A deeper look into my life beyond Freestyle, here is my personal essay submitted to colleges I have applied to. While I am so used to writing so professionally, reflecting on my life and self writing this essay was difficult. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the challenge and created this…

I’m no stranger to adventure—or discomfort.

At age four, I moved from Tokyo to California. A year later, approaching kindergarten, I was still accustomed to speaking my own personal language of integrated Hebrew-Japanese-English (Hejaplish). My teachers noticed my obvious struggle to leave Hejaplish behind, so I was sent to one-on-one reading and speech classes for further support. It became apparent that my struggles in class were deeper than just my trouble with English skills. Turning letters into words seemed impossible to me, and numbers were a jumble of lines and loops. My teachers determined that I showed signs of dyslexia. Weekly, I’d try to spare myself from embarrassment when the resource teachers came to collect me from my “regular” classroom. I’d throw my needed belongings into my school bag and bolt for the door even before they got there. I felt as though I had to keep this part of my identity a secret. I’d grown into a routine of feeling shame for the way I learned. 

Despite this humiliation, I eventually admitted to myself that without the system my schools had provided me, I’d never be able to write properly, enjoy reading, or grasp an understanding of math. My resource classes didn’t just assist me through the curriculum, but also gave me the confidence to take chances and accept my mistakes. I have learnt to remain flexible with the way I process knowledge, and not let my initial shame interrupt my personal development. Had I remained bitter towards my learning differences, I would never have found the mindset to attain the tools to succeed. 

My experience with resource programs taught me to welcome discomfort with open arms. However, my resolve was tested when I stood onstage for Club Approval Day, nervous to introduce the club my best friend and I had spent months designing. I waited for quiet, resisting the urge to raise my arm and shield myself from the blinding theatre lights projecting onto me. A hush fell over the crowd, and in the absence of their noise I began to observe faces. 

Some simply stared at me, some lips smiled, some teeth flashed. 

I was about to give my speech proposing our Women’s Empowerment Club, the same speech I had practiced in front of my mirror and during my showers since the beginning of the school year. As I prepared to speak, although my brain knew the words, my mouth ran dry as I seemed to have forgotten how to phrase them. Nerves became panic, and as I debated making something up or turning to my partner for help I was brought back to the present when my name was called offstage by a teacher encouraging me to begin. 

In that moment, I remembered what I’d internalized so long ago: to make the best of my situation I must not give into my initial emotions. I remembered my speech meant so more than the hope to gain approval for a school organization. I was responsible for delivering the message about the club I created—the first community at my school focused on women’s rights. Even though I started my presentation with clammy hands, once the words, “Welcome to the Womens’ Empowerment Club” left my mouth, I knew I had the strength to quell the lingering fear of failure in order to move forward with my presentation, and succeed. 

While the contrast between my club’s accomplishment and my individual acceptance of my learning style might seem large, underneath they share the same process. Even if at first I feel doubtful that I can flourish in any given circumstance, I now know to trust my ability to adapt. Like making English from Hejaplish, I have the inner strength to push through discomfort and enjoy my adventure.