It has been quite some time since I have written in my blog. My tedious schedule has made it rather difficult to be able to sit down and lavish in such finer things---besides some blasphemous chemistry (and I say this with MUCH exaggerated sarcasm. Consider it my hyperbole for the day, literary fanatics!) Thus, my creative outlet has become a mere measly spark in my everyday life. That, surely, must come to an immediate end. I love writing and therefore, I must be diligent with my time and spare some for save your scissors.
I will note that the majority of my (mental) time has been fantasizing about New York. I have had quite the “Empire State of Mind,” if you ask me. After my summer rendezvous in this chaotic city, I have realized I have fallen madly in love with New York. I have also realized it is the best metaphor for anyone that has had some outrageous ambitions in their life.
The first place I went to in the city was NYU’s bookstore. I was flabbergasted, to say the least. Our bookstore at Pan Am can only occupy a fraction of NYU’s intellectual loveliness. I wanted to simply engulf myself in every single book. If I were to be asked why I am now applying to New York University, I would immediately reflect back to this timeless moment. It may sound ridiculous, but it was then that I had another outrageous epiphany—when I purchased my first NYU patriotic banner—that I would be the idealistic NYU student. I do not mean to sound narcissistic; rather, I simply believe that I would be an intrinsic addition to the student body. It felt right and I had an irresistible urge to buy a few textbooks. In fact, I contemplated whether if I should go on with my day pretending as if I were an NYU student.
As I go through this impending application process, I have been stumped on the essay prompt. The Common Application, (torturous fragment of my memory can vaguely point out how much I despise returning to such tasks) has supplements for each university. These supplements call for additional information that the university requires in order to postulate a more “rounder” perspective of their fellow applications. The question I have spent some amount of time on, perplexed with the flippant amount of ideas I may have for such a vague topic, is to describe something that intrigues/inspires me.
There are many things that “inspire” me to say the least. But, in this case, I would like to turn this question around and write about the “inspiration” my absent father has indirectly had on my studies. It is not the approach they are expecting—but then again, I’ve always had a tasteful, spontaneous approach to writing.
Here’s a brief synopsis of my “inspiration:”
When I was growing up, I would do anything for my dad’s attention. I rarely saw him and the few times I did I wanted to make them count. Unfortunately though, my cousin would always tag along on these scarce visits. My father adored my cousin and I knew, even at such a young age, that my father loved my cousin Amber more than he would ever love me. It is a very profound thought for just a child. I hated being aware of my father’s lack of interest and I resented him for making it so believable.
I was also aware as to why my father preferred to love my cousin rather than his own daughter. You see, Amber had talent. She could sing. For the rest of our childhood, I would always remember Amber as his little, cacophonous song bird. But my father saw Amber’s voice more than just mere talent—He envisioned Amber as a star and as a clear ticket to Hollywood where money was just an extra incentive. Money was always something my father lacked and therefore, his only priority was to always have some sort of constant currency to help him get by. Their living style was much dissembled. I would not go into details—but I know now that my dad would do anything for easy cash.
Amber would sing every time I would visit. She’d sing all day and my dad loved it. It got to the point where I was absolutely desperate for my father’s attention. I knew from experience that I did not have such talent. I could not sing and I could not dance. So, I tried to find my own talent. I was good at writing and I loved to read. I was a good student and that seemed like the only “talent” I cared for.
I was an ambitious little girl and I made it a goal to make straight A’s on every single report card. By the time I was in middle school, I had received notable honors such as “Student of the Year” and “Texas Honor Student.” I immediately found my success in school and my love for my studies to be the perfect way to depict my character as "talented.”
So, while Amber continued to sing, I continued to study. Amber would go to Broadway and I would go to an Ivy League. I remember the multiple times I abated a “normal” childhood and found myself maturing faster than I had ever intended. When I was six, I had already read a flippant amount of books and had started my own book list. When I was eight, I knew that I wanted to go to a prestigious university. I was determined and I was positive that my father would see my determination.
Sadly though, I suppose my father was particularly incredulous of the thought that being a good student could be a talent. I would like to think it takes a tremendous amount of self discipline and perseverance to have progressed this much in my studies and I suppose that within it-self makes me a talented individual. To be quite blatant about it all, I took my fathers’ indifference to our relationship to get me where I am today.
It may sound rather perverse, but my absent father was the one that inspired me for all the most absurd, infamous reasons. Thank you, Dad. I have made it this far because you, without knowing, gave me something to (still) fight for.
Song of the day: Buried Myself Alive- The Used. I have been in love with this band since I was in middle school. Granted, I went through a long period of loving grundge, punk, rock-alternative music, but The Used has been one of the few bands I have consistantly had a taste for since then.
