College Admissions Essay: What Is My True Name

Currently, I am in the process of not only becoming comfortable in my identity, a black queer woman, but, also attempting to find solace in my identity as well. Something that all women, especially black queer women, should achieve in their lifetime. It is that dream that inspires me to travel to experience other cultures and to unite with women from various cultures across the black diaspora. Throughout many cultures, women’s identities are defined by their male counterparts and the labor they provide to them. Therefore, a major goal of mine is to create a space where women are able to exist outside the scope of their relationships with men and live uninhibitedly to become their best selves. That is why I find it pertinent to travel not only

This is the question that every college wants to know. But with the endless amount of applicants, distancing yourself from the crowd seems like an almost impossible feat. Throughout my years of school, academics have always been what set me apart, but at a college like Harvard, stellar grades and extracurriculars are expected. On paper, it might be difficult to distinguish me from the other 40,000 applicants. Just based on probability, there is bound to be another Japanese boy with divorced parents who lives in California. It’s easy to blend into the crowd if I described myself with these types of generalized titles and traits.

There are several different things that make up for who I am today; which is my identity. The things that I would include in my identity is my, religious beliefs, relationship status, sexuality, body image, and career identity.

There have been labels placed upon me throughout my life. Some have stayed with me while others have dropped off. Without these labels ruling how people see me I feel like I would be more free to do things than I am now.

My Life, I don't know what to do with it… it’s just a mess of this, and that, and the other. All of my life, Horrible, like I should just be tossed aside. I don’t have good grades, I’m not good at any sports. I’m not good at Anything…

Most of our lives we have been called a certain name, whether it was given to us by birth or a nickname that friends have called us, but each of us has a meaning behind our names and I am going to talk about mine. My first name is Jacob, which is a very common boy’s name in this current period of time. I have known Dumont, my last name, to be a French surname because of my father’s side coming from France and Italy. Furthermore, both my first name and last name have meaning of some sort and that is what I will go over in my essay.

Grass tickles my bare feet, and the sultry night air caresses my skin as I stand facing the forest. With the moon full and glistening over the dew covered greenery, I am enraptured. The gentle breeze wraps around me like a lovers embrace and I am lost to my surroundings. The nights are beginning to cool with the new season and are a welcomed relief to the waning summer heat.

The sun paints the sky with its warm colours as it dips below the horizon. The scent of pumpkins and apples caress my nose as their lulling scent complements the scenery; surrounding me in total bliss.

Prior to reading a novel, simply by looking at its monomyth archetypes, it becomes apparent to one what common patterns are found when following along with the hero’s journey. In Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, readers follow Gawain on his quest to redeem the honor of his community. A number of archetypal situations occur to Sir Gawain and serve to promote Gawain’s conflicts, character, and theme development.

Silent. At the edge of the sky there was a magnificent white patch, a turning page, catching the sun. The rest was ivory grey, with a subtle hint of mauve, just enough to announce the coming sunset. Scanning the horizon were the white cotton balls on cerulean satin, with a subtle layer of dove grey underneath, which was thin enough to let the light through. Stood there like a ghost, a silent observer of the venerable castle, and the clouds. The colossal mountains were shielding the inferior castle. Beyond the towering mountains was a decrepit, venerable and ancient castle like structure. The azure roof was coated and concealed by the thick opaque dust. The roof was as dusty as an abandoned warehouse floor. It was an elderly going paler as it got older and ancient. As I nonchalantly walked up the moaning narrow staircase, a thick mist of cold crisp air blew through me, rustling my hair and sending a chill down my spine.

Magnificent, heavenly light filters through the wispy clouds, signifying a new day. The thin clouds slowly drift apart, presenting a beautiful sky beneath. Speaking out to me, the sky seems to know every one of my thoughts, my dreams, my darkest fears. The sky is but a canvas of light, creating a new picture within seconds. Weaving a story through the delicate clouds, the picture grows beyond the expanse of sky. The colors splay before me, painfully beautiful and simple. Pink hues morph into vibrant purples as they blend with the beautiful blues. The glittering stretch of sea shines before my eyes. With every new wave, the light from above whispers promises of riches and sparkling diamonds. The light breeze that kisses the sea sends the twinkling light back into the air above.

My face is warmed by the fading light, I am conscious of every detail around me; My heart racing in my chest, Delightful chirping of the crickets, The wind that snakes through my hair, Blows past my ears, Calling my name. Effulgent and infinite, I ride into the sunset, Never to return.

Who am I? That’s hard to say since there is no clear definition of what makes a person. I could be my occupations: a student, dancer, and swimmer. Maybe I’m my emotions like happy, sad, and angry. I could be where I live, or what my goals are and how I plan to reach them. Most likely, I’m a compilation of all of these because people are complex and are not two dimensionally made. Where I am, how I act, and what I do make me who I am and I would not be Veronica without living in this house in Portland, Texas and having aspirations that seem to be more impossible than seizing the moon. I am Veronica, but I can also be whatever I need to be depending on where I live, what I do, and how I change my goals.

When the sun slowly peeps over the range of mountains, birds shake the morning dew off their feathers and give a cheerful song that would lift even the most sorrowful of spirits. A light fog wraps around the mountain range, reaching to touch every bit of life thriving there. The slight chill in the air is enough to give a gentle shiver, but not enough for the need of a jacket. A breeze tickles the trees, making their leaves shake and sway with laughter. Sunlight seeps in past the thick canopy of branches with hopes of being able to reach the damp mountain earth. The mountains are the best place to live to be relaxed, see the most beauty, and never get bored.

Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit.