#common application essay

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Are you known as the opinionated friend? Common App Prompt 3 could be for you, but tread lightly. Our new video guide explains why.

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In honor of finally being done with applications (I think I might cry) I'm going to post my common app essay. I feel like this essay really truly expresses me and I don't know if anyone will read it but it's definitely something that I want to look back on and be proud of. Braces, strawberry lip gloss, and my B-cup bra didn’t follow me to high school. However, my punk band did. Layered in different shades of black, I stomped through the hallway with a sense of intensity that was cancelled out by my gregarious nature. Stares would transpire, but my reply that I was in an all girl punk band seemed to help people decipher my outward appearance. Instead of putting on makeup to play up my features, I stepped into an alternative persona, an enhanced version of myself, who was unafraid of the world and impenetrable to embarrassment. Of course, fried bleach blonde hair and tall black combat boots generated glares, but I didn’t care because looking different and being different was me. Stepping onto a stage with my luminescent white Gibson was a dream I never wanted to end. Hearing others sing the words I wrote, and strumming an air guitar to the composition I constructed, was a feeling unparalleled. All stage fright I possessed would remove itself from my body, and I’d be left with the feeling of weightlessness. Being in a band was like having a separate family, and shows were family reunions full of diverse artists. The solo act with his acoustic guitar would talk about his new puppy, while the four-piece alternative band would whine about their van breaking down on the way to the show. These musicians greeted me with complete honesty and love because music was an escape from the adversity we all faced in life. I didn’t haphazardly decide to join a band. I joined because of the death of my grandpa, the trips I took to the mental hospital to visit my suicidal friend, and the relentless pressure I felt from my parents to get grades they would find satisfactory. Music and my band became the outlet to eject all pernicious thoughts from my body through ripped fishnets, distorted lyrics, and muffled amps. Although the benefits of being in a band were immense, it also led to a lot of unwanted attention. Sexual comments directed towards my young adolescent band sometimes outweighed the compliments of our music, and I worried that we were only being perceived as glitzy, sexed up objects. With my juvenile, naive cognizance of the world, I felt misunderstood and corrupted. Being taken advantage of wasn’t an option for me though; punk rock is about resilience and empowerment. Being a girl doesn’t define my music, but being a woman who can take a beating and get up twice as strong is definitely something to respect. Eventually, I parted ways with my band because we disagreed on future visions for our lives. After weeks of tirelessly thinking about my impending decision, I finally opted to pursue rigorous coursework over band practice. I don’t regret my choice, nor my involvement with my garage band for five years. The lessons other musicians taught me, both musically and about life in general, made the escapade completely worthwhile. Although that period of my life is over, I still see remnants of those years in the blue hair dye that has permanently attached itself to my white porcelain sink, my forever calloused fingers, and the old local band tees stacked away in my closet. I don't need unconventional hair nor do I need my face caked with crusty, $3 black liner to still see myself as the inner punk who walks with purpose and resonates strength and self-assurance.

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