COLLEGE ESSAY YAYZ
Nov. 30th, 2006 01:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
patria_ou_mortThis is Buffy's fault.
So I basically wrote about how I was obsessed with Les Mis, addicted to the internet and had fictional characters talking to me from inside my head. And then they let me into college. It was really sort of sweet.
When I was in seventh grade, I finally hit upon a secure career option. In the past, the exciting and extremely unstable professions of writer, composer, or actor had called to me. But no more. My mind was made up. I was going to be a Taoist monk. Life seemed so clear. Inspiration had come to me from a battered copy of The Tao of Pooh, which lay innocently on the dusty bookshelf in Room 6. In that plain little book, I discovered all of the answers. There was far too much stress and artificial complication in the world. All I had to do to find satisfaction was maintain my easygoing attitude and keep everything in perspective. It was amazing how enlightened I felt. Then, a dead fictional revolutionary waltzed in and upset everything.
My introduction to Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables was the PBS showing of the Tenth Anniversary Concert of the musical by Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel Schönberg, and Herbert Kretzmer. It intrigued me and led me to seek out more information about the musical. Before long, I was completely captivated. The music was lush and expressive. The story was sweeping and romantic. After wearing out my tape of the Original Broadway Cast Recording and seeing the show on Broadway, I was burning to know the source of it all: The Book. As luck would have it, I found The Book one day at a church rummage sale. As my attention span would have it, two days later The Book found itself shoved under my bed.
Eventually, I read the entire book and discovered an amazing thing. Les Misérables is the story of two old French men, one with an identity problem and one with bushy sideburns, who both end up dead. I, however, did not give a penguin's pancreas about the two old French men. My heart was captured by a ragtag bunch of young French men who all end up dead. Calling themselves the Society of the Friends of the ABC, they take part in the failed 1832 Paris uprising against King Louis Philippe. To me, despite the small number of pages devoted to these students, they are the most moving part of Les Misérables. Each of them has his own distinctive personality. Each could be the college student next door. And each gives his life defending what he believes to be right.
The leader of the Friends of the ABC is a charismatic, stern, idealistic young man by the name of Enjolras. I was deeply affected by his love for his country and ideals. I wanted to follow him, fictional and dead though he was. That presented me with a great dilemma. How does one maintain one's inner peace while tearing up paving stones, building barricades, and being executed by the National Guard? The decision between the wandering monk and the priest of the revolution was a difficult one, indeed.
It would be misleading to say that I found the answer by myself. It took exposure to a number of different people, only one of whom was fictional, to help me see all sides of the situation. In my quest for sources to satisfy my Les Misérables obsession, I stumbled upon Le Café, an online forum at the official Les Misérables website. There I "met" people from all over the world, individuals with different attitudes toward life, religious views, and political opinions. It was an eye-opening experience for a reserved bookworm like me. Reading the posts of the more politically-active "Mizzies" made me aware of issues I did not even know existed. I discovered that finding inner peace without working for outer peace would be impossible for me. In an ironic sort of way, it was by being a thorough introvert -- reading impossibly long books, spending long hours on the internet -- that I was pushed out into the world.
To this day, I value commitment to making the world a better place. It may be something big or something small, but I know that I could not be content any other way. In every time, in every place, people have died for what they believed was right. Les Misérables made me love those people and made their sacrifice personal to me. One of those people was there to greet me at the end of my journey. Combeferre, one of the Friends of the ABC, served as Enjolras’ right-hand man, more philosopher than warrior. He smiled gently and told me not to dismiss the possibility being a wandering monk just because I wanted to change the world. After all, the key to life is balance. Pondering that, I asked him if he felt that building barricades was a meditative experience.
Then my mother asked me why I was talking to myself. But that is the subject of another essay.
So I basically wrote about how I was obsessed with Les Mis, addicted to the internet and had fictional characters talking to me from inside my head. And then they let me into college. It was really sort of sweet.
When I was in seventh grade, I finally hit upon a secure career option. In the past, the exciting and extremely unstable professions of writer, composer, or actor had called to me. But no more. My mind was made up. I was going to be a Taoist monk. Life seemed so clear. Inspiration had come to me from a battered copy of The Tao of Pooh, which lay innocently on the dusty bookshelf in Room 6. In that plain little book, I discovered all of the answers. There was far too much stress and artificial complication in the world. All I had to do to find satisfaction was maintain my easygoing attitude and keep everything in perspective. It was amazing how enlightened I felt. Then, a dead fictional revolutionary waltzed in and upset everything.
My introduction to Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables was the PBS showing of the Tenth Anniversary Concert of the musical by Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel Schönberg, and Herbert Kretzmer. It intrigued me and led me to seek out more information about the musical. Before long, I was completely captivated. The music was lush and expressive. The story was sweeping and romantic. After wearing out my tape of the Original Broadway Cast Recording and seeing the show on Broadway, I was burning to know the source of it all: The Book. As luck would have it, I found The Book one day at a church rummage sale. As my attention span would have it, two days later The Book found itself shoved under my bed.
Eventually, I read the entire book and discovered an amazing thing. Les Misérables is the story of two old French men, one with an identity problem and one with bushy sideburns, who both end up dead. I, however, did not give a penguin's pancreas about the two old French men. My heart was captured by a ragtag bunch of young French men who all end up dead. Calling themselves the Society of the Friends of the ABC, they take part in the failed 1832 Paris uprising against King Louis Philippe. To me, despite the small number of pages devoted to these students, they are the most moving part of Les Misérables. Each of them has his own distinctive personality. Each could be the college student next door. And each gives his life defending what he believes to be right.
The leader of the Friends of the ABC is a charismatic, stern, idealistic young man by the name of Enjolras. I was deeply affected by his love for his country and ideals. I wanted to follow him, fictional and dead though he was. That presented me with a great dilemma. How does one maintain one's inner peace while tearing up paving stones, building barricades, and being executed by the National Guard? The decision between the wandering monk and the priest of the revolution was a difficult one, indeed.
It would be misleading to say that I found the answer by myself. It took exposure to a number of different people, only one of whom was fictional, to help me see all sides of the situation. In my quest for sources to satisfy my Les Misérables obsession, I stumbled upon Le Café, an online forum at the official Les Misérables website. There I "met" people from all over the world, individuals with different attitudes toward life, religious views, and political opinions. It was an eye-opening experience for a reserved bookworm like me. Reading the posts of the more politically-active "Mizzies" made me aware of issues I did not even know existed. I discovered that finding inner peace without working for outer peace would be impossible for me. In an ironic sort of way, it was by being a thorough introvert -- reading impossibly long books, spending long hours on the internet -- that I was pushed out into the world.
To this day, I value commitment to making the world a better place. It may be something big or something small, but I know that I could not be content any other way. In every time, in every place, people have died for what they believed was right. Les Misérables made me love those people and made their sacrifice personal to me. One of those people was there to greet me at the end of my journey. Combeferre, one of the Friends of the ABC, served as Enjolras’ right-hand man, more philosopher than warrior. He smiled gently and told me not to dismiss the possibility being a wandering monk just because I wanted to change the world. After all, the key to life is balance. Pondering that, I asked him if he felt that building barricades was a meditative experience.
Then my mother asked me why I was talking to myself. But that is the subject of another essay.
