PWNED

Kristina Lynn Lozoya
South Plantation High School
Common Application Essay
I run my fingers over the double-stitched cotton that makes up the length of my gi. Frayed threads and flecks of gray dot the heavy cloth that has bared the brunt of many a strike and blow, soaked up many a tear, covered the bloody nose that I got in my first tournament match. There are stories in these threads- tales of despair, of elation, of defeat and subsequent triumph that weave themselves into a multi-hued miasma as I slip on the top half of the gi. The James Bond theme song somehow finds its way into my head. I tie on my belt. I am a secret agent. I am invincible.
I take my place among the other candidates for second degree, at the front of the room, just to the left of the ranking instructor. The master of the dojo has come for this special occasion, for this rite of passage. He calls us to attention. We bow in respect, as those in our same position have done for centuries. The first exercise is always forms, sequences of movements that mimic real fighting. I work through them easily enough; twelve years of practice has prepared me well for this. My instructor glances over my work and gives it an approving nod. I pass muster.
I lace up my chest protector. Two inches of padding stand, a helmet, mouth guard, and shin guards stand between me and the lethal blows of every single black belt in the dojo. I cringe as I think of the resolute crrrrack that accompanies the broken bones that are all too possible in this endurance test. I must fight every single one of my peers and my instructors to pass. Nervously, I face my opponent, a wiry girl who has trained with me since my first day at the dojo. My secret persona is gone, washed away with the nervous sweat dripping from my forehead. And so the match begins.
Jab. Kick. Back fist. Blow for blow, we are evenly matched. My opponent lands a solid side kick in the center of my torso. Pain. Stars. Shock. I stagger back. Whispers of defeat grace my semi-delirious state of mind. And yet, I can’t give up. The theme song starts playing again. I rise again and knock my opponent unconscious with a roundhouse kick to the head. Adrenaline overwhelms me. Sweet, sweet victory.
Hours later, the test is over. Every match has been decided. Those who pass stand before the master. I am lucky to be among them. My name is called, and I rise to receive my rank. As I walk to my instructor, I remember the twelve years of trials and tribulations that brought me to that spot. The new rank is slipped around my waist and tied firmly. My instructor is saying something about the magnitude of the occasion, but I can’t concentrate. The theme song is playing in my head. I’ve bested my villain for the day. I am, after all, a secret agent.
Whenever I face a challenge in the academic arena, whether it be a test, a problem set, or an essay, I think back to that time. Nothing will ever be that difficult, so I think to myself, ‘You can do this Kristina,’ and the task is no longer insurmountable.

Update

MIT Deferred.

Not exactly the biggest epi fail of my life...
but onto Plan B.

Which consists of the following:

-Haaavahhhhd
-Carnegie Mellon
-Cornell
-Johns Hopkins
-Worcester Polytechnic
-UCHiiiiiii

And I shall be happy.

So declareth the sophomoric prophet!

Six days and counting.

Holy dear god. Six days until MIT decisions come out. I can't sleep. I can't think. I am numb. I am nervous. I am ready to see my dreams through to the end. My thoughts are so incoherent right now. Need to get to bed. Insanely busy week. GAHHHHHHHHHH.

*hides under blankets*

Pathetic and Epic much.

Ten More Days.

Crazy isn't it? My life's work comes to affirmation in less than twenty days. My destiny will be decided. All other options are a distant, and may I emphasize DISTANT, second and third. Pins and needles don't even BEGIN to describe the amount of anxiety this decision continues to cause me.

Reading admissions blogs has becme as normal to me as, well, breathing. Keri G. from Ft. Lauderdale provides a candid voice from which I can observe the MIT campus from the perspective of a froshling from years past. I saw the giddy child running across Senior Haus a the first sign of snow, the burnt-out sophomore strruggling with an insane double major psetting the night away, the nostalgic junior reflecting on six semesters of the most insane and amazing intellectual experience on this earth.

Ten. more. days. I can't wait to be a part of the MIT legacy.

late night.

Hair in pig tails and eyes wandering.
Sepia tones of innocence
Awash with happiness and passion.
A six year old's grin. Gray and white on a summer day.
She turns to the horizon, coloring the sky with dreams, wandering home.