I Became a “High School Crash-out.” Pt. 1

Hi, guys, long time no see. It's been an actual insane couple of months that have not gone in my favor to say the least. Here’s a little essay commemorating these past months as a time I will NEVER forget. I will submit this essay to the same international essay contest I won last year. Hopefully I get the same result, but I want you, the reader, to give me your honest opinion on what you think about the essay.

I’m also going to write an essay about why the American public high school essay competition is an utter and absolute failure. The homework, the content, the system is busted, inefficient, and disgusting. I’ll expand on this soon.

Anyway, please reach out to me with things you’d like to see changed, or things you liked, whatever it may be. I’d love some insight. Thanks in advance. Without further adieu, the essay:

A gray hue engulfs my room as I roll the blinds up my bedroom window. I look down wearily at the back brace covering my torso. From my waist to my chest, the exoskeleton prevents me from moving my upper body. Sighing, I think back to when my life changed forever:

The weather, just like the misfortune it witnessed, was rather melodramatic—rain sprinkled as the dark, evening sky watched the team and me warm up on the track for practice. We were practicing baton handoffs for the relays, so I took my mark and waited for my teammate to reach me. He approached, so I began my sprint. While sprinting, I turned to receive the baton, and an excruciating pain shot through my body like a merciless bullet. I collapsed on the field. One MRI and a doctor’s visit later, I was told I had to wear a brace, all day everyday, for 8 weeks so my spine wouldn’t break essentially. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I probably couldn’t sprint afterwards. 

I was devastated. Sprinting was my favorite thing in life—it made me feel free, feel happy, feel…alive. And in a simple moment in time I had lost that for what seemed like forever. 

The memory fades as rain begins slapping my window.

As I gaze out my window, I notice an ant carrying a leaf nearly twice its size. It stumbles over twigs and pebbles, but it never surrenders to exhaustion. A harsh wind blows, shaking the trees, but the ant remains steadfast and concentrated. The rain begins to pour and the ant is washed away. I think nothing of it.

Days blur by, but not without anguish. Indescribable mental and physical pain make my life a living hell. One night I lie in bed and question why I suffer through this pain. The thought of giving in to despair consumes me. Yet as I think, I remember that little ant—tiny, yet so stubborn. If such a tiny thing can persevere, who am I to not do the same? No one is entitled to the luxury of a perfect life.

Resilience is more than just suffering through hardship; it is the refusal to accept defeat and surrender to the merciless vice grips of misfortune. Like Nietzsche said, what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

With every passing day, I slowly begin to reclaim myself. First, I walk a little farther. Then, I stretch a little more. My back aches from time to time, but I push through. I’m not just surviving now—I’m beginning to live.

Weeks later, I stand at the track, brace finally gone, the cool wind grazing my back. I get into the blocks, the starting line before me. My first sprint since the injury. My first chance to defy what was once impossible.

The gun fires. I take off.

I am alive again.