I joined my friends excitedly speculating on the impending SkillsUSA architectural drafting prompt, but I could tell that they were much calmer than me. Those wonderful butterflies fluttered in my chest. The contest soon began. I was instructed to design a tiny home for a retired couple in three hours. Some requirements on the dimensions and components of the home were given, but the construction was fairly open-ended. I started sketching a rough layout, then raised the structural components, spent most of my time on interior details, and finished by arranging the proper views for the final submission. Around halfway through, I tried to download a model for a chair from RevitCity- a janky site whose live usership peaked at 626 in 2015- but I needed to create an account. Hurrying through this tedious process, I accidentally made my username “boobby11.”
Hastily making an account, I made that username a name I used to be teased with. I had been so absorbed, but this hilarious irony broke my tension, my muscles relaxed, and I took a second to reflect. I looked around the room to Max: whose Minecraft worlds I used to join in elementary school; and Matt: who I hid with in a trash-can for a game of hide-and-go-seek once; and Mr. Mo: my architecture teacher who once made a kid change out of his purple t-shirt (our rival school’s color) during class. I spun my chair away from the computer and slumped my head back to stare at the polystyrene ceiling tiles. Awe in my eyes, a wide smile below my mask, and one thing in my mind: “I freaking love life.”
Over the next few hours, I cruised through my construction, and my pulse crescendoed adding finishing touches inside the last minute allowed. I loved every second of it. This visceral happiness wasn’t always familiar to me; entire years of my life were wholly devoid of it. In eighth grade I’d be the last kid to arrive at school so to avoid the crowds which accumulate in the gym before the bell rings. Every time I walked down the 3C-hallway before this year, I felt repulsively nervous. I don’t anymore, and I’m endlessly grateful for that. Competence breeds confidence.
I placed first statewide at this competition. The nationals competition was another bundle of fun: eight hours straight spent designing an entire three-bedroom home. I placed third nationally despite improvising on my roof-plan, site-plan, and cross-section views, none of which I had done previously. These architecture contests have allowed me to pinpoint what I’m good at and enjoy: open-ended questions with objective judging criteria, focus on a single problem, mixing of creativity and logic, and vitally: some fire in the air!
Since elementary school I’ve had a primarily antagonistic relationship with school. Essentially, I’ve found myself angry with its utter unproductiveness. How can I dive deep into anything when a class is only fifty minutes long? Or understand something if evaluations aren’t based on application but regurgitation? Though I search optimistically, it’s rare to find someone who shares my passion. I’m underwhelmed sitting next to tired kids watching dissatisfied teachers teach. I have a rich desire to learn and create, and I’ve always pursued this, whether curricularly or otherwise. I know myself and I know what I want. I appreciate college aesthetically, I see value in the tangible resources available there, and I’ll prosper listening and talking to experienced professors. Honestly though, what I want most at college is to meet two or three people who share my hunger and capability, and I want to build something big with them. College aggregates these high-potential kids.
MODIFIED ESSAY FOR COOPER UNION
I joined my friends excitedly speculating on the impending SkillsUSA architectural drafting prompt, but I could tell that they were much calmer than me. Those wonderful butterflies fluttered in my chest. The contest soon began. I was instructed to design a tiny home for a retired couple in three hours. Some requirements on the dimensions and components of the home were given, but the demands were fairly open-ended. I started sketching a rough layout, then raised the structural components, spent most of my time on interior details, and finished by arranging the proper views for the final submission. Around halfway through, I tried to download a model for a chair from RevitCity- a janky site whose live usership peaked at 626 in 2015- but I needed to create an account. Hurrying through this tedious process, I accidentally made my username “boobby11.”
Hastily making an account, I made that username a name I used to be teased with. I had been so absorbed, but this hilarious irony broke my tension, my muscles relaxed, and I took a second to reflect. I looked around the room to Max: whose Minecraft worlds I used to join in elementary school; and Matt: who I hid with in a trash-can for a game of hide-and-go-seek once; and Mr. Mo: my architecture teacher who once made a kid change out of his purple t-shirt (our rival school’s color) during class. I spun my chair away from the computer and slumped my head back to stare at the polystyrene ceiling tiles. With awe in my eyes and a wide smile below my mask, I had one thing on my mind: “I freaking love life.”
Over the next few hours, I cruised through my construction, and my pulse crescendoed adding finishing touches inside the last minute allowed. I loved every second of it. This visceral happiness wasn’t always familiar to me; entire years of my life were wholly devoid of it. In eighth grade I’d be the last kid to arrive at school so to avoid the crowds which accumulate in the gym before the bell rings. Every time I walked down the 3C-hallway before this year, I felt repulsively nervous. I don’t anymore, and I’m endlessly grateful for that. Competence breeds confidence.
I placed first statewide at the SkillsUSA architectural drafting competition. The nationals competition was another bundle of fun: eight hours straight spent designing an entire three-bedroom home. I placed third nationally despite improvising on my roof-plan, site-plan, and cross-section views, none of which I had done previously. Recently, while talking to my friend’s parents about their new house they showed me the drafting plans. Knowing I can recreate everything on those plans in a couple days is a wonderful feeling. Walking down LaSalle street in Chicago I get shivers by the beauty of grand architecture. I want nothing more than to turn a sketch into a skyscraper.
Since elementary school I’ve had a primarily antagonistic relationship with school. Essentially, I’m bored. How can I dive deep into anything when a class is only fifty minutes long? I have a natural ability to understand things, but I feel that this potential energy is wasted on regurgitation. Though I search optimistically, it’s rare to find someone who shares my passion. I’m underwhelmed sitting next to tired kids watching dissatisfied teachers teach. At my core, I have a rich desire to learn and create which I’ve always pursued- curricularly or otherwise. I know myself and I know what I want.
I want to spend the next four years in some aesthetically beautiful place. I want to learn to be an architect from excited teachers and in engaging internships. I want to regularly feel the productive euphoria I felt in my architecture competition. Above all, I want to meet two or three kids who share my hunger and capability, and lay the building blocks for creating something great.