Personal Statement (16 page)

“A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Hurricane”

I’ve wanted to go to Harvard my entire life. That is to say, I have no memories that do not include my desire to attend the oldest institution of higher learning in the United States. My crib was crimson and white. Pennants with the Latin motto “veritas” were strewn about my nursery.

And I was raised to maintain this singular focus. It was behind every decision I made, and my parents made sure that focus never waned, never wavered. My college visits last spring made me fall in love with the city surrounding the university as well, and I was nothing if not
more
convinced that Harvard was the place for me.

Three months ago, when Hurricane Calliope threatened the shores of my home state of Connecticut, I saw an opportunity. An opportunity to help out my fellow Nutmeggers, sure, but more importantly to me at the time, I saw an opportunity to round out my resume and add yet another volunteering notch to my belt, one that would further separate my application from the rest and make
this
Emily Kim stand out from the other Emily Kims (there are a
lot
of us out there, as you probably know).

But a funny thing happened on the way to the hurricane. Nothing went right. Nothing went my way. I got exactly zero lucky breaks while others around me seemed to wallow in them. And when I felt the most adrift, the most lost and untethered, I realized that the only thing making me feel that way, making me angry, frightened, and upset, was dreading how it would affect my chances with Harvard. How everything that happened during those two days in Cawdor seemed to be
hurting
the probability of getting an acceptance letter from the school I’d dreamed about since infancy.

With the clarity of someone who struggles to see the hidden image in a Magic Eye poster, then suddenly
gets
it and cannot
un
-see it, cannot understand how they ever missed it, I realized
Harvard
was making me miserable. Pinning my hopes on one school as if
that
was going to be the key to my future success, my future happiness, my future life. I thought

I needed the front-line, in-the-trenches experience to separate me from the pack and get me where I wanted to go. But in fact, I needed that experience to
save
me from where I wanted to go.

So it is with great humility, sincerity and hope that I submit
this
application—to Tufts University. Because I still love the city of Boston. It’s tough, wise, and full of heart—like me (and like a good friend or two who might also find themselves enrolled at a nearby college).

Harvard was the dream of a little girl. A smaller girl. One who was fulfilling her
parents’
dream, not her own. Now that I’ve realized that you can’t live someone else’s life, you can’t please anyone but yourself, you only get one life, one shot, one voice, one chance to make your mark, make your stand, make your life worth living… I’m doing things differently. I’m not out to win at all costs. I don’t think everyone is my competition. I’m breathing easier. I want to study for the joy of learning. Enjoy the city’s sights, sounds, smells, and tastes. I’m gonna root, root, root for the home team (even though the Sox are awful); I’m going to ride the T, eat chowder, get drunk with townies, run the Charles, do everything I love about your fair city. But I’m
not
going to live the life my mother wants. And I need Tufts University to help me continue on this journey, this journey of self-discovery.

And isn’t
that
what college is about? Finding yourself, finding your way in the world? Besides, those Ivy League kids can be pretty uptight. (Most of them are assholes; I know
I
was.)

Please help me become less of an asshole.