Compiled by Holly Dayton ’13, Lens Section Editor
Every year, the Scroll runs a series of college essays written by the graduating seniors. This year’s seniors are a very talented class who are leaving CCDS to go to colleges all over (and even out of) the country. This is the college entrance essay of Baldur Tangvald, who will be going to USC School of Cinematic Arts this fall.
Baldur’s Essay:
Rainor and I used to fight. Physically fight, like brothers sometimes do. Once he tried stealing my taquitos. I just could not let that happen. It was never anything big though; we may have been distressed because of school and if there was a catalyst, perhaps a disagreement over underhanded tactics in Halo, the next thing I’d know, there were flailing arms. That faded away very quickly, though. When our oldest brother left for college, just the two of us were left with each other. As we bonded, he breathed life into me. His life.
Rainor comes into the house. With breath titillated with liveliness, he asks, “Do you want to go play Frisbee or something?”
I, shocked by at the unpleasantly bright lights he turns on, reply “Dude. It’s two in the morning.”
“I know”
“….Alright, sounds good.”
It’s strange. He has adopted a view of an old man years past his pricey, 400-Horsepower answer to his mid-life crisis: he knows that death is an ever-marching, though still distant, soldier. If you don’t move, he’ll catch you. My father once told him that a wise but deranged old man advised that “people should never kill time, they should work it to death.” A dark but truthful sentiment, this idea is what Rainor lives by: never tarry, for life is clock tick-tocking away.
Uncomfortable when lounging, Rainor strives for liveliness. Whenever we sit down on the couch, 5 minutes later we are up and moving. Because of him, I despise being lazy… most of the time. Every once in a while I spend a day on a date with my couch and a bag of pretzels. That I cannot deny. Nevertheless, he has taught me to balance out my life with excitement. He gets out during the day and especially at night, he engages in banter with complete strangers as if he knows them, yet he pursues his passions with a vigor others envy. When Rainor comes home, he pushes me away from my stacks of textbooks and papers. He does this with deliberation; he knows I work very hard and, at times, too hard. Some would say his interruptions are too distracting, but I appreciate his suggestions to take walks around the neighborhood at quarter past one or to partake in hot tub extravaganzas under the lightly perforated midnight sky. He wakes me up and he says “Two words: Taco. Bell.” I get my shoes, no matter if the clock say reads twelve or three or seven in the morning. I love him, I love him so much. I see the way he wants to live and I want that too; but experiencing life vicariously does not suffice. Keeping in mind his attitude towards life while balancing my own, a whole new me has come to fruition. Now that he went back to college, it is I who takes the time to dial late night calls. When ringtones force friends off the couch, I’m the one on the other side of the line, pushing to go bowling and eat greasy burgers for a few laughs.
He’s a rebel, and so he taught me how to stand up for myself; Rainor prefers to associate himself with sturdy individuals who don’t waive their own opinions or views to suit others .Yet he taught me moderation in that, for he is a stubborn figure easily angered when challenged too often. He may regret sharing that lesson; he never successfully stole those taquitos. Because of him, I challenge anybody with my opinions but still listen when necessary. Listening is often the best option anyway. He’s taught me how to balance things in life. If life could be ordered off of a drive-thru fast-food menu, Rainor would pull up to the microphone and ask for one of everything. He believes, as I have adopted, that everything in life is worth trying once; otherwise it would be impossible to balance anything. Also, he would do this to prank on whoever is on the other side of that microphone. Nevertheless, I now tell others that worry is an emotion that should always follow actions, not thwart them.
When I told him that I have troubles recalling memories from years past, he responded by stating that he lives his life by doing one thing he fears everyday and suggested I do just that. Regret became not a feeling to be feared, but one to be treasured. When I try new things, either I’ll regret them enough to never forget them or I’ll value my experiences so as to always remember. Through experimentation, I have discovered he is correct; it was not the quality of my memory that was poor, but that the things I’ve done were not exciting enough to remember. That part of me is all in the past now. For years, I have done what I can to experience as many memorable moments as possible. I adventure. I organize silly tournaments, like office-chair racing and arm-wrestling. I’ve brought back Rock-Paper-Scissors with a lengthy ten-minute power-point presented to the whole high school. I live by the motto “Seriously Fun.” Like the Wizard of Oz, my brothers gave me a heart so that I could follow my passions, courage so that I could stand up for myself and my views, a brain so that I may remember my experiences, yet Rainor is not just a man behind a curtain pedaling gimmicks. Although I spend some nights relaxing by watching my tea brew or delighting in the chase scenes of zombie movies, I often live with a sense of excitement, almost urgency, because of him. And I love him for that.
Photo courtesy of www-scf.usc.edu
