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college essays 26 Failing Successfully by Candace Moberly, Berea, KY My day in the sun had arrived – my magnum opus would be revealed. I had just delivered a memorized speech that I had labored over for weeks, and I was about to learn how the panel judged my performance. The polite but sparse audience leaned forward in their folding chairs. A hush fell across the room. The drum rolled (in my mind, anyway). The contest organizer announced the third-place winner. Alas, the name was not mine. Then he read the second-place winner, and once again it was not me. At last, the moment of truth came. Either I was about to bask in the warmth of victory or rue the last several months spent preparing. While neither of these came to pass, my heart felt closer to the latter. Losing is a part of life, and I have dealt with the emotional baggage that travels shotgun with it on more than one occasion. However, it was an indescribably underwhelming feeling to drive 200 miles round trip, get up obscenely early on a freezing Saturday morning, and yet still finish fourth out of four contestants. After Lincoln lost the 1858 Illinois Senate race, he reportedly said, “I felt like the 12-year-old boy who stubbed his toe. I was too big to cry and it hurt too bad to laugh.” Oh yeah, I could relate. I had spent many hours in front of a computer and in libraries doing research for the Lincoln Bicentennial Speech Contest. As I pored over several biographies, one notion stood out: Lincoln was handed My Last Lecture by Kristine, Indianapolis, IN Each day in my World Literature class, we read a chapter or two aloud from The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. As we read, I think about my life and try to decide what points I would make if I had to give a last lecture. This may sound silly, because I am so young – my life has been small compared to the lives of brilliant college professors – but I do it anyway. I think I would talk about my family and their impact on me. My parents have alcohol problems, so I guess that would be the most significant topic I could speak about, but it’s not exactly about me. I could also talk about my position as the managing editor of my high school newspaper and how important that is to me, how I spend hours in the journalism room coaching writers and trying to perfect the publication. That sounds a bit arrogant, though. I could mention the sports I used to play and how my passion faded as I became older, but that might sound like I was just trying to make excuses. By the time the bell rings, I always feel frustrated. I am so glad that I am not a college professor who is ready to retire. I wouldn’t know what to say. As I speculate, I get stuck on the idea that most people my age have at least something to talk about. I know someone who went to Africa to help children with AIDS, and another who Losing is a part of life took a month off school to go on a mission trip to Guatemala. Then there’s my friend Duncan, who is in a band that is currently producing its first album. That really impresses me; plus, the band is extraordinary. I go to concerts and come away feeling like a different person. I just haven’t done anything that huge. I have only been out of the country once, to Australia on a People to People Student Ambassadors trip, and I didn’t really do anything charitable there. I’m not in a band either, although Duncan did try to teach me the piano. The truth is, I just love to learn about life and people and then find a way to put it into words. It’s the most incredible feeling in the world stringing words together that sound right, that feel beautiful as they collect in the brain and flow through the fingers onto the page. But that’s not monumental enough to inspire people. This weekend, my dad and I drove five hours to visit a college. This really is impressive if you know my dad. He is 5'5" and weighs about 115 pounds. Nobody is sure of his exact weight since it is constantly decreasing. He doesn’t drive or go places anymore, but he made this trip with me. My family fights a lot, but this weekend Teen Ink • APRIL ’09 • COLLEGE CONNECTION many sound defeats, but he never allowed them to (permanently) hinder his spirit or ambition. While I believe many history lessons can be applied to modern life, I hadn’t considered “the agony of defeat” as a historically valuable learning experience. I never dreamed I could relate to Lincoln! A president no less, and the greatest at that. I thought “failing successfully” was a very appropriate topic, given the many letdowns Lincoln experienced, and so this became the title of my speech. After not placing in the first year of the speech contest, I really wanted to compete again. Lincoln had been the epitome of persistence, so I was not going to give up on a contest about a historic individual who did not give up! I reworked my speech for the following year, and while I did not come in last, again I did not place. Some days you’re the dog, and some days you’re the hydrant, and this was definitely a hydrant day that brought me down for a while. I couldn’t accept the fact that I had failed twice in something that I had worked so hard on, until I contemplated the individual whom I’d spent so much time learning about. Never mind the lost prize money (ouch, major) and praise (ouch, minor) – I had learned, really learned, about a great man who had experienced failure and disappointment, and had many chances to give up. We remember Lincoln because he didn’t take this route; he didn’t throw lavish pity-parties, and he persevered to My dad’s weakness broke my heart my dad and I only had one short-lived argument. I cried three times during the trip. Once was when my dad fell asleep really early. I looked over at him, and he reminded me of a child curled up with the blankets pulled around his chin; he’s cold all the time. He looked so fragile and tiny. Sometimes I can be sarcastic or even mean, but I’m not a true pessimist. As I looked at my dad, I was overwhelmed with compassion. It just made me so sad. Once my dad beamed with joy and laughter, but now he hides within himself, even in his sleep. I know there is evil in humanity, but each time I think about hating anyone, I remember my dad – his addictions and his anger, but mostly his sadness. The next time I cried was on the actual tour. About halfway through, my dad began to fall behind the group. I noticed and turned back. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Nothing,” he said, breathing heavily. “Don’t worry about me. If I knew where I was going, I’d just meet you at the car. Go ahead.” My dad’s weakness broke my heart. He’s 51, but looks 70. Instead of going ahead as he asked, I waited. The third time I cried was on the way home. A car was merging into my lane, and the driver didn’t see me. I become, according to many, the greatest American president. While I did not earn monetary awards as a result of this contest, I did gain a new perspective. Through learning about Lincoln, I discovered that I can fail successfully, and that it is possible to glean applicable wisdom from the lives of those who have come before us. Now, whenever I’m faced with a setback, I remember what Lincoln said after his unsuccessful 1854 Senate race: “The path was worn and slippery. My foot slipped from under me, knocking the other out of the way, but I recovered and said to myself, ‘It’s a slip and not a fall.’” ✎ Photo by Hailey Jones, Lake Oswego, OR swear we almost died. This was the most memorable moment of my life. I began shaking and crying, and I looked at my dad. His face was blank; he wasn’t scared. Suddenly I thought of courage and The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien, which we read in class. In the chapter entitled “On the Rainy River,” a boy my age was drafted to fight in the Vietnam War. He ran away, heading to Canada. When he got there, he stopped, cried, turned around, and went to war. In that moment with my dad, I didn’t really need courage; I only needed the common sense to get out of the way. My dad, though, needed courage more than anything. Like the boy wavering between the United States and Canada, he faced either life or death. I’m not sure which one he wanted at that moment. He told me to stop crying and watch the road. Finally I forced myself to stop, and my dad opened another can of beer. As great a story as this is, at least to me, I’m not sure if it’s last lecture material. I guess I obsess over this way too much. Besides, I’m tired, and I can still remember how peaceful my dad looked sitting in the car next to me as we zoomed down the interstate. Perhaps that’s enough for now. I may or may not see a smile like that on his face again. Maybe that’s my last lecture, my strongest desire; I want to keep my dad forever. ✎
Perfect Chemistry by Sminu Bose, New City, NY Ahigh-pitched squeal pierced my eardrums. Of all places, I was in Fort Detrick – 20 minutes from the nation’s capital. Fragments of thought collided in my mind as I stared at the light dancing on the conical tube shaking in my hand. Is this a terrorist attack? Definitely. And then my mentor, the docile scientist whom I had met two days before, began laughing maniacally. Was this some kind of joke? Could he really be behind it? He was looking past his brand-new intern, who was on the verge of hyperventilating, and staring at the -20˚C freezer. I was not at all relieved to discover that my ears were throbbing not from a terrorist attack but because of the freezer’s alarm. My mentor had, in fact, been scheming as I innocently gathered the necessary enzymes to complete the digestion reaction assigned to me. It was my third day at the National Cancer Institute (NCI) Cell and Developmental Signaling Laboratory, and I was completely focused on executing my task perfectly. Little did I know that my 20 or so expeditions to the freezer would induce mechanized screaming. My mentor had been waiting mischievously as the freezer’s temperature rose to -7˚C. Ever since then, I have been wary of that banshee freezer. I found my first days as a Summer Cancer Research Training Award Fellow filled with many wild experiences. The first time I heard about CERT protein, my head spun, but by the end of the summer I had cloned it multiple times and studied the protein-protein inter - actions of its specific domains using S2 cell models. This summer I did so many things that I never could have imagined. I woke up I loved this world – a world saturated with science many times fearing that it was all a dream. I loved this new world that I was experiencing – a world saturated with science. Of course, I faced challenges during my eight weeks at NCI. My second week, my mentor announced that we would be dissecting pregnant mice in our attempts to generate a CERT knockout mouse. My pinky toe quivered enthusiastically, as it usually does when I am overexcited. In what looked like an ice cream carton with holes was a swollen female mouse with slick black fur. The pungent smell of food pellets filled the lab. As my fingers encroached into her space, her black-marble eyes locked with mine. I immedi- ately snatched my fingers back – was it compassion, fear, regret? My mentor motioned for me to pick her up, and my hand slowly descended into the box again. As I lifted her by the tail, she struggled fiercely, but I did not loosen my grip. The hardest part was dropping her into the CO2 box and watching her chest heave as she took her last breaths. It may have been silly, but I prayed for that mouse. But as I was doing the dissection and removed the linked chain of embryos, I understood that in order to advance science and save thousands of lives in the future, sometimes sacrifices must be made. Leaving the lab left me hungry for more science. I still find my thumb in a pipetting position and retain the ability to unscrew bottles and tubes with my left hand. And I sometimes wake up thinking that I was just doing a dissection or an experiment until I realize that it was a dream. In search of a continued experience, I am already looking for internship opportunities at research laboratories, and I absolutely cannot wait to get back to that environment! ✎ How I Became an “Old Man” by Hao Wu, Culver, IN name and rank‚ sir.” That was my most frequently used phrase “Sir‚ during my first month in the United States at the Culver Military Academy. I was a second-class man (junior) but also a new cadet. As a Chinese student who had never been to America before, it was painstaking to memorize the names and ranks of the “old men” (branch-qualified cadets). “Sir, good morning, uh – uh – First Ser – Ser, uh, Sergeant uh – Puc, uh, Puccia, sir.” It took me forever to greet them in the hallway. Feeling embarrassed, I wrote down the names and ranks of all 47 “old men” in my unit and sat on my bed for hours each day, reading my list and whispering, “Lance Corporal Turner, Color Corporal Weber ….” “Tuck in your shirt! Don’t talk in the hallway! Square your corners when you march!” they would always bark at me. Waking at 5:30 each morning, I put on my uniform, shined my shoes, swept the floor, and made my bed so there were absolutely no wrinkles. Then I stood outside my room, waiting for inspection. That was the reality of my career as a new cadet. Because of my superior performance, I was the first cadet invited to Boards, the rigorous testing and inspection This was the reality of my career as a new cadet for a new cadet to become a branch-qualified “old man.” The most important part of the process was the room preparation, so I needed to thoroughly clean my room and make sure every nook and cranny was spotless. I woke up at 6 a.m. that Saturday and got to work. To eliminate the dust bunnies hiding in the corners, I bought two bottles of Lemon Pledge. I pulled out the drawers of my desk and crawled underneath. Lying on my back, I sprayed and wiped every inch of the desk, including the underside, the drawer slides, and the legs. I did the same to my wardrobe, bed, and lamp; I even polished my room key. The hardest part of the preparation was the floor. Dragging, pulling, hauling, pushing, I moved everything out of my room and into the hallway. Piles of dust hidden for years lay where my desk, bed, and wardrobe had stood. After I had swept up the dust and mopped the floor twice, I opened my second bottle of Pledge. On my hands and knees, I polished the floor one section at a time. By the time I had backed into the hallway, my shirt was wet, my knees were numb, and sweat dripped down my cheeks faster than I could wipe it away. But the floor shone, almost too much. I soon realized how smooth, even slippery, my floor was – I had cleaned it with furniture polish. “Hey, what’s up, Wu?” a friend asked as he stepped into The Jungle by Amy Zheng, New York, NY Istood in front of the classroom like a specimen under the scrutiny of 23 pairs of eyes. The children were hunters on high alert, ready to pounce on any mistake I made. I began stuttering and gave wrong answers for simple math problems, only to be instantly corrected by several smirking students. The rest started murmuring in the background. Yes, they were skillful hunters. In the summer of 2008, I worked as an assistant teacher at a children’s day camp. I struggled to create weekly lesson plans, pulled apart kids who were clawing at each other, and taught Chinese to students who were novices to the language. Amidst their incessant chattering, the rare moments of silence came only after the teacher’s booming calls for attention. The classroom was a hectic sea of kids running around playing tag, shouting insults at each other, and arguing about who should go first in a game. Every day was a battle between I had become their terrified subordinate me and these wild little creatures. What had I become? I was supposed to teach them, and yet I had become their terrified subordinate. I had an epiphany one day and realized it was time to do something about this. I was older, more knowledge- able, and most importantly, I had more authority. The next day, I walked into the classroom and stood in the front firmly and calmly. The students curiously studied me, but I did not flinch or stutter. From that day on, they gradually started to pay attention. Some even started calling me “Ms. Amy.” Seeing a hint of respect in their wild eyes was like getting recognition for my achievements. I was finally acting as an authority figure, someone they could look up to. The respect I received also marked a crescendo in my self-confidence. It made me believe that I had the ability to overcome obstacles and command respect. It was a confirmation of my skills and abilities. One month after my summer job ended, I went back to visit the students. I saw the same hectic room full of kids running around and shouting at each other. However, their playful insults were a different kind of music to my ears now. Instead of the cacophony I heard that first day, this was a unique harmony – the song that played during my march to self-confidence and belief in myself. ✎ COLLEGE CONNECTION • APRIL ’09 • Teen Ink college essays my room. “When are you– aagh!” His feet flew out and he fell flat on his back. I can hardly remember how many other boys fell. In a while, my room was filled with cadets in socks spinning like ice skaters. I lay on my back in the hallway outside my room. “One‚ two‚ three … Go!” Jason pushed my feet and I glided into the room, staring up as the ceiling sped by. Wham! My head slammed into the heater. Back to work, I shined my shoes until I could see my teeth in them. I folded shirts for five hours, kneeling on the floor with a steel straight-edge: “No, it’s still not exactly 8 by 10 inches.” I folded them, unfolded them, folded them again. I spent 17 hours cleaning my room. I passed Boards. I keep two empty bottles of Pledge and a steel straightedge on my desk to remind me of that day. When I face huge academic and emotional pressures, the sight of the bottles keeps me motivated; when I feel contented and sated, I turn to the steel straight-edge, which inspires me to seek perfection. I bring this motivation and perfectionism with me as a member of Squadron Staff, supervising 138 cadets, leading my unit to be the best in the regiment, and getting straight A’s. I keep two empty bottles of Pledge and a steel straightedge in my room to remind me that I can accomplish great feats. ✎ 27
Page 1 and 2: APRIL 2009 O U R 20 T H Y E A R T E
Page 3 and 4: A PRIL 2009 COVER FEATURES The Coll
Page 6 and 7: non•fic•tion 06 Boot Camp Adven
Page 8 and 9: non•fic•tion 08 School for the
Page 10 and 11: non•fic•tion 10 The Hospital Vi
Page 12 and 13: artgallery 12 Teen Ink • APRIL
Page 14 and 15: opin!on 14 Facebook Snoop by Kristi
Page 16 and 17: heroes 16 Grandmother Anna Purvianc
Page 18 and 19: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 18 My Childhood
Page 20 and 21: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 20 Is the SAT U
Page 22 and 23: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 22 Parting Ways
Page 24 and 25: FOCUS COLLEGE FOCUS 24 How Public S
Page 28 and 29: educatorof year the Kathy Nelson LA
Page 30 and 31: UA has a rich tradition of excellen
Page 32 and 33: Suffolk University, located in vibr
Page 34 and 35: Poetry 34 I Got the Joy! I got the
Page 36 and 37: you&your health 36 Pipe Dreams by D
Page 38 and 39: Travel&Culture 38 A Summer of Exces
Page 40 and 41: Video Game reviews Read more video
Page 42 and 43: Movie &TV reviews 42 DRAMA Revoluti
Page 44 and 45: fic•tion 44 Her, Him and the Rece
Page 46 and 47: fic•tion 46 Improvising by Onjuli

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