less bored, a phrase flows into my head while I'm avoiding thinking about the quadratic formula. "He held my heart." Not knowing what these words are, but loving the flow and the repeated "he" sound, I am compelled to write another. This one flows just as smoothly into my head, "He made it crack." Furiously I scribble them down on the empty space on the test – I don't want to lose them. I return to the quadratic formula, and question 47, but I have the unquenchable urge to keep writing. Ten minutes later, 12 more lines, yet no farther along in the test, I feel satisfied – finished.
   I am skilled at using words to show people a life and a reality that they might not be able to imagine. I found writing, not the script, but within myself, and finding that buried so deep, I found myself. When asked, I say with pride, "I'm a writer," a simple statement that I have no doubt about, that strikes a chord of peace within me. Writing is a constant, a constant effort, a constant source of joy – but that doesn't mean it's all I do, or all I am.
   Being a musician is in my soul, part of my fate, a part that I continue to work towards. I know I'm supposed to tell you that I've worked so hard, come so hard, and that I believe I've become the best musician I can be. I don't want to. I'm a liar, so often, so easily, but not right now, for this purpose, I don't feel like lying. That might be the worst idea, but at least I'm trying to be honest. I'm lazy, I don't always practice although I know I should and I have the time. I may not always live up to my fullest potential, but I do live with passion and a love for music that is rivaled only by my love of love, and love of writing.
   I didn't always know I would study music in college, not the way I did writing. Grant, my flute teacher, mentioned one week that he was a performer. He could get up on a stange and love it – every time. As he said this, I realised I wasnt' the performer he was, that I was a more behind-the-scenes girl. The feeling that flooded through me a sI thought of this was one of sincere truth. I said then, "I want to make it. Make music." I knew then that if I didn't study music for the rest of my life, seriously study it,  I would not be living up to the person that I am meant to be. Like writing, theis is what I know I want to do with the rest o fmy life. I love it, the way I love my writing, and how my room feels entirely me. It's who I am, and it's who I dream of being.
   Dreaming of the places in my mind, finding somewhere to belong, to study, and meet people and do extraordinary things, Ithaca drifts through my mind. The scenerey I found there, and the beautiful architecture of hte music building, a place I could feel at home – surrounded by strangers – any time. I feel at peave with what I find there, a place I've discovered that found me; a place wher I can be the one of a kind, shy, outspoken person that I have become; a place that I feel inexplicably drawn to; a place where I'm meant to be, meant to create words that change lives and make music that inspires souls.

I know it's kind of lame, but these words were the ones that changed my life. This is how I got into college. How do you really say no to this?

Thanks for reading <3