College Essays: In Media Res and Mother Watsonville (Ms. Silva)

Tell us about the neighborhood that you grew up in and how it helped shape you into the kind of person you are today.

     I struggled to free myself from its grip. Though the material surrounding me was soft, wide, firm metal rods kept me captive in its mesh. I called for my mother, but she was inside, occupied by a conversation with the Watsonville fire department. My legs were stuck and my arms were tangled in slim movable pieces of plastic around me. It would not let go. My mom heard my cries and, armed with a pair of fabric scissors, gingerly began cutting the plastic restricting my arms, but with no success. A man’s voice interrupted her labor: “Excuse me? I’m with the newspaper! I’m here to take some photographs.” I could not see the man speaking these words, but I was not pleased with his presence. My mom’s opinion of the stranger in our backyard visibly matched my own.

     Being more concerned about freeing her daughter, she quickly sanctioned his presence and went back to trying to free me from this monstrosity. Two members of the fire department were standing next to my mom and one of Register Pajaronian’s photographers within a few minutes. I was trapped, frustrated, and crying. How did a harmless day in the sun turn into such an ordeal? After examining the situation, the two men had a plan of attack: they would have to demolish the object encasing me. They receded to their fire truck, only to return with a contraption foreign to me. I cannot identify what the object was, however. I only glanced at it briefly, as I was more concerned with having my hands touch ground rather than identifying the gadgets used by firefighters. Before using the object, they told me to stay still. I complied, eager to be free again. I closed my eyes, thinking that this was probably going to hurt. Moments later, the fireman told me to open my eyes. I had felt no pain. I slowly opened the eyes to, once again, examine my condition. I was free!

      I stood up and dusted off my clothes and ran to my mom. She reminded to thank the firefighters; I obeyed her and expressed to them my graciousness for being able to touch surfaces once again. Before they drove away in their gleaming red truck, the man who freed me handed me a teddy bear, and advised me to be more careful. As convincingly as possible for a five-year-old, I assured him I would. The firefighters climbed back into their shiny truck and the newspaper photographer quickly made his way back to his car. My mom went outside as I watched the fire truck slowly disappear from our street from our front window, teddy bear in hand. As she reentered our living room from the back door, she said, “We are never going to buy that kind of chair again.”

     Miniscule events like this are entertaining for my close-knit family. A small family in a small town, most of my relatives are entertained by their own friends and family. Watsonville, California, does not compare to “the city that never sleeps”; it is more or less a city that always sleeps. Aside from a movie theatre and a shopping center with the main attractions of the store Target, there is not much to entertain high school students other than school and celebrity gossip. However, I’ve spent most of my free time away from my hometown, opting to take advantage of the activities in surrounding cities. I learned of two amusing attractions that I could participate in within a half-hour’s commute: I spent time on the beach and I figure skated. When I was thirteen or so, I had to diminish time spent in the sun when two- and three-degree sunburns repeatedly appeared on my pale skin.
     When I was fourteen, I was forced to stop skating due to a knee injury. Within a year, my two main sources of entertainment were gone. I was clueless as to what I could participate in for entertainment and enjoyment in my small community. For weeks, I didn’t do much. I went to various places, but something was missing. No longer did my weekends have a purpose other than watching fictional events and walking around department stores for “fun.”

     In January 2005, I embarked to New York City on a trip to further my knowledge of vocal and choral music. At that point in my life, I was unfamiliar with most of the entertainment industry, other than gossip my friends had passed on to me and what CDs Target had in stock and what movies were playing at the local cinema that week. I was, however, excited that the group I was with was participating in a workshop with members from a Broadway cast. I liked singing, acting, and dancing, so I was sure it would be delightful. The workshop was not like I had expected: I did not like it. I loved it. After seeing the show on the Broadway stage, I instantaneously knew that I wanted to be involved in theatre.

     When I arrived back to my community in California, I researched theatre companies in the area. Alas, there were no results. Interested in advancing whatever skills needed for musical theatre, I enrolled in a dance class. On my first day, I noticed a girl wearing a shirt with a theatre name and website printed on the backside. I took a mental snapshot. At home, I entered the website address in my internet browser and was thrilled to see they were holding auditions in three weeks. It has been three years since my first theatre audition. More than ever, I want to pursue musical theatre. From what I have outlined, Watsonville seems like an exceedingly dull place, but without my location, I’d never have realized my interests in life. If I was not living in this small place, I would have never taken that trip to New York and realized that I wanted to pursue a career in musical theatre. Though I do believe that everything happens for a reason and that gossiping should not be a fueled solely for entertainment, that is the belief that my community has instilled in me. Instead, I’ve realized that struggling through hardships has made me a better person. Without discontent, I would not have been motivated to change myself. Because of the discontent, I am more motivated to take actions to evoke change. The feelings of determination and wanting to succeed are more prevalent in me, and I am striving to be successful in all aspects of my life, whether it is with school or with theatre. Though I do wish there were more activities in Watsonville and I can’t necessarily say I enjoy living here, I am grateful for the lesson it has taught me and the better person it has made me become. To this day, a photograph of a very young and very distraught girl stuck in a lounge chair hangs on my family’s refrigerator. It serves as a constant reminder that without struggle, there would be no room for growth or improvement.