supplement (n.) ‘an addition designed to complete’ (OED)

Heretofore, I had not thought much about supplements. Not the kind you add to your diet, to make you stronger, or at least give out the illusion of staggering health. And certainly not those you find in the appendix sections of laws, regulations, or dire theory. The ones I did not quite take into account are the life-defining submissions asked of those applying for undergraduate admission. Yes, exactly those: the blurbs, the character-bound inserts, the hellish summaries of one’s thoughts and preferences. You see, I had always enjoyed reading them, and of course correcting the grammar, the syntax, administering comments in the margins (that seductive click under the Insert button). Unlike the ‘main essay’, supplements are fast-paced, and clarity is of essence, both on the part of the writer and the intended audience. Hence, I did find them enlivening, committing time and energy to plodding my proof-reader way through them. But with this comes a degree of cockiness; like my students, after careful re-reads and past midnight submissions, I would crave this sense of supremacy, as if I am the very first one to have noticed the shaded coordination of that lengthy line, and the only one to know the difference.

This past December, I had the chance to read and comment on almost 200 plus such submissions. In previous years, numbers have indeed been higher, but somehow, at least in terms of supplements, this ‘submission cycle’ has presented itself in a whole new light. For one, all of the submissions were written by female students, something I had not experienced in previous years. (yes, boys are applying, but it seems this year not to schools requiring supplements, which in turn could provide a topic for a follow-up discussion). Also, all of them were written after an advising session: namely, all of the students had come to see me, and discuss at length their ideas, before they hit the electronic white page. And all had interesting things to say.

Again, I do not wish to be misunderstood; over the years, I have read and commented on an amazing stack of supplementary short essays, but never quite like this bunch. Whilst correcting the usual (grammar, syntax, paragraph annotation), I came across voices of smart and brave young women, voices I had not heard, at least not that clearly, in all of their previous written work for English class or the School Newspaper. I must admit, I got hooked; I awaited each electronic submission with such reverie that when all were completed I felt a bit emptied; as if I had to say goodbye to a friend, one who would not come calling again. At least not for a while.

I read about/they wrote of: Moments when their femininity was challenged; moments of pain and irreparable spirit-sore; moments of laughter and happiness; moments of learning, moments of engaging, with others, with themselves, with their heroes and villains, literary and otherwise. In all of the paragraphs, I could hear them, my brave students, but this time they were not just a school of talented kids, but a league of mighty discourse creators, unashamed, and unafraid to be present, to speak, to amend and reflect. I just hope that the intended audience reads, with clarity and focus. If they don’t, the loss will be theirs.