“I don’t want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.” (Jack Nicholson – The Departed)

When I was a child, my best friend was (wait for it) a stick.

It became an extension of my arm, a conduit for my imagination. Using it as saber, hockey stick, and countless other tools gave 7 year-old me control over a narrative far more compelling than any dinky car or action figure could offer. My thoughts exploded as I wielded it; desperate, whirling lunges could repel marauding invaders, a sweeping shot would win Pakistan the hockey World Cup. The stick was powerless until I gave it life, energy, and meaning, and playing with it awakened a desire to control my life’s whole narrative, a desire that has resonated with me well beyond childhood. It offered an broad canvas where the richness of the narrative depended only on how my ideas shone through.

Creativity: As I gripped the stick in different ways, double-handed, laterally, and backwards, I created distinct personas. I had an extraordinary opportunity to experiment, weaving outlandish plotlines and character dynamics; each one had to be more daring than the last. I pictured myself as a warrior in battle, a statuesque warlock, and a hockey player with raw talent, all contexts driven purely by the verve of my ideas. Creative thinking seeped into other avenues of my life, too, helping me tackle real-world problems. After a bomb blast in my city, a group of my peers and I realized that an unconventional approach was needed to get desensitized Karachiites to truly donate in droves. Our solution: an independent, student-run play whose creative appeal led to considerable proceeds, creating a relief effort for families whose lives had been derailed. Building unity in the face of extreme violence was no easy task, but a small step brought much-needed optimism into the picture, giving my peers and me the ability to unleash our imaginations for positive change.

Simplicity: The stick is, in essence, a piece of everyday scenery. Its appearance is unimpressive, but it can be a powerful medium for expressing complex ideas and thoughts. This theme of resourcefulness is central to my effectiveness as a nationally ranked debater. On the debate floor, I can express advanced ideas with clarity, using the flow of rhetoric and analysis to create a compelling picture, persuading judges and audiences alike. As captain, I channel the strengths of my teammates, recognizing that a coherent narrative can only be created once disparate pieces are harmoniously brought together in efficient ways. I have journeyed to this position of respect, sometimes facing stiff competition and self-doubt but overcoming it all, and my narrative has come full circle.

But is my narrative meaningful?

As I go to school every morning, I cross paths with children who can only dream of an education and see that so many of my countrymen have been robbed of the right to control their own narratives. The people I brush shoulders with in Pakistan exist as pitiful ghost writers of their own stories, watching as forces beyond their control trample the promise of an original text. The challenge, as I continue my journey into the vast world of college and beyond, is to find ways to intertwine the narratives of those around me with mine – truly making my environment a product of my actions – and to bring about change in simple and creative ways.