If I were to visit the Louvre, I would only be able to appreciate the outward beauty of the art. I would not know about the meanings of each composition and understand their importance in the world. If an art expert saw those same masterpieces and knew everything about each of them, she would be able to appreciate the art in another dimension that is not available to the untrained eye.
Similarly, understanding the scientific under-workings of our universe adds another plane that is at least as beautiful and interesting as that of a neophytic perspective.

Watching shooting stars is a phenomenon widely appreciated. Seeing light suddenly streak across the night sky is amazing. However, comprehending that the photons of this light have taken a few moments to reach our eyes and what we are observing is not actually occurring simultaneously to our perception of it adds another dimension to the appreciation of shooting stars. These photons pass through the cornea and further travel through the pupil. The lens of the eye then focuses the light onto the retina. A few of both the six million cones and the 120 million rods in the retina will be stimulated by the photons.  Transduction will occur transforming the stimulus energy of the photons into a neural impulse. This neural impulse will then be sent through one of the million ganglion fibers that make up the optic nerve. After traversing the optic nerve, this impulse will be directed by the thalamus to the proper area of the brain, generally the visual cortex in the occipital lobe. The brain then must take the billions of neural impulses and interpret some meaning from them. This stage of perception informs the rest of the brain that what is being seen is in fact a shooting star in the earth’s atmosphere rather than a firefly hovering an arm’s length from the eye. The brain is also able to understand itself and be aware of subconscious visual activity. The nearly unbelievable processes of the body are magnificent in themselves regardless of the beauty of what they allow us to see. This knowledge does nothing to detract from the original beauty that was observed without this understanding. In fact, it increases the elegance of the shooting star.

This concept also explains that understanding more of the world, scientifically, artistically, or linguistically, continues to make it even more beautiful. This can be maximized by the wide range of studies offered by a liberal arts program. Rather than providing a single focus, liberal arts colleges provide their students with knowledge ranging from literature to history to science. This idea allows them to infinitely make the world a more and more beautiful place.
And so I plan to attend a liberal arts program.

His stumble was not that of someone injured, but rather lost. He wandered the streets of Ubud seemingly in search of nothing. A futile wandering, initiated because there was nowhere else for him to go, nothing else for him to do. He had lost the youthful appearance that is natural in childhood. The soft face I was used to seeing on people my age was now a hard piece of flesh, incapable of a smile. But it was his plastic water bottle that embedded him into my skull forever.

That empty, crinkled bottle, with the remnants of murky water dried onto the interior. Back at home, if someone saw such a bottle they wouldn’t pick it up, much less drink out of it. However, I was not at home. This Balinese boy was cradling the bottle like it was the most important thing in his life. He raised the bottle to his lips, but nothing came out. Another step. Again, he raised the bottle to his lips, hoping that miraculously some dirty water would drip into his mouth. But again, nothing came out. I saw he cared nothing for the quality or type of liquid. A single drop of water was all that he wanted.

As an eight-year-old, I couldn’t fathom why there were such gross differences in our lives. Weren’t we both boys born on the same earth? Why did the simple fact that he was Indonesian and I was American mean there were gaping inequalities between us? Today, I still haven’t found the answer.

Almost a decade has passed. My car carries me to school. It joins hundreds of others neatly lining the bare lot. I walk to the entrance sheltered by my Indonesian-made coat. The pristine hallways of this four-year-old building are welcoming as they fight back the rain and cold. The bell rings and students mechanically go to first period. My class seems gloomy on this Monday morning, but I don’t see anyone without a jacket. A student sitting in front of me marches to the free and apparently endless supply of water flowing from the fountain outside the door. He returns complaining that it tastes bad. Does he know there is a child in Bali without water?

The day progresses and my peers and I are discussing our futures. One girl is anxious about her parents dictating her college decision. She has long dreamt of schools in Hawaii and California; her parents want her to live at home.

A few hours later I am presented with an assignment to look at colleges that I am interested in attending. The teacher wants us to start a plan for our lives. I think of my goals: one year as a Rotary Foreign Exchange student, followed by four years learning from and contributing to Wesleyan University, leading me to the possibility of brightening our world. The opportunities are infinite for this class of American youth.

My thoughts drift across the ocean to Indonesia. Ten years ago I saw that Balinese boy across the street from me. Is his heart still beating? If it is, does he have a jacket on his back, a place to sleep at night, parents to argue with? Can he think ahead to where he wants to be in a day, a month, a year? Maybe he can only live his life in the present, coerce his muscles to take another step, then another, again and again.

I search through my list of colleges, but I don’t see any schools for an impoverished Balinese boy. I desperately pray that his future isn’t simply to lift his dirty bottle once more and hope for a single drop of water.