Essay help. Please??

Colleges and Universities A-Z Washington University in St. Louis
1

<p>Ack my essay is horribly long. 1133 words to be exact. I need to cut practically half of it out because the common app says that it needs to be 500 words long. Would anyone be willing to help me reduce this extra baggage and tell me what you think of it? I'm afraid to post it on here because I've heard people saying that there have been cases of plagiarizing. I'll e-mail/PM anyone who's willing to volunteer some time. The deadline's approaching sooooooon, and my essay is horrible.</p>

<p>Thanks a lot!!</p>

2

<p>I guess I'll just post it :)</p>

<p>I awoke to blurred faces and frantic voices that seemed so far away. My body was numb and my mind was paralyzed; I didn’t know where I was. It was a terrifying thought, made all the more terrifying when a sudden pain shot through my right leg and wouldn’t go away. As I began the ride into consciousness, my head cleared and a pounding headache replaced the fuzziness I had experienced before. I blinked several clearing away the film that shrouded my eyes, looked around, and saw my mom standing in front of a white plastic curtain straining to comfort me with a smile that didn’t mask her obviously worried composure. Standing beside her, my dad was stone-faced and unsmiling; emotionless as he gripped my mother’s shoulders so firmly that his knuckles had turned white. They stood like this for a while until my mom released herself from my father’s staunch grip, reached over, and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. Several moments of nerve-wracking silence passed, until it finally dawned on me that I was in the hospital and I spoke to them the words they needed to hear; I’m all right mom. I’m fine dad. You really don’t need to worry about me. </p>

<p>A few days later, pent up in a small hospital room that smelled of antiseptic, I laid on my bed dreaming of the days when I was an avid swimmer and runner; the days when I could play the violin without becoming exhausted; the days before the tumor had touched me. They were exhilarating moments that had been strongly imprinted in my memory, but it seemed as if the picture perfect photograph of my life before had begun to fade away and turn brown at its edges. I silently wondered if I would ever run again and if the tumor in my leg that they had hopefully taken out would prevent me from doing the things I loved. </p>

<p>A week passed on and I was now able to stand up and crutch around the hospital with the help of a nurse. As I passed several rooms on my daily laps around the third floor of the hospital, the children’s floor, I wondered who hid behind the doors and what stories lay untold. I wanted desperately to talk to someone besides my mother, my doctor, or the nurses who cared for me; it was rather lonely to converse with a group of worried adults. The next morning, at 6:30, I was awakened by the clicking of high heels and the roll of wheels on the linoleum floor. Carefully pulling myself up into a sitting position, I looked across my room and noticed that someone was moving into the empty bed that had been unoccupied during my stay at the hospital. In the shadows of a room lit only by the pink rays of the morning sun, a slender girl sat cross-legged on the bed, watching as her mother unpacked her clothes. I reached over for my crutches, and ventured over to greet her. </p>

<p>We soon became fast friends during the remaining time I had left at the hospital. Her name was Robbie, and I discovered that she had a rare form of Rhabdomyosarcoma, a type of muscular cancer, that had been detected when she was sixteen. At eighteen, she was seven years my elder, yet she contained a certain cheerfulness that most children who come in contact with cancer lose along the way. She had been an avid soccer player before the cancer attacked her leg, and although she could not play because of the pain and fatigue, she still attended her high school meets and cheered her team on. When I asked her about whether or not anyone teased her about her bald head, she replied jokingly that it was now a fashion trend in her school because anyone who cut their hair would be given the opportunity to donate it to Locks of Love, an organization that made wigs for children with cancer. I felt awed by her presence, and during my last days at the hospital, I basked in the warmth of her cheerful disposition and followed her around like a faithful puppy.</p>

<p>It wasn’t until a few weeks later during a monthly checkup at the hospital, that I received the news that Robbie had died. A nurse who had been our friend during my stay, had broken it gently to me, and I felt my throat tighten and my eyes began to tear at the thought of it. I was angry that Robbie’s life had been taken unjustly away when she had so much left of her life to live. I silently brewed and fumed with anger until a doctor, noticing my unhappiness, pointed out I could do something about it. Although it took me a while to realize that he was right, and that there was something I could do, I had already begun on my path towards it. A few months after the surgery, I had joined a competitive swim team, started practicing my violin again, and had taken up running. Remembering the doctor’s words when I saw an article in the newspaper about the opportunity to sign up for a 5k run supporting breast cancer, I decided to sign up for it right away. </p>

<p>That run has led me to other runs that have supported various other causes. And in the very near future I plan on raising enough money to run in a marathon for childhood cancer. Soon after that run, I discovered that my music was a ‘cure’ as well. I decided that after playing the violin since I was four, I needed to contribute my playing to someone or else it would be one of my useless hobbies. As a result, I volunteered at a local nursing home to play my violin for the elderly patients who to this day, enjoy the music as they clap along to familiar tunes. </p>

<p>Robbie has certainly given me something to remember her by. I had started out with an unknown realm that had now turned into a familiar part of my life. I remember clearly, the hot summer day when I first began to run after I had come back from surgery. Gasping for air, I was a human version of a struggling fish flopping on the docks, gills opening and closing rapidly, trying desperately to grasp onto something that could sustain me. But when the leaves started to change into their brilliant, yet garish hues and the sun began to dip lower into the horizon at the day’s end, I was able to run two miles without stopping. I felt as if nothing could stop life in its tracks. After all, I asked myself, what had stopped Robbie?</p>

<p>Does it sound contrived? I know colleges hate essays that sound like it, but it's a true story. Ah well, I'll change it aruond a bit if it does. Oh and does WashU care about the length of these essays?</p>

<p>Thanks again</p>

3

<p>I'd just send it, its a great essay, maybe cut it down a hundred or so words. I'd cut out the first paragraph or at least make it shorter. And yes, WashU uses common app, so its a 500 word limit essay.</p>

4

<p>I completely fixed it up, and it sounds a lot better than the first one. It's about 793 words (400 words shorter,yay!). I just hope Wash U doesn't mind the extra 300 words. I'll have to figure out a way to make it shorter.</p>

<p>Thanks for reading Vinzzy. Here's my revised version for anyone who feels like reading.</p>

<p>Blurred faces, frantic voices, numbness, and mental disorientation marked my journey back to consciousness. Where am I? A pounding headache and an intense pain that traveled through my right leg interrupted my thoughts. I blinked several times to remove the filmy shroud that covered my eyes and noticed that my parents were peering over me. Mom was trying to hide her worries behind a trembling watery smile while Dad stood stone-faced, unsmiling, grasping Mom’s shoulders so tightly that his knuckle’s turned white. She broke away from him to brush a stray strand of hair away from my face. Nerve-wracking silence, then recognition came. I’m in the hospital. </p>

<p>I spoke the words they needed and wanted to hear. “I’m all right, Mom. Dad, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”</p>

<p>In a hospital room smelling strongly of antiseptic, memories came flooding in of days when exhaustion had not overshadowed activities that I had loved to do; swimming, running, playing the violin. They were the days before the tumor had taken over my life, the days before the endless doctor visits ensued. My picture-perfect life had begun to fade and turn brown at the edges; a wrinkled memorabilia that had been kept in a dusty photo album packed away in a cardboard box. Will I ever run again? The tumor was most certainly removed by my doctor, but the question still came: Will it ever reoccur?</p>

<p>By the time the following week arrived, I had learned how to crutch around the third floor children’s ward helped along by a nurse. I longed to talk to someone besides the worried adults that came to visit me, but the closed doors I encountered on my rounds around the floor prevented me from doing so. At 6:30 one morning, I heard the sound of high heels and the squeak of rubber wheels on the linoleum floor. In the shadows of my room, lit only by the soft yellow rays of the morning sun, I saw Robbie and her mom enter through the door. They began to unpack their things on the unoccupied bed across from mine, and I seeing that I was already awake, I went to greet them. </p>

<p>Robbie and I soon became fast friends during the remaining time I had left at the hospital. At eighteen, she was seven years my elder, yet she contained a certain cheerfulness that most children who come in contact with cancer lose along the way. She had been an avid soccer player before Rhabdomyosarcoma, a muscular cancer, clouded her life at sixteen. Although she couldn’t play because of the pain and fatigue, she still attended most of her team’s meets and cheered them on. When I asked her about whether or not anyone teased her about her bald head, she replied jokingly that she had started a fashion trend at her school; anyone who was willing to cut their hair would be able to donate it to Locks of Love, an organization that made wigs for children with cancer. I felt awed by her presence, and during my last days at the hospital, I basked in the warmth of her cheerful disposition and followed her around like a faithful puppy.</p>

<p>One month later, during a routine checkup, a nurse, whom Robbie and I had been friends with, said the fateful words. </p>

<p>“Robbie died.” </p>

<p>My throat constricted when I heard this and my eyes began to tear. Robbie’s life had been unjustly taken and I fumed inwardly until my doctor took note of my unhappiness. </p>

<p>“You can do something about it,” he gently suggested, and took my hand comfortingly while I turned my head away.</p>

<p>It took time to accept that he was right. I wasn’t sure what to do about Robbie’s death, so I took the path most often traveled. I joined a competitive swim team, returned to playing the violin, and took up running again. Life began to go back to normal, but I still felt as if I was missing something. When someone urged me to sign up for a local 5k run to raise awareness about breast cancer, I took up the opportunity right away. </p>

<p>Running against cancer, rather than away from it, feels righteous. I am determined to run in a marathon in order to raise awareness about children who are battling cancer. My violin playing has also taken off in a new direction, and is not just a useless hobby. The music I play has become a tonic for elderly patients in nursing homes, giving them the courage to fight their own war against age and loneliness. </p>

<p>Robbie has been my inspiration throughout all my trials. She has taken an awkward fish, flopping on the dock desperately seeking water, and turned it into a mature crusader.</p>

5

<p>Anymore comments will be of ENORMOUS help! :). Does anyone know if WashU minds if you go over the word limit?</p>

<p>When I was little, right before I would go to sleep, my mom would sit beside my bed on an old wooden stool and spin magical fairy tales that would come alive before my eyes. However, once I began to get older, the fairy tales started to lose its magicality, and so began my quest to discover other worlds that lay hidden within books. My quest has now become an addiction of some sort; whenever I get the time to read, I will choose a book from my large collection, and read as much of it as I can. There are certain books such as Atlas Shrugged, In the Time of the Butterflies, and Catcher in the Rye that I choose more often than most. But there is one book titled, One Renegade Cell: How Cancer Begins, that I make sure to read at least once a day. </p>

<p>As I drift off to sleep, I muse about the mysterious workings of cancer and how one single mutant cell can possess the power to destroy our lives. On nights when I can’t sleep, and when thoughts about cancer trouble me, I start to think about Robbie, who had planted the seed for all this to happen. </p>

<p>Robbie and I had met while we were both staying at a Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital. I had recently been diagnosed with a benign tumor in my leg, and was staying at the hospital to recover from a long and grueling surgery. We were roommates and, like most roommates do, we quickly became friends. At eighteen, she was seven years my elder, yet she contained a certain cheerfulness that most children who come in contact with cancer lose along the way. She had been an avid soccer player before Rhabdomyosarcoma, a muscular cancer, clouded her life at sixteen. Although she couldn’t play because of the pain and fatigue, she still attended most of her team’s meets and cheered them on. When I asked her about whether or not anyone teased her about her bald head, she replied jokingly that she had started a fashion trend at her school; anyone who was willing to cut their hair would be able to donate it to Locks of Love, an organization that made wigs for children with cancer. I felt awed by her presence, and during my last days at the hospital, I basked in the warmth of her cheerful disposition and followed her around like a faithful puppy.</p>

<p>It was several months later during a routine checkup when I heard that Robbie had died. The news shook me terribly and I didn’t know what to do with myself for days. It took time to accept the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see the vibrant Robbie anymore, that the memories we shared with one another would soon begin to fade and turn brown at the edges; a type of wrinkled memorabilia looked at only once, and shoved into a dusty photo album never to be seen again. To ease my pain and to help along with my physical recovery, I joined a competitive swim team, returned to playing the violin, and took up running again. Life began to go back to normal, but I still felt as if I was missing something. When someone at school urged me to sign up for a local 5k run to raise awareness about breast cancer, I decided to do it. </p>

<p>Running against cancer, rather than away from it, feels righteous. I still participate in the yearly 5k run for breast cancer. I am also determined that sometime in the near future I will run in a marathon in order to raise awareness about children who are battling cancer. My violin playing has also taken off in a new direction, and is not just a useless hobby anymore. The music I play has become a tonic for elderly patients in nursing homes, giving them the courage to wage their own war against age and loneliness. </p>

<p>In recent years, my neighbor has passed away from brain cancer, my best friend’s father from colon cancer, and my grandmother from breast cancer. It is surprising to know that, even in this day and age, not many people know what cancer really is. I hope that by pursuing a major in biochemistry, I will not only be able to grasp a better knowledge of this rampant disease, but I will also be able to help raise awareness about it. Robbie had once told me that “our lives are filled with goals that we must reach, and purposes that we must find.” When I asked her when I would find mine, she replied, “I’m sure you’ll find yours soon.” </p>

<p>Despite the extra long journey I have had to take, and the obstacles I faced along the way, I believe that I have finally found my purpose, just as Robbie said I would.</p>

6

<p>ahh that's so good! :) your story's very inspiring</p>

7

<p>good job, great story. My only reservation is, you attempt to cover too much. Robbie, your tumor, the run...all of which is inspiring. But maybe just focus on one event.</p>

8

<p>yea.. i concur with AC</p>

<p>its really good but you tried to do too much
yea :D gj</p>

9

<p>I think it might help, pick exactly which prompt off the common app essay part you are going with (i.e. important event/important person/etc) - the text will make narrowing your essay a bit easier. </p>

<p>Also, I know its break- so there are no English teachers available - but you need to go over it again, I noticed a few grammatical errors and those can kill you. My suggestion: read it out loud to yourself, you'll notice if something sounds wrong.</p>

<p>Good luck!</p>

10

<p>Thanks :). I have gone over it a ton and I removed the entire first paragraph and focused my essay a bit more so that it's not so ..ehh. It's a lot better now, thank god. I don't think I would have made it in with that essay I posted.</p>