A Personal Statement

A kid sits alone, waiting for the bus. The child sits faithfully. It was their duty to finish the last sentence of what would become a short story. Or perhaps, a script of sorts. After a pause, they begin again, still scribbling away with illegible handwriting. Their tiny hands at work, flying off the page.

The bus was called. I missed it.
...
First and foremost, I was a writer. Maybe that was the problem. Children are always engrossed in their hobbies. For me, art is a form of escapism. A distraction from reality.
Sometimes, creativity is born from a stress-filled push. Mine was a single mother and a life of loneliness. No one can be a creative in every waking moment. But it made my life richer. The pain of reality is easier to bear. Eventually, it passes.

Even in fantasy the real world was plain to me. I'd see it whenever I put my pencil down and as I wrote it would nag at the back of my mind.

I wanted more. I wanted better.

That "more" for me was education. I was always told that if I tried hard enough, then I'd make it. I could move far away. I could finally be in a place where people thought like me; where people shared my passion for art, literature, and a passion for life. I could be in an exciting new place that could challenge me mentally. A place that could teach me to tap into my hidden creativity.

I could get away from the idea that life was solely about survival. Just the next paycheck. I'm an artist and I want to succeed at it.

Being black is hard enough in the southern United States. Being black and an artist meant a life of destitution. Life is about surviving. Art didnt put food on the table.

Art reminds me that there's more beyond my small box of a state. Life is richer. I can succeed at what I love and I can be around people that will love it with me. Being an electrician in Georgia isn’t enough for me.I want to be remembered.

Your college can help me succeed.