Essay #5
I assembled my first 100-piece puzzle when I was two years old. It was an African savanna full of animals, such as elephants, zebras, and herons. In preschool, Bob the Builder was my hero, and at my preschool graduation, when my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I confidently answered, “Builder!” My grandma’s friend gave me my first Lego set at a restaurant when I was five, and I built a car before we finished dinner. In fourth grade, I completed my first Rubik's Cube. Kids on my bus were amazed and brought me their cubes to solve. During middle school, I began working on a 3,000-piece puzzle of a Viennese sunset full of rich purple and orange hues. Initially, the whole family assembled pieces. Eventually they bailed, and I worked on it on my own for another 12 months. The pieces were underneath the tablecloth in the dining room, so we could see and feel the outline of the incomplete puzzle every time we ate a meal. This bugged me. Getting it done became an obsession, so some days I worked on it for hours until I finally put in the last piece.
Despite my successes, one particularly tough puzzle-building challenge stumped me. I received a large Lego technic truck set for my 10th birthday. Technic sets contain complicated pieces and electronic parts that enable the contraption to move. This one had 1,115 pieces, so assembling it was as daunting for me as reaching Mount Everest is for climbers. I soon realized that I couldn't understand how the electronic parts functioned or where to connect the wires to the Lego pieces. Sad and discouraged, I left the whole mess on the floor and told my dad I couldn’t do it. About a week later, he showed me that he’d figured it out. I was stunned to see the completed truck and upset with my own failure. I felt that I had only scratched the surface of constructing complex structures.
For four years, I lacked the confidence to try any more intricate puzzles. In middle school, however, I was smitten with the sci-fi genre, and I mustered up the courage to build the new Lego Millennium Falcon, which came out with the release of Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I was extremely excited to build this 1,329-piece sculpture. I got stuck twice, and both times were because of some tiny, misplaced pieces that I figured were not essential. On the third attempt, the Falcon was there!
A similar conundrum occurred a few years later in my Intro to Web Development class. I was stuck on one piece of code for a huge assignment. It wouldn’t run no matter how many times I tried until my teacher told me that I was missing a single slash, which was necessary in the closing tag. This experience taught me that programming and puzzles are not so different from each other, and both require acute attention to minute details.
The puzzles and Legos are back in their boxes, but my fascination with problem solving and spatial relationships continues. In fact, my enthusiasm about puzzles led to my interest in computer science, engineering, and architecture. Today, when I look at magnificent structures such as the impressive Empire State Building or the steep Burj Khalifa, I think not only about the final products but also about how these imposing creations are put together and what types of steel, glass, and cement connect them. Whether it’s writing code for innovative companies that prioritize environmental sustainability, designing iconic skyscrapers that dazzle travelers, or developing a new website for my own entrepreneurial venture–my ambitious goals all require envisioning how all the pieces fit together, paying close attention to every fine detail, and solving complex problems with curiosity, creativity, and perseverance.