<p>Up until high school, I studied academics in the public school system of my hometown. My elementary education had been enjoyed with friends whom I have known my whole life. These were the kids with whom I traded my first juice box, learned multiplication, and played little league baseball. However, for high school I decided to apply to Bishop Guertin, a private institution that my parents thought would better prepare me for college. I was accepted and reluctantly enrolled, leaving behind childhood friends and a world of familiarity.
In my new school, I was afraid of meeting new people and adapting to an academic culture where school prayer and uniform were mandatory. With my tightened tie and overly bulky backpack, I was the typical freshman. Quietly scurrying class-to-class and preferring to be alone, I found it hard to make friends. Public school had provided me with the social luxury of already knowing everyone in my class, but at Bishop Guertin I was just beginning to learn peoples names. Too afraid to talk to anyone I even remember hiding in the library as opposed to eating lunch in the cafeteria.
Luckily, my participation in Cross Country and the Asian-American Club allowed me to connect with my peers. I ran races, went to pasta parties, planned events, and made some great friends; I no longer felt isolated. It seemed as though I had forgotten my fear and moved on. I was wrong.
October, being the month of college applications, was also the month of elections for the officers of National Honors Society. As a senior, one of my regrets in high school had been never running for student body office. I knew that my participation in clubs and volunteer work had given me the proper experience to be an effective student leader. There was just one problem; I was afraid. As I thought about the prospect of running for office fear flooded my conscience. I was terrified by the very thought of giving a speech in front of my peers and opening myself to potential ridicule. I was intimidated by competition from more popular candidates. But most of all I dreaded possible defeat.
In my state of distress I remembered that quirky freshman who was too afraid to talk to anyonethat freshman who was too scared to introduce himself, ask a question in class, or even crack a joke. However I realized that freshman was a senior now and if this senior allowed fear to make his decisions again he would regret it. Consequently, I decided to run for office, audaciously opting not to run for secretary or treasurer, but president. Call me crazy.
The day of elections had an auspiciously ominous feel. I approached the prospect of delivering a speech with sanguine anxiety. The crowds of eyes that were fixated on me while I was speaking appeared friendly, but also fierce. Yet I was not afraid. Early on, my anxiety had prevented me from expressing my true personality. The experience of running for office allowed me to forever overcome my timidity and mature into a confident individual. Win or lose, I was grateful knowing that in the future I could adapt to new environments and would not allow fear to abridge my ambition or prevent me from becoming involved.
I won.</p>