<p>Hey all…I got rejected from UCLA and Berkeley, and I’m really not sure why. So I had my personal statements read by this lady who volunteers/works at LA (not sure whether it was Admissions)…I met her on Yahoo! Answers. She told me that my last personal statement sounded vain, and I was so surprised…I had no idea that that’s how it sounded.
Could anyone give a second opinion? I really don’t want this to be the reason I was rejected…
but here goes:</p>
<p>Q: Is there anything you would like us to know about you or your academic record that you have not had the opportunity to describe elsewhere in this application?
It was finally happening. I had stayed up late into the night practicing my speech and honing my PowerPoint presentation to aesthetic perfection. Now it was crunch time, when all my practice would become reality. As I walked with quenching uneasiness up to the platform, my PowerPoint blinked into view on the projector, and I dove in with an introductory definition of Euthanasia. As my nervousness caught up with me, my words began to jumble. Suddenly, an interruption sounded from my audience. I cant hear you Felicia, my teacher confessed. I dont know what to do
I bit my bottom lip as tears stung my eyes; they were tears of frustration that I had so much to say but a voice too weak to be heard and confidence too insubstantial to make myself heard. An insurmountable lump climbed up my throat as my sophomore English teacher gave me options as to what I could do with my presentation. This instance was one of countless predicaments that have arisen throughout my life from the infirmity of my voice. In my childhood and adolescence, people had always been blown away by the faintness of my voicethat is, if they could even hear it at all. I was constantly asked to speak up and repeat my words, and I encountered daily obstacles just trying to be heard. Over the years, I grew tired of repeating myself; the frailty of my voice caused me so much discouragement that I refrained from speaking as much as possible. My vocal and personal weakness had always acted as a roadblock between the kind of person I was and the kind of person I had always wanted to be, a normal, outgoing girl.</p>
<pre><code> I wanted to run out the door and away from the peers and the teacher who did not have to shout to be heard, but I did not. Nor did I choose to step down from my presentation and take an alternative. Though afflicted with a burning desire to cry my eyes out, still I persisted. All my efforts joined in unison to boost my voice to a clear and auditory level. My voice cracked as I furiously blinked back the tears, but still I pressed on. Finally, a thunderous applause sounded. I was done. Two years ago, I had sunk down into my seat in dejection, believing that my presentation was a failure due to the impotence of my voice and the low confidence it gave me. That applause, however, had followed me all the way back to my seat. At the time, I had reasoned that the recognition of my peers stemmed from pity for me and my situation. But now I look back and see that a viable cause for their recognition may have been that I had truly triumphed. I had persevered through a difficult situation and prevailed over my debility. Even though my voice was feeble, my research was solid and my PowerPoint presentation well-prepared. I did not let my physical limitations hinder the potential stored inside, so in actuality, that presentation was a success. Situations like these have taught me that my voice has been the greatest teacher I could ever have, for with each struggle comes a significant lesson. Furthermore, although my debility has posed a number of obstacles for me throughout life, each setback has humbled me, and each challenge has only made me stronger in the end. Now I can truly say that the infirmity of my voice has not been a handicap, but a blessing.
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