I grew up watching period dramas with my mom after school. I marveled at the way Qing Dynasty imperial ladies would grow their hair long as waterfalls; the way their platform shoes gave them a slow, swaying gait; the way their dangling hairpins chimed as they moved. In hindsight, most of the larger narratives were dramatized or fabricated altogether, but I enjoyed the little bits of culture and lifestyle that came through. My dad, for his part, introduced me to Jack London novels and classic literature, the unfettered nature of nineteenth century Alaska. I adored books about the Tudor queens and Austrian princesses. But for a long time, I didn't call those histories—they were far removed from the stuffy old generals and their battles that we learned about in social studies. It wasn’t until sophomore year of high school that I realized history was the correct path for me. After one fateful lesson in my AP World History class, the French Revolution practically consumed my thoughts for the next several months. I pored through speeches and journals published by the deputies, watched old documentaries and movies, and carefully annotated biographies. In James Matthew Thompson’s Robespierre, I discovered the portrait of a historical figure like none I had ever seen before. To call Maximilien Robespierre complex would be an understatement—he was self-contradictory but never a hypocrite, idealistic but never an optimist. I found myself enraptured in the unfiltered humanity that studying history presented. Robespierre’s speeches have not been spoken in more than two hundred and thirty years, but there are still times when I can almost hear the passion that might have been in his voice. I loved learning about Robespierre’s grand political ideals, those that established him as “The Incorruptible” and ultimately brought him down, but the most important thing I believe I learned was the distinct personhood that studying history lent to people centuries removed from me. In school, history is often reduced to events and broad processes—useful understandings to have, of course. But in my eyes, the most important aspect of history is the people. The same Camille Desmoulins, who died a martyr for freedom, was also once close friends with his greatest political opponent. Maximilien Robespierre had two younger siblings, whom he looked after once his parents passed, and he adored pigeons. For all their grand deeds, they were people, and I believe that it is a tragedy that this fact often goes overlooked. Hence, I seek to study history because it establishes in me a sense of connection with both the past and the present and a sense of hope. Oftentimes, the people of history were working in their own ways to improve the world for their posterity—misguided at times and deluded at others, but more often than not, each person did their best to improve their children’s future. Being able to establish that connection with my predecessors through the study of history provides me with a distinct hope that drives me to work towards positive change. We face a multitude of issues as a society—some that stretch back to the French Revolution and others further—and although I may not see them resolved in my lifetime, I am confident that through the study of history, the drive to improve will continue. To condense it all down to a single sentence, history is an intrinsic part of me, and I truly believe that its study will improve our society for generations to come. Thank you so much for allowing me this opportunity to work towards supporting my education. I am truly grateful for your time.