As a child, you imagine adulthood as boundless freedom—charting a course to Mars or, as a teenager, exploring the world’s crevices. But all too often, I’ve seen lives of regret, too daunted to explore and envisage at the risk of indifferent consistency.
When I moved to Australia during the height of Covid, I encountered new friends and acquaintances that, even through the height of senior year, beamed with an incredible childlike spark coupled with mature and expert understanding. I discovered their upbringing and culture to be one of “open youth”; they held a radiating passion and fulsome curiosity that, in turn, fostered real talent in whatever interest they pursued.
It was this same pursuit of authentic experiences and joy in discovery that shaped not only my application to Dartmouth, but also, ultimately, my character.
I define myself by the word “equilibrium.” I’m simultaneously an extrovert and an introvert—an “ambivert”—equally from the Philippines as I am from Australia. I continue to enjoy picking up new skills on top of my extracurriculars, jumping from doing magic tricks to poker chip stacking—whatever piques my inner youth!
People may describe me as a “Jack of all trades, master of none,” but they forget the rest of the quote – “…but oftentimes better than a master of one.”
In a world of unending exploration, I yearn to experience the beauty of the “real” in a world that is constantly changing and challenging.
The following is the personal essay I wrote for my college application.
We’d been searching for fresh pillowy snow all morning. The pristine vista coursed a mellowing warmth through me—so unlike the Sydney heatwave we’d just come from. We move.
Skiing in Niseko this January among thrill-seeking friends with a decade of experience more than my own, I dared to fall trying to keep up, if that was what it took not to be left in the powder. As my friends ploughed into the packed restaurant for lunch, I ventured to a section I’d seen no one yet go through: a divot with measly shrubs poking out from silky, untouched powder.
The valley formed a U-shaped enclosure, its sides narrowly lined by towering trunks, withering trees bent symmetrically as if heavenly parted to open the path. Nature unimpeded has its way of order; it’s a bittersweet awe, knowing this gets rarer by the year. As I embraced the comforting cold with my skis gliding weightlessly like feathers through the frigid winds, I wove steadily through tight trees, twists, and obstacles, beaming with wonder at the tranquil scenery all the while.
Suddenly, the snow dipped into a crevice; I swiveled left. I needed enough speed to clear the steep ledge and reach the piste. But it was no use. My skis dug into the barrier of snow, so I removed my skis to support hoisting myself over. I sunk in; the powder was too fresh. With the valley aimed downhill, trying to clamber up the mountain would be tantamount to pushing Sisyphus’ boulder.
The creek that had imperiled the author. This off-piste run is now known as ‘Diego’s Drop.’
The day before, an experienced skier missed an inconspicuous crevice that turned out to be a creek, slipped in, and suffocated after becoming enveloped in the powder. I considered my imperfect options. There was no time for regret, nor room for failure. I could keep my skis off, but carrying them while lifting my heavy boots through soft snow would drain energy. I could call out for help, but couldn’t trust the boisterous winds to help me reach ears that couldn’t see me. I decided to stay on my skis despite the chance of losing control.
There’s no purpose in dwelling on the uncontrollable. I scanned forward, tracking a safe path in my head. I needed to cross over to the gradual side of the creek closer to the piste, but saw no opportunity. It was too wide—not worth the risk. I followed the river, searching for any patterns or abnormalities that could help me cross. Finally, I scanned animal tracks over a mound of snow above the creek and seized my moment; if the snow was strong enough to support the animal, perhaps it could hold me, too.
Without looking back, I slid across weightlessly, watching for sinkhole shadows that formed near snowy shrubs in the blinding white where it’s easy to lose focus. When I made it out, three hours had elapsed. But the thrill of adapting to each new challenge felt like hardly an hour had passed—toppling over quicksand-esque snow, clinging to my skis as walking sticks, and trudging uphill with my feet sinking with every attempted step.
Certainly, you can live life on the piste: it’s safe and thrilling in its own way, replete with people from all over who enjoy it. But that’s not what I choose. Maybe it’s more dangerous off-piste, maybe lonelier, and maybe more riddled with obstacles. But there’s nothing like living my childlike dream of surfing on clouds and relishing the joys of sharing it with others who appreciate it as I do.
“Hey guys, check out what I just found!” I waved my friends over, taking them through the divot—and of course, turning us around before reaching the creek that had just imperiled me.
That’s what life’s about, after all—exploring the beauties nature and humanity offer in uncharted territories, stimulated by the challenges that come with them and elated to lead others through it. We can only do so undaunted.
The author recently graduated from Cranbrook School, a day and boarding school in Bellevue Hill, Sydney. The younger son of Salcedo Auctions founders Richie and Karen Lerma, Diego will attend Dartmouth College in the fall—the only Filipino and Australian admitted to the Ivy League university in the early decision round.
