University of California - San Diego Admission Essays

Days before I embark on a 7 month backpacking trip in India I found the admission essays I submitted to my alma mater. I find inspiration reflecting upon these, knowing that growth is almost inevitable in the face of diligence and persistence.

Prompt: Describe the most significant challenge you have faced and the steps you have taken to overcome this challenge. How has this challenge affected your academic achievement?

As the cast was slowly drawn off, the baby hairs on my legs tingled strangely in reaction to the sunlight. For three long years, my legs had been strangled by this monster I despised. I ran my hands down the scars that spanned my legs, reaching the deepest corners of my body. The first steps I took soon after were small steps for humankind, but the biggest steps of my life.

I was born with severe clubfeet, a condition in which both feet are twisted towards each other. Concerned with my inability to walk at the age of two, my doctor recommended surgery to lengthen the muscles and tendons of my feet. The trauma lingered for years in the form of my Asuran, (“monster” in my mother tongue, Tamil) a demon that stalked my every move, suffocating my self-confidence.

When I was finally liberated from my cast, I was a force of joy and optimism- a ball of pent up energy finally given an outlet. Wherever I went, I would run and bump and fall — and get right up again. This all changed, however, when I first heard those dreaded words: “chicken legs.” Despite my efforts, my legs would not develop. As my upper and lower body fell out of sync, I went from the star dodgeball player to the last one picked. I learned then that flaunting undersized legs was not fashionable.

I was no longer the class comedian, but instead the playground freak. People I once called my friends ridiculed and derided me, their words turning into bullets, each shot becoming increasingly unbearable. I would peer across the playground looking for a source of comfort, to find my Asuran leaning against a tree, a grin stretching across his demonic face, knowing that he had once again beaten me.

I traveled across California to meet orthopedists, physicians, sports doctors, and Asian herbalists, trying to find someway to strengthen my legs. No one had a solution. Asuran, it seemed, could not be defeated. Soon my doctor broke it to me that my legs were underdeveloped not from the cast, but as a consequence of the surgery.

“You will not be able to compete athletically with the other boys in a few years,” he said.

But I refused to accept my fate. I desperately searched for a way to prove my doctor wrong. It was my Asuran holding me down, and no one else could defeat it for me. For the next 14 months, I forgot the feeling of spending time with friends. I forgot the sensation of serving an ace. Instead, I dedicated my time to sitting alone in the gym until closing hours, working diligently on my legs. My best friends were the leg press, calf raise, and the squat rack. The tedious months of hard work finally became beneficial, as I earned a place on the Varsity tennis team. For the first time in my life I could feel my Asuran quivering under my newfound strength.

By successfully competing against my peers, I had proven not only my doctor wrong, but my Asuran as well. As I changed into my tennis jersey, proudly revealing my legs, the feelings of resentment and depression were whisked away by euphoria. Once again, I would run, bump, fall, and get right back up; this time, however, there was a team standing behind me, with rich blue shorts boasting my school colors.

One hand confidently gripped my tennis racquet, as I would kneel down and tie my shoes tightly. The gates welcomed me as I stepped onto the court. I stepped over the insults. Over the “chicken legs.” Over the hopelessness. Standing, peering into the open tennis courts, feeling taller, as I stood on top of the now lifeless Asuran. I could finally sleep at night knowing that there were no demons nesting in my closet, as I had just slaughtered the last one.

Prompt: I could not find the prompt for this question, and I’m not a 100% sure I even submitted this one.

“Is that really your name?”“Are you from Gotham City?”

Sigh. Everywhere I go, these are how conversations are started. I have dreams of being one of the lucky few to reach moon, of becoming the first Indian-born professional basketball player, hosting my own Ted Talk; I am an avid follower of the stock market, a passionate connoisseur of DECA. But still, those do not seem to be topics of interest to most. Instead, I am bombarded by childish questions regarding my name.

My parents were not Batman fanatics who decided to name their only child after a superhero. If I jumped off a cliff, I unfortunately would not gently glide to the ground, but instead would accelerate rapidly at a precise rate of 9.806 m/s². Allow me to be clear: my name is Goutham Yegappan, and I am not related, in any manner, to Batman. Not Gotham, not Batman.

On the other hand, I do see myself as the defender of my house, standing shoulder to shoulder with my sidekick — my father — and protecting my mother, our virtues, and our values. I may not have been born with superpowers; however, I remain courageous, perpetually battling villains such as APUSH and standardized testing. I am also a profound tactician, as I plan weekly club meetings. And I respond to distress signals — such as when a helpless cook texts me that we’re out of milk at home. I find myself in danger, as I sacrifice time to keep those around me happy.

I don’t have a personal grudge against Batman. It’s just that I never wanted him to be part of my legacy. Throughout my childhood, Batman was portrayed in a grey light, where he was neither a hero, nor a villain. As I matured I realized that Batman’s ways, even though sometimes immoral, always led to the greater good. He put his loved ones in front of him, and made sure they were kept happy. He used his fists to ensure the safety of the public; however, since I was not born with metal knuckles, I resort to my words to spread love. A part of Batman lives through me, in that regardless of my career, my aspiration is to significantly contribute to others happiness. Ironically, my name pushed me to realize the similarities between Batman and me.

After careful reconsideration, the next time someone asks me if my name is related to the Dark Knight, I have my answer prepared: “Yes. My name is Goutham Yegappan, and I am Batman.”

Geisal Library at the University of California San Diego