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<!doctype html>
<html>
<head>
<title>
Cramped
</title>
<base target="_blank">
<link rel="icon" href="images/favicon.ico">
<script src="https://epicenterprograms.github.io/standards/behavior/general.js"></script>
<script src="behavior.js"></script>
<link rel="stylesheet" href="https://epicenterprograms.github.io/standards/formatting/foundation.css">
<link rel="stylesheet" href="formatting.css">
</head>
<body>
<nav class="hidden-left-nav">
<iframe src="navigation.html"></iframe>
</nav>
<h1 class="main-title">
Important Moments
</h1>
<main>
<p>
One drawback of having applications with limited space (not to mention the tiny amount MIT has) is that many impactful events have to be overlooked in order to make room for the general questions that hopfully stumble across qualities that are reliable enough to determine whether a person should be admitted. In this page, I've condensed a lifetime of experiences into a relatively small number of moments which I consider the most important, whether the reason is practical (in terms of showing character building) or personal. Although there are large parts missing, I would say that the information contained within is (or more like will be) some of the most integral to describing how I came to be the person that I am.
</p>
<div class="page-jump-sections">
<h2>
Origin of Mental Discipline
</h2>
<p>
In elementary school, I was in a gifted program called Spectra. We did many things, but among them were many presentations and skits. Working on the stuff wasn't too bad and could even be enjoyable, but when the end product was needed and the spotlight was on me, the dread set in. I didn't like getting up in front of people and having the pressure be put one me even if it was just with a few people (most of the time).
</p>
<br>
<h2>
Realization of Being an Outsider
</h2>
<p>
</p>
<br>
<h2 id="MITessay2">
Extreme Loneliness
</h2>
<p style="display:none">
Tell us about the most significant challenge you've faced or something that didn't go according to plan. How did you manage the situation? (200-250 words)
</p>
<p style="display:none">
I've never been the most outgoing person, but when I started high school after moving, my quietness caused me to go an entire year without really making any friends. I felt so lonely, and it was particularly awful because I knew I was causing it. It wasn't until my second year of high school that someone, let's call her Jane Doe, finally worked at getting to know me long enough that we became friends. We got along really well, and eventually we became more than friends. However, over time, differences between us accumulated, and she soon decided that more than friends was too much. I was somewhat upset, but I could understand, and she said we could still be friends even though it turned out being a lie. While it was still fairly true, though, I reached out to Jane to help me through the sudden reintroduction to the terribly lonely life I'd had before. Despite my obvious difficulty handling the situation, it was made quite clear over the course of our conversation that I was on my own. I had to decide if I was going to go back to making myself miserable or if I was going to finally work up the courage to be more talkative like a normal person. Through means that still aren't quite clear to me, I found it within myself to do the latter. I'm NEVER going to allow myself to become that lonely again.
</p>
<p>
For as long as I can remember, I've never been the most outgoing person around. During elementary school and before, I didn't really notice (or at least remember) having trouble talking to people my own age, but when we moved and I later had to go to a middle school with no one I knew, my difficulties became apparent. For at least a month or so (seemingly longer), I was largely without anyone who I felt I had a real friendship with.
</p>
<p>
Although people often think the opposite of me, I actually quite enjoy making conversation. There are countless things I could go on and on about, but I know how to take turns (if I ever manage to get talking enough for that to apply), and it's not all that uncommon for me to be fairly interested in what people have to say. Besides that, I just like interacting with people. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've heard the phrase, "I hate people." Well, I like people. If I had to pin-point one of the most effective ways of making me happy it would be giving me someone to have a good conversation with; I'd say giving me a whole group of people to have a good conversation with, but I'm not too optimistic of my ability to compete for speaking time.
</p>
<br>
<h2>
Jane Doe
</h2>
<section>
While in the midst of my extreme loneliness, I entered my second year of high school; with that came a second year of band. Of all of my classes, band has always been the most open and relaxed. Having such a loosely structured environment can be conducive to interacting and forming bonds with people. That's where someone I'll call Jane Doe<note-><div><div>I don't want to use her real name for reasons you'll see later, and I'm pretty uncreative/particular when making up names, so I'll just go with the super lame, stereotypically anonymous female name.</div></div></note-> comes in.
</section>
<p>
Although most people don't go out of their way to talk to someone who seems to be alone (oftentimes because they assume they don't want to be talked to), the occasional person will make an effort to be inclusive. However, my extreme quietness was enough to sabotage even the nicest attempts to reach out. Jane was one of those people who noticed and wanted to change my loneliness, but with her, things took a different path: At first, there was just talking in band (the class we shared), but soon enough I had one less empty seat next to me as we waited in the stands before the band played in the half-time show of the football games. I still had a way to go before I became too talkative, but I made sure to let Jane know that I appreciated her efforts since it wasn't always apparent from how awkward I acted. I suspect that assurance contributed to her decision to start sitting with me at lunch soon after.
</p>
<p>
As time went by, Jane and I got closer and closer, I opened up more and more, and it wasn't long before we developed a relationship that could hardly be considered just a friendship anymore. I had never come across someone who I got along with so well before: We were constantly talking, laughing, and otherwise thoroughly enjoying each other's company, and becoming an official couple only strengthened our bond. To be completely clear, I'd like to say that, without question, my fondness for Jane was <strong>not</strong> a result of her being the only option: We just got along to an exceptional degree, and I was absolutely overwhelmed with happiness any time I was fortunate enough to be around her. I whole-heartedly fell for her, and although I use the word with extreme caution, I don't have to hesitate for a moment to say that I most certainly loved her.
</p>
<p>
Sadly, however, this bliss had to eventually come to an end. Although I largely ignored it at the time, there actually were quite a number of differences which accumulated between Jane and me: She was a more traditional person (getting meaning from doing chores, wanting to be a stay-at-home mom, etc.) whereas I tended towards a less conventional persona (making robots to do chores, wanting to spend time with kids but while still changing the world, etc.); she didn't approve of my main career goal (curing aging); she could be fatalistic; she wasn't keen on making compromises; and to be completely honest, she could be pretty moody at times. (I, of course, had no faults.) Looking back, I think she may have been faking some of her compatibility with me in the beginning (as many people do when they're getting to know someone, although I'd have preferred her to be a little more up-front). None of those things, however, were enough to prevent us from continuing to be good friends… for a while, at least.
</p>
<p>
Immediately following our break-up, things were a little awkward, and I had a little trouble turning off such strong feelings in such a short period of time, but I think I handled things pretty well, and everything seemed to be alright. I was worried about trying to spend more time with Jane than she wanted, so I was sure to ask what she was still okay with. The only problem was that she would lie in her answers: I would ask her something like whether I could still catch up with her before she got on the bus at the end of the day, and she would invariably say "yes" (presumably because she didn't want to hurt my feelings), but soon enough, I would have to stop doing whatever it was because it was overwhelmingly obvious that she wasn't enjoying the interaction. I kept giving her more and more space, but it never seemed to be enough, and it wasn't long until we were no longer on speaking terms. I had lost one of the most important people in my life.
</p>
<p>
As you can probably imagine, I was greatly affected by this upsetting turn of events. I had been certain that, once I had formed a bond as strong as the one I had with Jane, there would be no possibility of that relationship going bad; we even talked about how ridiculous it was for people to get out of a relationship and hate each other afterwards. Apparently, no degree of familiarity is enough to predict whether things will fall apart in the future. And so I was left to be consumed with overwhelming anguish.
</p>
<section>
Over the course of the rest of my time in high school, Jane and I occasionally had interactions of variable warmth. Many times, I could swear Jane was avoiding me, but I'm always careful to leave a large amount of room for error, so I suppose it could have just been a misinterpretation. In addition to that, there were also times when the two of us were put into a situation which prompted us to say something to each other, and the uncomfortableness was oppressive. However, in just about as many brief conversations (which were very few), you could easily be convinced that there were no hard feelings between us. In an effort to make the latter perception a reality, I reached out to Jane on multiple occasions: For three of her following birthdays (and no other times), I sent her a friendly text worded in a way meant to not make her feel obligated to respond (I was ready to stop on the third time, but I was helped along when she pretended like I was texting the wrong person)<note-><div><div>Upon further consideration, a reasonable explanation could be that she no longer had me in her contacts and didn't know it was me, but surely she would know that the number was correct no matter who it was due to how I was saying "happy birthday" on her birthday.</div></div></note->; on at least one occasion (once again after giving things ample time to cool down), I gave her a note discussing, with the utmost diplomacy and persuasion, how we should find a way to rebuild our friendship; more generally, I was always sure to smile at her every time I saw her (despite how seeing her pained me deeply), and I was always cheerful whenever I spoke with her (some of those limited conversations were even initiated by me). No matter how hard I tried, though, it seemed that any prospect of reconciliation was hopeless.
</section>
<section>
In between all of this, I observed Jane's interactions with other people. Although I knew it wasn't right, I'd get upset whenever I saw Jane talking so happily with her friends (which seemed to increase in frequency when she no longer talked happily, or at all, to me). She also continued being very nice to other people. I remember one time in particular when she was talking to someone who I had sat with at lunch for over a year but who I never really said much to because we were both too shy: like me, she had gotten him to open up, and as I was forced to listen to the entire conversation (because I had to go to the bathroom, and they were standing close enough to the entrance for their voices to make their way in), I was reminded not only of what a failure I had been in befriending an obviously nice person, but also of how I'd never again get to experience the boundless kindness that had been bestowed onto me for an all-too-short chapter of my life. Another observation that took a toll on me was watching Jane begin dating again: although there was a reasonable amount of time in between, it was hard for me to see boys<note-><div><div>two that I saw</div></div></note-> put their arm around her or kiss her, particularly when those things were so sparse with me (by my choice), and I had no one who I could share my more tender side with. Perhaps the most difficult development for me was Jane's inclusion of herself into my newfound friend group: As is more thoroughly discussed in the following section, after Jane and I parted ways, I finally managed to put an end to my previous extreme loneliness. When the next school year started, I got a fresh start with people who hadn't given up on getting to know me yet, and I cemented the eradication of my solitary existence. However, as time went by, I began to notice Jane involving herself with my friends. To be clear, I think Jane has every right to be friends with whoever she pleases, and I don’t actually think she was plotting against me; I suppose it shouldn't be too surprising that she would want to be friends with such nice people (or that they would want to be friends with someone as nice as her), but that didn't do much to prevent how I felt like she was trying to steal away the people I cared about.
</section>
<p>
Despite all that happened, I was never angry at Jane, although the emotional toll was enormous. Besides the difficulties discussed earlier, I also became extremely reluctant to open up to people or believe them when they told me things would be alright; I still try to give people a fair opportunity to prove themselves, but my emotions are too delicate to withstand that much hurt very often (I'm really good at hiding it, though). There were other lasting effects as addressed in following sections, but after quite some time, the sting dissipated, and I began to find relative peace with the events that transpired. (I think going to college and not seeing her was helpful.) I wish things could have taken a different path, but I did everything I could, and since graduating high school, just about any chance I had at making things right was lost. Jane was a great friend, and it's a shame that I won't be able to be a part of her life anymore.
</p>
<br>
<h2>
Becoming More Outgoing
</h2>
<p>
After Jane and I broke up but before we stopped talking, I found myself not being able to make up for all of the conversations I didn't have with other people anymore, and I was faced with returning to the terrible loneliness I had experienced for so long before. I reached out to Jane to help me through it, but throughout the course of our conversation, it was made quite clear that I was on my own. I had to decide if I was going to go back to making myself miserable or if I was going to finally work up the courage to talk to people like a normal person. Through means that still aren't quite clear to me, I found it within myself to do the latter. I'm never, ever, <strong><em><ins>ever</ins></em></strong> going to allow myself to become that lonely again.
</p>
<br>
<h2>
Making Friends
</h2>
<p>
</p>
<br>
<h2>
The Worst Day of my Life
</h2>
<p>
</p>
<br>
<h2>
Loss (and Gain) of Self-Worth
</h2>
<p>
</p>
<br>
<h2>
Loss of Another Friend
</h2>
<p>
</p>
</div>
</main>
</body>
</html>