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Short Answer

I cannot truthfully say that I understand why the stage calls to me. Shy and timid for most of my girlhood, I nevertheless jumped at the opportunity to join a drama class of young girls and boys such as myself. I played my little heart out in costumes and masks, had fun inventing crazy and strange situations to place our heroic characters in, and had a merry time all around.

The first time I got to read lines though, was something I will always remember. It felt a little naughty, a little wrong, like reading a letter over someone’s shoulder. I knew, of course, that the playwright had put the words down on paper specifically so others would get to read and enact them, but still, I felt like I was prying.

It didn’t matter though. I loved it even though, or perhaps because, it felt a little wrong. I loved trying on someone else’s face, a face that wasn’t even partly mine, not like the characters I’d invented on my own. Trying to find reason and depth in the character’s words and actions – it thrilled me.

This was going to be my short answer for the common application. Since I wrote this, I have written two others that are shorter and that my mother thinks I should use. I decided to see what the verdict on this one was though, just out of curiosity. Hopefully, this sounds collegiate and well written, despite being short.

A Thousand Words: So Much More Than A Picture

Three in the morning, the lit hands of the clock tell you. You glance down, uncaring. For why should you care? Nothing in the world is more important right now than the hero, the heroine, the man in the cloak or the maiden in distress. Nothing is more important than the dragon atacking the village or the homely man begging for food. Nothing at all.

You inhale the smell of the pages, the new white pages. Sometimes they’re old, dusty, crinkly, yellow pages. Those are the best. They smell like memories, they smell of thunderstorms and late nights and train-rides and parks. Those pages are a life unto themselves, wrapping in them so many words, so many emotions and stories.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Surely not. A picture could never come close to the feeling of reading a four page description of a landscape or a dinner table or an outfit. A picture cannot encompass the feelings of a desperate man or stranded woman or a wounded soldier.

Three in the morning, the lit hands of the clock tell you. You sigh, happily. As long as there are books in the world, you can be at peace.

It’s Sad to Be a Stereotype…

But sometimes I am the typical GIRL – as the joy of my purchase of a belt and sweatshirt from an adorable indie shop proves. As much of a tomboy as I can be, as male-like crude, as much of a gamer as I am, I still sometimes have to give myself over to absolute girlyness.

Another thing I do that screams “stereotypical FEMALE” is doodling. This is a behavior that’s been reinforced by long hours of listening to lectures about Sharing and Clients and Real Customer Service and Loyalty. Meaning my job so far. My doodling consist mostly of inanimate objects who are smiling or frowning or yawning, all in an excruciatingly cute manner. It makes me rather ill to contemplate it now.

Perhaps my pen is conspirating against me, because every time I want to doodle something pretty or creative, another smily-faced food or drop or bubble comes out. After all, the pen is mightier and all that. I can totally believe this of my pen. The bastard.