<p>Hi, this is part of my personal statement:
I am open to any feedback:</p>
<p>I would like to think that the pirouette has been a recent running metaphor for junior year of high school, which certainly was the most transformative to date. The movement, most frequently referring to ballet, involves a full revolution of 360 degrees on the front toes of the front foot. Considered one of the most demanding of dance steps, it requires both legs to be straight and yields a fixed gaze at eye level. To complete a pirouette well always indicates hours and hours of diligent practice - but the end result, when practiced enough to illustrate grace, is truly majestic. </p>
<p>To give some background, I teach ballet: I inspire confidence, grace and discipline in my young, energetic students; more often than not, it is not as easy as it sounds. Goals that are set sometimes are not reached, but I refuse to give up on my students. Sharing high expectations and an emphasis for practice helps my students achieve transformation from day one to the final rehearsal before recitals. </p>
<p>(THIS PARAGRAPH SAME STORY AS ONE BELOW) I can recall my own early experiences of ballet class. I was often found sitting in anticipation for one learned and elegant dancer who would shine above the rest. Her stature and aptitude captivated me, leaving me in awe; it was the most beautiful sight I had witnessed at age nine. Her name was Debbie, and she was an optimist. As I grew older, a mentorship developed between us. I learned about her history and devotion to dance: her pressing financial struggles were enough to merit several jobs juggled at once, but not enough to sway her passion and dedication to ballet. Not only did Debbie become an exceptional dance teacher, but she also radiated a selfless positivity that continues to help me during my own periods of great difficulty.</p>
<p>(OR THIS PARAGRAPH SAME STORY) It all started when I was at my usual Monday evening ballet class as I was watching this beatiful, graceful ballerina in awe. I had never seen anybody so talented and I could feel the positive energy that she was exerting into the air. The time when I watched her do breathtaking pirouettes and leaps before class was the best part of my day. After a few years of watching her, she became the assistant teacher and my very close friend. Her name was Debbie. I learned that she was struggling to get by but her passion kept her alive and happy. She always put everybody in a positive mood and passed her passion onto her students. I looked at some adults around me and could tell that they were not truly happy. They had chosen a proffession or married somebody that they were not truly passionate about. Even though Debbie had strenous circumstances in her life, she did not let it define her. She was truly happy and exuded all her positive vibes to inspire other people. Debbie's story made me realize that my ultimate goal was not to have the most money possible; she made me realize that I wanted to become a happy individual who aids and makes other people feel positive about themselves. I had these feelings when I was volunteering at the Stanford Hospital and when I taught my ballet students. The ability to see people happy and proud of their achievements and progress is one of the most irreplacable feelings in the world. </p>
<p>My earliest memory of dance coincided with a very impactful time in my life. My mother likes to call it the twister sister, saying that sometimes happiness and heartache can occur simultaneously, like two tornadoes advancing side by side, growing in intensity, but not necessarily fusing into one. </p>
<p>When I was eight years old, my innocence was taken from me. I was raped by an older cousin during a game that all of the children were playing, called Darkroom. </p>
<p>I kept silent for years. Physical abuse does somethings strange to the relationship we carry with our bodies. You dissociate; your body becomes foreign territory. Any self-awareness I had until that point vanished; it was very difficult to feel like myself. It was like having an identity crisis before you even developed the vernacular used to express that feeling of isolation.</p>
<p>Dance was the only time that I felt safe in my skin. Seeing Debbie perform her pirouettes was like staring into the future; it gave me hope in the potential for change. Dance became a passion and an outlet. In simplest terms, it brought me back to myself.</p>
<p>Then came grade 11.
After nearly a decade of secrecy, I shared with my parents their worst nightmare: that I had been raped and molested as a young child by a cousin whom we would visit in London. My father had developed a strong bond with my rapist over the years and was planning to fly him to San Jose to stay with us for college. It was junior year, the beginning of serious academic course work and university prep; I physically, emotionally nor mentally could afford to have that kind of anxiety in addition to school work. </p>
<p>Grades began to slip, my concentration faltered. I became preoccupied, fighting flashbacks in secrecy. When I finally developed the courage to share the truth, what ensued was a savage act of violence. ((Going to add more on this here))</p>
<p>Things started to get fuzzy at that point. Confusion began to lead my days; resentment bred internally and I could not control a deep decline into a very debilitating depression. I felt even more distant from friends at school. It seemed no one could get through to me: my parents had broken my heart, meanwhile classmates, friends and teachers were preoccupied with school functions that I could not for the life of me engage in. </p>