Pendulum by Davion

Pendulum by Davion - November 2025 Scholarship Essay

My personal growth has been stretched between authenticity and inauthenticity—like a pendulum, I’ve always tried to balance who I am with who I think I should be. I grew up with two opposing perspectives, each from a parent pulling me in different directions: empathy and subjectivity versus self-preservation and objectivity. Early in my life, this teetering, confused, and contradicted my developing mind and sense of self. It disillusioned me and created a sort of double consciousness through which I viewed everything. I had three lenses: one for each parent, and one for the public. There was no space left for my own interpretation or sense of place within myself. I spent years feeling confused and detached from anything personal. If I had applied to college three years ago, this essay—and anything beyond my academic or visible worth—would have been impossible to write. I lived on the surface in the worst ways possible, with a collapsing sense of self and a rising mental fatigue that only worsened. High school marked a personal stalemate. I was forced into an environment that cared little for my inner world but constantly demanded my engagement—with others, myself, and my divided beliefs. This sudden shift, combined with the onset of puberty, was something I couldn’t manage with such a fragile sense of identity. I lived without authenticity and suffered for it. I couldn’t hold meaningful conversations or articulate myself. I shied away from interactions that required intimacy or vulnerability, and I began pretending. Nothing I did was genuinely mine or held any passion behind it. Then, halfway through sophomore year, I began craving those missing parts of myself. I experienced my first same-sex attraction—something completely new to me. It was unprompted, but it drew a clear line of “me.” That crush shattered the notions I had about myself and the world around me, forcing me to face a daunting question: Am I gay? The feeling was fleeting, but it left a mark. It could have grown to define me, but I wasn’t ready to ground it in truth. I was still too scattered and scared to define myself. Without guidance or tools, I had to navigate these unfamiliar emotions and expectations on my own—and I failed repeatedly. Because of my own unrealistic ideals, I kept falling short of the person I thought I should be. For two and a half years, I boxed myself in, trying to package and present versions of me that might fit others’ expectations—or even my own impossible standards. Each time, I failed. My greatest realization came this year, after those two years of failure and countless small awakenings. It sparked a continuing period of growth and understanding, both of myself and others. The realization is simple: every human being is doing this for the first time. We are all first-time humans with no true answers. Though we may “know” many things, we are the creators of that knowledge, shaping and redefining it as we go. I’ve realized that, personally and collectively, we truly know nothing for certain—except ourselves. And even that takes time. You can only know yourself honestly because you are yourself. You create who you are. This understanding hasn’t ended my pendulum swing between authenticity and inauthenticity, but it’s made the motion meaningful. I no longer see it as a failure to find balance, but as evidence that I’m still moving—still growing into the most genuine version of who I am becoming.