Essay Exchange?

Colleges & Universities A-Z University of Pennsylvania
1

<p>Now that the deadline has passed, I’m curious to see what other people wrote for their page 217 essays…I’ll start…</p>

<p>"Let’s take a step back for a moment, and take some time to examine my more formative years. Until this point, I’ve really only glossed over the early details, so I think it’s important to give you some more grounding in the area—really go into a deeper examination of why I might have ended up where I am today.</p>

<p>My 18 years up until my matriculation at the University of Pennsylvania had been fortunate ones—I grew up in a relatively affluent area of the city, surrounded by the constant love and affection of my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. I attended private school, went to summer camps and on nice vacations. I had a very sheltered existence—but that is not to say that I wanted my life to stay that way. </p>

<pre><code>Such a rudimentary biography as I’d given before can only say so much about a person. After all, our lives are more than a mere smattering of details, of “whos,” “wheres” and “whens.” It’s the “hows” and the “whys” which are important. So yes, it’s true that my life had been relatively easy at times, and probably easier than most other people’s lives. But I also made the best of my opportunities.

Now, some might view my experience at a private Jewish high school to be narrow compared to the cultural diversity found in a public school. I might have thought so too, early on, but I discovered the rich Jewish culture that underlies and inevitably influences my life. After reading—in the original Yiddish—the stories of Morris Rosenfeld, I came to appreciate the cultural meaning and rich history behind the language my grandparents spoke (when they wished not to be understood).

But otherwise they did want me to understand things, for it was also my grandparents who pushed me to read and learn as much as I could. My grandmother was a children’s librarian, and her house, at which I spent many weekends, was always stocked with books. Every night there, before bed, I would immerse myself in them—while I may now read the likes of Thomas Pynchon and Tom Robbins, it was Curious George who sparked my love for reading.

Just like that “good little monkey,” I’ve always had more than a healthy curiousity for knowing more. Over time, I delved into various subjects—from attempting to read and understand Ulysses to learning about the stock market, to teaching myself guitar and bass. At times, I was consumed by the sheer obsession of wanting to know everything possible about the subject at hand. But it was not enough to merely be able to quote lines or know what a stochastic oscillator is.

I did want to escape from my little bubble. It’s only natural to move from the second-hand learning from books to first-hand experience. I didn’t want to be one of those people who can spew endless facts, but has nothing unique or personal to contribute to a discussion. So there was really nothing left to do but to go out and stake my claim somewhere in the world—I had to put all my years of learning (both in and out of the classroom) to good use, because to squander my opportunities when I’ve come this far would be an utter waste.

And that’s when I went to Philadelphia."
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2

<p>...no wonder you got in...</p>

<p>I didnt write page 217. I did first the experience essay.</p>

<p>I'd post that or my Why Penn essay if anyone wanted to read.</p>

3

<p>nice recap of your life but this suppose to be page 217 not 116.</p>

4

<p>Hey Eckie, lets see your essay</p>

5

<p>The topic was a surprising first experience:</p>

<p>I am nearly eighteen years old and I cannot drive. After being raised on a childhood of Nintendo and arcade games, I was mildly shocked and appalled to find out that steering a car does not require dramatically swinging the wheel to the left and right; acceleration does not occur by impressing the gas pedal into the floor of the car, and most roads do not involve driving under the sea, through a jungle, or across glacier ice caps. Although my expectations were not that farfetched when I got into the car to drive with my instructor for the first time, the experience was still shocking to my non-driving mind.</p>

<p>I had a feeling things were not going to go well whenever I could not start the car. This was not my first time driving; I had in fact turned on a car before, but I am fairly convinced that this car was subliminally working against me. Before we had even pulled out of my driveway, I am pretty sure that the instructor felt I was incompetent, primarily due to the fact that he not only had to turn the car on for me, but had to take off the parking brake as well.</p>

<p>Based on his impression of me, the instructor treated me like I was either five years old or had a fascination with destruction and demolition derbies. His foot nervously hovering over the passenger seat brake, he said, "Turn here," as if speaking to some sort of wild animal which may attack, or run into something, at any given moment.</p>

<p>My palms sweaty, I managed to run onto the curb at the very first turn. Although I should have been concerned with the road laid out before me, and any given obstacles which had strategically placed themselves in my path, my mind was preoccupied with how I was acting. I could not help but note the irony in the fact that I was famous around school for being an impressive public speaker and here I was stuttering in front of some man who dealt with high schoolers who cannot drive on a daily basis. Surely he felt I was going to be just another teenager adding to the stereotypes about young drivers.</p>

<p>I wish I could say that the driving time went well; that it was a success and I gained new insights into the art of driving. Things do not always work out as planned however, and I spent the remainder of the drive time with white knuckles and clenched hands.</p>

<p>However, I gained a fair amount of insight into myself in those two hours in a cramped Toyota Corolla with a gas pedal that stuck and a parking brake which I could not take off despite my best efforts. As someone who has always adapted well to new situations, I realized not everything in life will come naturally to me; that I will have to work, sometimes fail, and often persevere when I encounter some of life's obstacles. I also realized that while going through these situations, my best attributes will not always be on display. In my life, while learning to drive or moving to a new city, while starting a new career or even learning how to cook, people may make judgments of me based on my flailing attempts and faltering efforts. The thing which should stand out above all of this, however, is my perseverance. I may run up on a curb or burn a few dinner attempts, but I will always get back into the car or restart that oven. Ultimately, I think that while my wit may fade with age or my strong speaking voice may become softer and more temperate, perseverance is a trait which will only strengthen with time and experience.</p>

6

<p>"nice recap of your life but this suppose to be page 217 not 116."</p>

<p>I got in, so obviously that's not a problem...the instructions don't read "You are 80 years old. Write page 217 of your totally linear and chronological autobiography."</p>

<p>Eckie, I loved the essay. It's funny, well-written, and overall you exude a good amount of confidence without once seeming to be arrogant.</p>

<p>I remember the first time my parents let me drive--I was 15 and my mom let me drive for about five minutes on a rarely-used industrial road. I step on the gas, and bang, my head hits the headrest. I "tap" the brake to slow down, and my forehead smacks against the steering wheel.</p>

7

<p>Eckie, I really liked your essay! Good job.</p>

8

<p>Eckie, your last paragraph was the best...not the usual sappy stuff
jpps1- i like how you made your very personal about you being Jewish</p>

9

<p>Man idk about mine. I wrote about my trip to New Zealand and how I simply love to travel...hope its more unique than the average travel essay.</p>

10

<p>Super sappy but honest</p>

<p>and that day I moved from one major part of my life on to the next. My years of education were over, or so I thought, and after spending almost a third of my life taking in the wisdom of my teachers, parents, and peers, it was time to give back. Not that I hadn’t ever given back and helped the people around me to grow and become better people themselves—I tutored elementary school students at my high school, but when anyone has had a hundred people around him devoting their lives or their careers to sharing all they had, he’d have a hard time giving enough back. So, having had such a great opportunity to grow through my education, both intellectually and more importantly, as a person, I felt that I should give back, compounding upon my already strong belief that every single person should help other people grow.</p>

<pre><code>Despite this strong feeling of purpose, I was afraid. I was afraid of being weaned for the third time in my life. At least when I was weaned from my mother I still had her with me to care for my every need. And at least when I was weaned from high school, I still had a home to which to return every summer and winter. This time, for the first time, I felt truly alone, expected to do everything on my own. I had a job, and I had to take care of myself. Eventually, I fell into a routine again, and little by little I started to feel comfortable in my new environment. I made new friends at the office, and I was working with one of my friends in college. I found comfort in thinking that, in a way, everything would go back to the way it used to be. Yet at the back of my mind, something was quietly nudging at me, at my newfound comfort. I tried to suppress the feeling and pretend it wasn’t there. But it kept getting bigger, and I tried to drown it out by keeping busy. Further aggravating my feeling that I was not where I was supposed to be, not doing what I was supposed to be doing, was that when the feeling was bothering me most, the pastor spoke about Jonah. It recalled a sermon I had heard when I was only in high school. That day, five and a half years ago, the pastor had preached about how Jonah had received his calling, yet he ran away from it as hard as he could, running instead towards comfort and security. Back then, in those uncertain days of teenage self-discovery, I wished only to know my calling, my purpose, and I believed self-righteously that I would respond to my calling with immediate action. Now, I realized, what I had wished for had come true, yet I had not acted. I was ashamed of myself, but I knew that it’s never too late.

I knew I was being called to go out into the world, yet here I was, working toward my own advancement. Yet even as I felt my calling, I hesitated. I knew what I was supposed to do, but I still was not doing it. When I tried to think about what I was to do, I started thinking about everything I would have to give up. I had friends—we did not have particularly deep relationships, but at least we had fun. I would have to give them up, and move away from my apartment. I had found a job where I knew I could be successful—my training had taught me exactly how to succeed where I was working. I would have to give up the good, solid job I had often dreamed of having in college. Yet as I was miserably dwelling upon how well-suited I was for my job, I began to realize that the talents and training I received called me to do so much more than what I was doing, beyond just making money and a name for myself. I had been blessed with an ability to see the big picture—I could use this in my job to see what problems needed to be solved in the company, but I knew my talent could be used for a greater purpose—to see the problems that needed to be solved in the world. I had been blessed with the ability to write—I could use this in my job to write better project proposals and impress my superiors, or I could use this in the world to expose its needs to everyone. The list continued on in my head, and for every talent that I felt I had, I could think of a greater purpose I could use it for. I felt that I was obligated to give back, that I should be going out and living my life for another purpose. But, then, I came upon the realization that I was not only doing what was best for the world, I was doing what was best for myself. I realized that by answering my calling and going out into the world, I would make myself a better person, and that there was a plan for my life, not designed for me to have a miserable life, but a fulfilling and joyful life. I had just been looking
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11

<p>Page 217</p>

<p>Up until now, all you’ve read were the positives aspects concerning my road toward my eventual success, but unfortunately, the road was not at all smooth riding for me. In order to explain the ease with which I dealt with struggles as an adult, I need to return to my childhood and explain the memories that I’ve spared from the readers until this point….
Adversity is one of the most memorable words I know, and overcoming it was and still is my greatest achievement.
I never questioned my determination to overcome adversity, and even as a little kid, I was pretty determined. You see, my father had barely survived the Asian stock market crash following the Transfer of Sovereignty in Hong Kong, and he was lucky to still be sane after such a mess. He and my mother hustled my nine-year-old body quickly out of the busy streets of Hong Kong and onto the coconut tree-laden island of Palau, where the people chew betel nut and spitting on the sidewalks is widely accepted. Looking at the brown-skinned, betel-nut-chewing natives and looking back at my frail Chinese light-skinned self, I felt like a polar bear living among grizzlies in Yellowstone. I had to learn English to communicate outside the comforts of our apartment. I had to adjust myself to a tropical culture with more mosquitoes than people walking on the street. And I had to adapt to a new way of thinking. I was no longer a city kid, and so I needed to start acting like an island kid.
Prejudice immediately arose because I was different, way different. Local kids disliked me because I am Chinese and could not speak English. I must admit that I did not approve the authenticity of the local kids’ accent whenever they put on a mockery of the Chinese language. Their mockery forced me to think if Chinese are really that inferior in their eyes. It seemed as though they did not have much respect for me or my culture. Rock throwing was their way of welcoming me to their neighborhood. [Quite a welcome initiation that was, I must say!] Kids chased me down and wanted to fight me, but thankfully, I was not much of a fighter. It’s amazing that I never fought anyone physically during my childhood years, and it wasn’t for the lack of offers.
Aside from facing prejudice everyday, I had to face learning English everyday. The education on the island was not as up-to-date as one would hope. During my elementary years, I had missionary teachers who would stay for only one year. I’m not faulting them for being bad teachers. They did their best despite not having real teaching experiences and education degrees. Education on the island proved to be a big component of the adversity that I had to face.
Overcoming adversity on the island meant that I had to battle prejudice and improve my education. Sitting where I’m today, I can attest to how I have succeeded in battling the adversity monster. I was only a ten-year-old then and had let emotions get to me, but after a while, I began plotting strategies to beat the beast and lead a less miserable life. I did not want the prejudice giving me nightmares because I had enough as a kid already, so I began my plan by being nice to everyone around me, nice enough that other kids would think twice or three times before chasing me again. My goal was to prove that the golden rule and my kindness toward others could finally bring more rationality to their thinking. That was a good move. I also took the initiative to teach myself English. I made a vocabulary list that I added new words to everyday, and I recited the words on the list as often as I could. I kept an English journal and wrote quirky entries in it involving imaginary countries and holidays. After a while, I ditched the list for the journal and my grasp of the language grew many times over. Knowing English ease up the burden of school, as I was able to excel in other subjects and make my presence felt among my peers. My classmates did felt it and the translucent screen between me and them lifted.
The adversity I had to face in Palau gave me an advantage in life. It was a mini-test to prepare me for all the other beasts in life. I must admit that, looking back, the daunting task of living a good life on the island may seem too much for a nine-year-old, but I’m here today writing this book because I was able to overcome that adversity. For if I hadn’t, I would’ve been too depressed to care about having a meaningful life.</p>

12

<p>why are your essays so long?</p>

13

<p>because penn has no word/page limit on the online app :)
(actually, I got mine to fit on one page)</p>