Case Study • Alya

Alya’s full personal statement

I sat amongst my nine cousins in a tense circle, our eyes darting between one another, as we waited for that one decisive moment. Then, in a flash, my hand lunged forward, latching onto the cold metal, and chaos erupted — but it was all over a simple game of spoons.

But is it so simple?

To me, card games are more than entertainment. Each shuffle of the deck and turn of a card offers lessons on how to approach the world around me.

In a heated game of Uno, I’ve learned when to strike, hold back, and anticipate others’ moves. When instinct and experience converge, leading to my triumphant cry of “Uno!” the electric feeling empowers me to keep playing.

This feeling returns while heatedly discussing the lack of female accreditation in STEM fields with my robotics teammate, emboldening us to speak louder at team meetings. It’s also present while creating Women’s History Month events, where trivia sessions and female-led discussions on modern-day feminism celebrate social progress and accomplishment. This mutuality has shown me that collective success not only amplifies individual achievements but also deepens the joy in celebrating others’ victories. So, while I fight tooth and nail every game, I simultaneously revel in watching my competitors experience the joys of declaring “Uno.”

This summer, a student at an immigrant learning center taught me Burro. Enraptured by a new set of rules, I drew on my experiences grappling with Gin Rummy and Presidents, strategizing which cards to sacrifice to be victorious in the end. In this way, I learn to truly understand — harnessing insights toward uncharted discovery:

It’s watching chess games like Fabiano Caruana’s nine-move checkmate against Alireza Firouzja that complicate ideas of probability and the almost infinite possible positions (approximately 2.4 trillion after nine moves). It’s also the countless hours spent tediously constructing the Lego Death Star’s Superlaser, seeing how individual pieces enjoin to create a cohesive system. Or how reading about the applications of the Schrödinger equation in quantum entanglement helps me discover how much I still don’t know.

But just as Burro is more fun when played with others, knowledge is more exciting when shared far and wide. As I assist faculty children grappling with paper airplanes during a design challenge or teach youth robotics teams how to loop code when programming, I realize that more than learning, the passing on of ideas is how our society evolves. Just as those I teach Burro will eventually outplay me, knowledge gains its strength when shared and transformed by others.

Tirelessly played alone, Solitaire games can last for over an hour. Each game, I examine piles of cards, knowing there is a hidden move for those who look for it. I picture these games during a losing streak at a robotics competition, trying to find the error within a thousand lines of code. Or as I push my shoulders back, point my toes, and remember to smile throughout dance rehearsal.

Although Solitaire has taught me the art of perseverance, some games simply can’t be won. A glitchy program may have to be rewritten. A dance practice needs breaks. Self-awareness is part of perseverance, and I have grown to understand my limits, so when I stop the impossible game of Solitaire, I can triumph in the next one.

As I prepare for college, the first thing I’ll pack is my deck of cards, worn down from years of use. Yet, with every card shuffle comes a new combination, a new hand, and I must adapt to play. When the next game is dealt, I’ll revel in others’ wins as much as my own, learn new strategies, and know when to fold. I just hope I play my cards right.