Application Essay (Sherlock Reference)

Sherlock Reference

Anika Rudra

Nearing 10:30pm on a school night when half the world is asleep, I continue sitting at my corner desk. Slouched, I’m scrolling randomly on my laptop. I have nothing to do but soak in more useless information. I am bored, quite bored. I pick up a pen, twirling it in a slurred motion. More scrolling, a small sound lights up my phone. I barely glance over, ignoring it. A second ping of my phone, I groan and look. Eyes widen, I take a second glance. Knocking my table, I reach to grab my phone. A sketchbook falls off the desk-shelf, probably breaking its unused spine. It was a text from a friend, a picture of one my old doodles captioned with one word: Remember? I blink and look again.The small sketch of mine of Batman and Robin, boldly shining in the weak light of my room. Remember what? I reply, with slight mix confusion and apathy.

The reply came: “Anika! This was the first doodle in your math notebook last year! It was so good that Mr. Daniel excused it… Do you realize how long it’s been since you’ve drawn at all??”

I put my phone away, exhaling gingerly. Bored. Tapping the table mindlessly, I watch my laptop shade over and switch to a screensaver. I scan, rescan, my environment. I am bored. My vision focuses onto my brown paper sketchbook flipped open to my last mark. A half-finished, unrecognizable pose of Sherlock. Drawn nearly three months prior.

I bury my head in my palms, releasing a strangled sigh. Three months ago? An anxiety starts drumming my chest. What happened to me? I felt a dark veil wrap over me, like a grand shadow, the cartoon sketches pinned to my corkboard fluttering furiously, sucking my thoughts out. The world fell under me, everything going hazy. Three months of boredom, and this is what happens. In the midst of the loudest quiet, my ink pen signals, a loud beacon in all the chaos. I reach out hastily and grab it.

I uncap the pen hesitantly and hold down the book. Static shrill fill my head, I squirm under pressure. The nib drew nearer to the page, and nearer still, until only a single hair scrapped the paper. What if I mess it up? The ink line wavered in the air. My hand trembled, my eyes twitching. Three months without scratching that surface. You’re going to mess this up. Stop now, please.

Drawn Sherlock fixes an unwavering glare over my shoulder, with his skeleton of a sketch bleeding over the book, clawing at the depths of my soul. The pen quivered. I stopped drawing because I was bored. Because it wasn’t good enough. Because I wasn’t good enough. I am scared I’m not good enough.

The pen falls, I sigh and cup my face in my palms. Scared? Is that really an excuse to not do what you love? I ball my fists. No, of course it’s not. That’s common sense. So why don’t I do it? Why don’t I finish the drawing?

Because I can’t. Of course I can. What if I mess up? Erase, keep going. But ink is permanent. Yes, and start again, don’t stop. I’ll end up wasting all my time with messes and hiccups. Will you, though? Will you let this ‘boredom’ consume what makes you you?

Flames explode within, the pen flashing in my hands like a wand. Ink spills everywhere, ideas surging into a mess all over. Designs of new worlds wind and weave themselves into my memory, not willing to risk being lost again. A beautiful disorder of creativity floods, and I have never been more grateful.

Colors bleed themselves back into my life and realization slashes the fear away. If I stopped doing anything because it wasn’t at its potential yet, I need to accept that it’ll never reach there. The quality of it depends on me, and me alone. Every stroke counts, every fail, every restart, it all adds up. Because with each minimal movement, you always go forward. So you keep going, you keep drawing and erasing and redrawing until you’re content. And don’t think that day doesn’t ever come, because it does once you deserve it.

Shook with relief and disbelief, I set the pen down. The piece is completed with another figure next to a stern Sherlock. I’ve earned it then, it seems. A warm feeling pours into me like the hug I’ve always needed. As boredom blooms into creativity, Courage grabs my hand and tells me to run with the biggest grin plastered across their face. It’s just like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Note to the Reader

Anika Rudra

Writing the piece ‘Sherlock Reference’ could be summarized in two words: absolutely frustrating. The draft was chosen purely out of impulse, and that only led to absolute confusion when trying to write the final draft. This moment only took ten seconds to happen in real life, but of course a story has to be longer than that. Since I love to write with extremely detail, you would have thought stretching this moment out would be done in a snap. You’d be wrong. My biggest challenge was being able to balance description with storytelling and reflection. When writing this, I kept tripping myself and telling myself I wasn’t doing it right, just like what was happening in ‘Sherlock Reference’ by itself. Luckily I was able to get enough thumbs-ups from friends and family to give me the confidence to keep going and not restart.

‘Sherlock Reference’ is basically a story about creativity blocked by anxiety. Anxiety is a weird experience, a lot of the time, you don’t even know when anxiety hits. Three months prior to the story, I had a crisis and started doubting my own love for art. Every single person has a defining feature about them that without, this person wouldn’t be themselves. Anxiety has the power to rip apart anyone’s personality it you let it. In the story, I allowed these doubts take over me. In the end, I realized acknowledging anxiety was important, but being able to walk over it and continue doing what you love comes first. Everything takes time and of course it won’t be perfect with one go, you have to accept that. Just remember that it’s okay to slow down as long as you never stop. Everything will fall into place when you keep going, I believe in you, you should believe in you.