to celebrate "no-more-writing-college-essays", i'll post all my essays up here. because i'm proud of them. hope it doesn't bore you.
otherwise i'll probably not get into college. :D
this is my carnegie mellon supplementary essay.
prompt:
Please submit a one-page, single-spaced essay that explains
why you have chosen your major, department or program. This essay
should include the reasons why you've chosen the major, any goals or
relevant work plans and any other information you would like us to know.
I sat in the back
of my parents’ old station wagon, stuck in a 2 hour long traffic jam on the way
to Downtown Los Angeles. My mom put the
car in park and killed the engine as I heard the wailing of an emergency siren
and saw a big plume of smoke hover in the distance. “I guess we have to just sit and wait.” my
mom sighed and she grabbed a magazine to read.
“Could I look out and see what’s happening mom?” She absentmindedly
nodded and opened the sun roof. I
clambered up to sit on the head rest of the passenger seat and poked my head
out. I saw the car accident, mangled
pieces of car and flame and smoke, but what really caught my attention was the
haze. I couldn’t see the tops of
skyscrapers at all. A thick, sickly grey
layer of smog hid the mountains, the buildings, and the sky from view. “Mom, what is all that stuff in the sky?” She
looked where I pointed. “Oh, that’s smog.”
I had a confused look on my face. “Where does it come from?” My mom
shook her head and replied, “Us.”
A seed had been
planted in my brain that only grew and flourished as awareness of the declining
state of our environment increased. I
didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do when I grew up, but all I knew was that
I wanted to make sure that I did something to help fix it. As an environmental engineer, I will have the
skills to make a positive impact on our environment. Originally, I had wanted to build
environmentally-friendly housing, equipped with solar panels etc. But later my options extended to include
building and designing hybrid/alternative fueled cars and/or working on making
the usage of alternative fuels more mainstream and affordable.
Since I was ten, I have always had an interest in
building things/models. I have built
several models in the past, starting from a couple of model cars to a balsa wood
model airplane. I love to work with my
hands and have some skill in building models.
In the summer of my
freshman year in high school, I took an architecture design class at the Art
Center College of Design in Pasadena, CA.
Over the course of five Saturdays, we designed and built models of house
boats. I decided to design something
other than the typical square house design. So instead, my house had a
cylindrical shape, only a few enclosed rooms and wide open spaces. In the process, I learned some aspects of
house design as well as experience building models.
In my junior year, I took an Architecture Design
course at my school for the year. The
first project we were assigned was to build a scale model of the inside of a
house wall out of balsa wood. I then
learned how to use AutoCAD to design a one-story house for a NAWIC (National
Association of Women in Construction) design competition. We were given certain requirements to meet,
including the implementation of Universal Design throughout our designs. With the floor plans, we then built a scale
model of our individual houses for entrance into the Los Angeles County
Fair. My house model and design won
First Place as well as Best of Class.
I have also done some basic research on alternative
fuels and which chemicals lead to the production of greenhouse gases and other
harmful pollutants. I know about the new
ways in which scientists are trying to store hydrogen to make it more efficient
for fuel usage, as well as some of the dramatic climate changes that are being
caused by pollution, such as the rapid melting of the polar ice caps and the
eventual repercussions it will cause.
Up until now,
I have always had an interest in cars and car design, and like to say that I
probably know more (at least a little) than the average 17 year old girl. My first dip into car design was in 4th
grade, where for a science project, I designed a futuristic flying car, and
included all the details (just conceptually!) on how the car hovered/flew up to
the passenger safety system.
I want to help
heal the earth, prevent it from getting sicker.
Some people may not believe in what is happening but whether or not it
is happening now or in the next ten years, it will inevitably come if we do not
do anything to stop it. I believe that
we are being given a chance to take action while it may still be able to make a
significant change. My dream is to use
all of the things I have learned and will learn, the things I truly enjoy
doing, to perhaps one day, be able to see clearly that beautiful bright blue
sky above the skyscrapers of Los Angeles.
my MIT essay
prompt: Describe a situation, where at the time, felt like it was the "end of the world". describe the process in which you discovered a postitive out of a negative. (it went something along those lines)
My
parents had gone to my pediatrician several times, only to receive the same
ambiguous diagnosis of a “weak stomach”, laundry lists of food substitutes and
the mantra, “If nothing else works, give her Gatorade and Pedialyte.” But all this achieved nothing. My parents felt helpless, unable to make me
strong again. But soon, helplessness
developed into frustration and my mother said one day “It’s all in your
head. You’re the one who is keeping
yourself sick.” I
had no idea as to what this meant. Was
she blaming me for making myself sick?
The all too familiar sourness of
bile rose up my throat. I systematically
sprinted into the bathroom and kneeled over the toilet bowl, hands braced
against the edges. My weak body retched,
struggling to force everything up and out. I slowly rose, blotted tears of
exertion from the corners of my eyes, and wiped a shaky hand against my
mouth. My face was stark white, my eyes
bloodshot, my lips chalky. But, my cheeks
still had that little puff of baby fat and an almost invisible tint of pink,
the last remnants of an energetic and rambunctious little kid.
I began to take a few wobbly
steps towards the door. My knees buckled
beneath me. My head was spinning,
everything around me distorted in fuzzy blurs and shapes. And then I fell.
I could just stay there,
forever, laying flat, my burning cheeks against the soothing cold hardness of
bathroom tiles. I closed my eyes,
letting the dark fall. No more pain, no
more looks of pity, no more tears. All
gone.
But something in the back of my
mind screamed “NO!”
I had an entire life laid out
ahead of me. I had to go back and play
tetherball with my best friends. I had
to go back and keep my stuffed animals company.
I had to go back and pick on my sister.
I had to go back
My eyes shot open, blinking the black
away. I couldn’t give up. I would fight it, whatever monster that was
taking hold of my life. It didn’t matter
what it was. All I knew was that I would
beat it. I would fight it with every
ounce of my remaining strength, with all I had left, even if all I had left was
my will to live. And then I realized
that it was my lack of will that kept
me frail and exhausted. I had been
satisfied to just walk through the haze, the continuous cycle of sleep, eat, throw
up, repeat.
But, no more.
I clenched my teeth as I pushed
against the cold hardness of the bathroom tiles and gripped the edge of the
sink, lifting myself. I took a few baby
steps, pushed the door open and fell straight into my mother’s arms. No words were spoken. A simple look of anguish on her face was
enough for me to try to rise.
She helped me stand and then let
go.
My two UC essays
prompt 1: Describe the world you come from — for example, your family, community
or school — and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and
aspirations.
I looked down at my progress
report, my hands trembling in outrage.
There was a big bold-lettered F right next to “Penmanship”. Beside it in a miniscule scrawl were the
words “needs improvement”. I was
furious, no, I was BEYOND furious. I was inarguably the best student in the
class! And my teacher had dared to blemish my perfect record with…THIS?! For
some meaningless “subject”, that didn’t require an ounce of thought?
I dutifully showed it to my
mom. Her eyebrows rose as she scanned
the yellow paper. My jaw jutted out in
defiance as I tried to argue my teacher’s reasoning to her. “I don’t even write that badly!! I mean, it
can’t be worse than anyone else’s!” I
looked into her eyes, seeking pity and condolence for this grade that I didn’t
deserve. But I only found a hard,
narrowed glance that flickered towards me.
"If this is what the teacher
gave you, this is the grade you deserve.”
My mouth opened in defense but snapped shut as she walked away. After an entire night of sobbing, I resolved
to prove them all wrong. I would wipe
those disappointed looks off their faces no matter what.
The last day of school, my
friends were bragging about how their parents were going to buy them Gameboys for
getting good grades. Why didn’t my
parents do that? I had straight As all my kid life and they had never once
rewarded me, except for those few “Good jobs” that I had stopped hearing once I
hit second grade.
I asked them during dinner. My parents replied, “We’re not the ones
getting those grades. You are. Are you getting them for us?” I slowly shook my head. “We don’t need to
motivate you to be anything. If you can’t
be self-motivated, you don’t deserve it.”
I never complained about it and they never asked for my grades again.
After the “F” incident, I worked
on my writing until at year’s end; I sat and watched my teacher with pride as
he wrote a big bold-lettered A on my report card next to that meaningless title,
“Penmanship.” My parents only saw my
grades when I felt like showing them, just to let them know that I was happy with
them.
Those lessons made me do more
than just run fast enough to beat the others.
They made me race to be first at the finish. They made me want to do the best I could, be
the best I could at whatever I want to do, whatever I feel like doing, at
anything and everything. From my school
work to my P.E. badminton team, I strive, I endure, I succeed.
My mom had told my teacher to
give me that fateful “F”.
Prompt 2:Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution
or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or
accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you
are?
i used this prompt for my carnegie mellon and dartmouth essays too.
When I tell people that I’ve been
in several fist fights, their eyes widen in disbelief. “You?! Beating people up?!“ I don’t wait for their imaginations to fill in
the blanks. I tell them everything.
John
had just been transferred into my Chinese class. He was big, dumb, rarely spoke, sat in the
back and minded his own business, until that one fateful day.
Students
were doing homework when there was a shout and a scuffle. Everyone turned. Kevin’s brows were furrowed in anger, eyes
filled with tears, a finger pointed accusingly at John. John held shreds of Kevin’s homework and scattered
them. I felt something unfamiliar rise up,
struggling for release, but didn’t let go.
The teacher ran out of the room.
John
looked menacing, a bull ready to charge, fists clenched. Suddenly, he threw the table at Kevin. Kevin’s arm became pinned underneath. They all were nothing to John, in strength
and size. It hit me then that he
wouldn’t stop.
I stalked
to the front and faced him. “How could
you hurt people like that?!” My hands shook, my breathing came out uneven, my
cheeks were flushed. “I won’t let
you. Come and face me! They’re all afraid,
but I’m not. I will TAKE YOU ON!” I curled my hands into fists and raised them,
like I’d seen in numerous kung fu movies.
It was a declaration, a challenge.
A silence stole upon the room, eyes shifting between us. His nails were digging into his palms and he
bared his teeth at me in an ugly grimace.
I was ready, oh, I was so ready for this. My mind raced, an uppercut or a one-two jab?
Suddenly,
I was half-blind and my left eye was burning with pain. My good eye darted around and found John’s
face, his lips curled into a triumphant smirk.
I stood, shocked, not knowing what had happened. Someone’s voice pierced through my confusion.
“He punched out your contact.” She picked it up and offered it to me.
I felt ashamed and hurt. The punch didn’t just knock out my contact;
it hurt my ego, my pride. I had
pitifully lost, a one hit K.O. and I hadn’t even pulled a single punch. My shoulders sagged and I looked down to hide
the tears welling up, threatening to spill over in front of everyone watching
me. And then, the same hand touched my
arm. I looked up, into her face. “You
were… awesome!” Her face, full of
amazement, broke into a huge grin and then the silence was broken. I could hear them congratulating me, praising
me, thanking me. I felt like they were
raising me above their heads and parading me around, cheering and
screaming.
I had never felt anything like
it; nothing I had felt before could ever compare. It wasn’t the compliments or the admiration
that made me feel like it had all been worth it. It was the gratitude, the appreciation that
my classmates had for me, for what I did.
I stood up for them, when no one else could, with nothing but my own two
hands. I had done something, something
no one expected from me, to fight against what was wrong.
On the outside, I am what seems
to be the average Chinese girl. I do
happen to fall into the many stereotypes one would think of first. I have black hair, almond-shaped eyes and a
round nose. I focus more on my school
work and don’t participate in sports. But what they don’t see shocks them,
belies the calm exterior that does not contain or restrain, but only hides my
true self.
so thats all of it.
bits and pieces of my life for u.
atleast I only have one year left, and then off to college!! Too much
crap too handle, like the colleges I want to apply to, where I want to
live, HOW I’m going to make it on my own, and APPLYING to the colleges.
I mean, I got all the stuff prepared, I have an idea of where I want to
live and go, but this feeling that comes with it, doesn’t feel to good.
It’s like life, is some unstoppable bullet train, and its heading
straight for me at 500 mph.
