In Their Own Words
From personal stories to pivotal moments, Community High School students share their college essays.
Alex Smith
Thwump —Thwump — Thwump
Our tennis ball bounced against the decades-oldbackboard again and again. The board was tucked away in a corner of my backyard, framed by trees and foliage, and always felt welcoming and abundant to me. It seemed to lean back after years of being used solely by me, my best friend Calvin, and Mother Nature. As we made our contributions to the wall’s continued erosion, Calvin and I would bounce ideas off of each other, imitating the motion of the ball against the board. In a spark of imagination one day, there was a particularly sticky idea that didn’t bounce back: Pokémon Robots...
Photo art courtesy of Alex Smith
Malcolm London
“Dear Dad,
It’s 1:20 a.m., and the campers are finally asleep.I’m crouched on my top bunk, hunching between the rafters of the counselor room, writing by the glow of my fifth instructional YouTube video. My hand is cramping, I’m covered in sweat, and there’s ink all over the sheets. But check it out! Cursive!”...
Photo art courtesy of Malcolm London
“This article is another pathetic liberal whining
about how she can’t kill her unborn baby, disgusting,” I read, feeling my stomach drop. This comment was one, among many, scolding me for stating my opinion. This opinion piece I had written was about Harrison Butker’s commencement speech at Benedictine College. After publishing it, I had a newfound love for opinion pieces and was sure I would continue writing them, but after seeing a flood of hate comments, I thought it would be my last...
Payton Sly
Photo art courtesy of Payton Sly
Ronan Laporte
A river is perpetually in motion, always changing,yet remaining the same, simultaneously at its be- ginning and its end. A river runs where it does, it does not favor a curve nor avoid a bend, but takes each as they come. Like the protagonist in Hermann Hesse’s Siddhar- tha, I’ve struggled to find my way through the river. No matter where I went or from whom I sought answers, I found no satisfaction, no connection. I was swimming in the rapids, barely keeping my head above water when all of a sudden I was pulled aboard a ferry. With my aunt, like Siddhartha’s ferryman, I found a place to which I could escape, where I could play, think, and ask questions without fear of judgment. It was my refuge...
Photo art courtesy of Ronan Laporte
Camilo Ojeda
My identity is shaped by two distinct places: Ann Arbor, Michigan, where I was born, and Loja, Ecuador, where my family’s story began. Growing up in Ann Arbor meant being part of a college town with quirky traditions and spirited loyalties that are rooted in the values of an ever-growing community. Across the Equator lies Loja, Ecuador, where my family’s roots lie, and the country's lively cultural capital. It's seen through the colorful murals lining the streets and heard when the town gathers at the Plaza Parque Central to celebrate the holidays with song and dance...
Photo art courtesy of Camilo Ojeda