<p>I actually agree a bit with hyeonjlee--the essays are good, but just not as reflecting of the person as I would have expected. Mine was a narrative and very different from the essays above. I had kind of figured adcoms wouldn't want something too vexing and time consuming to read, and I always like hearing stories, so that angle just kind of made sense to me....</p>
<p>I think my "essay" is extremely unique; it's actually a two page poem (20 stanzas) that takes you on a journey from UChicago to my house following Route 66.</p>
<p>NOTE: I took a huge risk on this essay... I hope you like it</p>
<hr>
<p>When families explain why they moved to Upland, California, they discuss how the city
represented a small peaceful niche that they wanted to be a part of. While their motives seem pure, once a family moves to Upland they are never the same. Newlyweds that vowed they would never leave one another file divorce the moment they buy a house, families that viewed the move as a fresh start find that the city breaks them apart, and senior citizens that had enjoyed life find themselves to become more bitter than they though imaginable. It is no secret that something is wrong in the city of Upland, yet no citizen knows what. Scientists have checked the citys air to see if the citys location contained toxic gases which could possibly explain for the peoples actions, but the scientists discovered nothing in their tests. Others foolishly believed that the government was involved, and they preached to their fellow citizens that the government streamed hazardous microwaves at Upland. Everyone in Upland has their own idea for what causes them to act irrational, yet only one person in the town possessed the correct answer.</p>
<p>Young Joseph Handoko was the only member of the town to ever correctly discover why the people of Upland acted irate. Joseph was unlike most of the kids his age. At school he refused to let anger over come him, unlike the other boys in the play ground. Occasionally the other children would force him into a fight, but Joseph mastered the art of hiding. Joseph chose to isolate himself and during that time he pondered for an explanation as to why people became filled with anger. What made Joseph able to learn the citys secret was his ability to understand himself. Joseph realized that he too was overcome by the citys mystical forces; he has felt the urge to get mad and to hate everything
around him, but in acquiring the citys secret, he has become one of the few citizens able to overcome the desire to be filled with anger. Despite the fact that Josephs knowledge could have saved the city from its own self-destruction, Joseph refused to inform the other citizens that he discovered the secret. Joseph believed that the explanation for the citizens actions would cause frenzy, and although Joseph wanted to save his city, he did not want to see riots destroy it.</p>
<p>As Joseph aged, his ability to keep his secret in lessened. He was tired of seeing neighbors, teachers, children, and adults act irrational, and use the citys curse as a excuse, yet he feared the consequences of letting the secret out. As days turned into months and months turned into years, Joseph no longer could hold the secret in, and at the age of twenty-one he announced to the media that he knows the secret force that causes people to act the way they do and will reveal the information on December 1st. Joseph hoped that in choosing a date near the holiday season, the people would be less likely to become riled up after the discovery. As each day ended prior to the event, Joseph became more and more worried, yet after years of waiting, he decided that he was to follow through on informing the city.</p>
<p>When time arrived for Joseph to inform the city of what caused them to be diseased, Joseph was standing firmly behind the podium placed in Hiess Studios on Euclid Boulevard. He was both anxious and nervous, but as thoughts of doubt passed his mind, he realized that it was already too late to back out. As the clock stroke 1:00PM, Joseph began his speech. Unfortunately nearly thirty minutes later as he finished his speech, a riot had broken out. The towns video stream of Josephs speech was cut short as Joseph was violently attacked by the mob. He received no protection from the police, as they too joined in with the mob after what Joseph had announced. Josephs untimely death occurred
less than an hour after he revealed to the city of Upland the causes of their inhuman actions. The event has since been forgotten, and his death was marked as another victim of the citys rage inducing aroma.</p>
<p>Since Josephs death, his existence has been erased off the face of the planet. No one wishes to remember the menace that told the public the supposed reasons of their inhuman actions. Now years after his death, the city remains timeless; the crime rate in the city remains the same, and using the citys mystical forces as an excuse is considered valid. Yet in the city of Upland, there remains one spot where truth flourishes. On Euclid Boulevard where Joseph gave his speech, lays an unmarked tomb stone hidden underneath flowers. Etched on the tombstone are the words, Its all in our heads. We are responsible for our actions.</p>
<p>To ImReachingForIt: That actually sounds like it could be really good. I like the idea.</p>
<p>To BRENTON8907: Yeah, that was a bit risky. It reminded me of the book "Einstein's Dreams," where each chapter shows a place that has a different concept of space-time, which affects the people who live there in strange ways....</p>
<p>"At present you need to live the question." - Rilke </p>
<p>I have always been interested in questions, because with questions, nothing is black and white, nothing is final; I can keep adding to them with more questions. When I think of questions, I think of Whitman's “Song of Myself,” which asks, "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes." Questions are the ability to hold contradictions without having to stubbornly reach out for fact or reason. To reject questions would be to reject my nature, because like questions, my mind contains multitudes; I feel I am always everything at the same time. </p>
<p>The question that challenges me is how to understand this; how to incorporate all these multitudes of knowledge and influence into one self. </p>
<p>My interests, passions, feelings, thoughts, ideas... these are what make me a person more than anything else. I don't think of myself in terms of a word but of a feeling, because I refuse to be defined. No, I exist as a question, not an answer. This openness to possibilities and the acceptance of mystery is reminiscent of Keats’ ““negative capability”: that extra level of knowledge you gain from realizing and accepting the largeness of everything around you. You become open to everything and treat everything as little Lego pieces to build your whole. </p>
<p>That is why I feel so connected to the arts. They don’t pretend to carry answers, but only ask questions of ourselves. When I think of the way the mind works - that one doesn't think in language but in instinct and feeling - I realize that everything we do is creative; we create language to convey our thoughts or feelings. In this way, I believe everyone is an artist and that the mind chooses to possess art as its material body to express all those abstract things, those multiples, which are so are so hard to define. To appreciate this we must incorporate art into our lives, to analyze it, to feel for it in such a way that we come up with our own personal meanings; an attachment that shows us something in ourselves. </p>
<p>If we aren't spending life learning and trying to better ourselves, we may as well be dying. What's the purpose of going through life feeling numb? We have to keep burning. And if we catch ourselves freezing, we have to find new ways to light ourselves on fire... whether it’s listening to a different genre of music or picking up a book about some obscure philosopher. Madonna and Bob Dylan had the right idea; we are able to keep creating ourselves, like being born many times. This way we'll never tire of ourselves. </p>
<p>That's what I think Rilke meant when he said we must "live the question." He’s telling the reader to look around and see that everything carries its own meaning; everything in life is asking us questions that we might learn from, if only we'd open ourselves to them.</p>
<p>for us that are applying next year EA, when do the prompts get released? It would be cool if I could start during the summer. (I'm a good writer, i'm just not as amazingly articulate as the essays above... haha)</p>
<p>the essay topics are released about midway into the summer. i don't remember the month, but it is during summer.</p>
<p>“At present you need to live the question.” – Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from the German by Joan M. Burnham.</p>
<p>Why does Rilke say that I need to “live the question” and not “ask the question”? To “live the question” means for me to become completely engaged in and devoted to solving problems. That motivation may originate from myself or from others.
When I face a problem, I not only draft a solution, but also execute that solution. In other words, to “live the question” means to put words, thoughts and solutions into concrete actions.
When I transferred to the school I am attending, I discovered that it did not have a swim team. Those who desired a swim team might have quickly pointed out that this was living the question. It was not. For me, the “so-what” questions followed; how could I create a swim team? How could I help? Instantly, meaning and purpose were attached to this problem. And by finding out the answers to the questions asked, I began to “live the [questions].”
I arranged a meeting with the school athletic director to discuss my thoughts and plans. He listened thoughtfully and thoroughly, and was moved by my determination to give opportunities not only to the skilled swimmers but the amateur and first-time athletes at my school, “getting them involved” as the clich</p>
<p>The Avenue
The avenue was beautiful. All the lawns were perfectly manicured and had large flower beds filled with daisies, petunias, carnations , lilies, and roses of all sizes and shapes. It looked like something from a movie, for the trees made an arch over the street so it seemed one was driving through a Gothic Cathedral. Even with all the trees there was not a single leaf on the ground. If it were Fall there probably would still be no leaves upon the ground. The street was a perfectly paved black top road that curved into a circle at the end, and glistened in the sun as if it had just rained. This street had no cracks or potholes, it was perfect in every way. Almost as perfect, as the homes that lined it. Each house was built in the old Victorian style with picket fences, wrap around porches, and shutters. Each was painted the same creamy white color and had crimson shutters.
The avenue was beautiful from the exterior, however; within those fences and within the walls of those perfect houses were people. People who carried all the flaws of our kind and were jealous, materialistic, and spiteful brutes. The street as perfect as it seemed, was in truth a sadistic pseudo-paradise, masked only by the pretense of perfectly manicured lawns and rehearsed manners. The first and second houses on the block housed two families that would have liked to bomb the whole other side of the street if it would rid them of the other. They were the MacEs on the left and the Harts on the right, both were very similar; they both had one thirteen year-old daughter, a dog, and a loathing that could ruin a saints pure soul. The Smiths and Joness were next door neighbors on the right and harbored a feud that rivaled the Capulet and Montague feud, just with out the star-crossed lovers. At the end of the street was a pair of twins who took no part in the feuds except to fan the flames when it suited them. These two were the only people on the avenue not consumed by vengeance and hate. Isis and Seth, they were Egyptian but had lived in the U.S. since they were sixteen. Now twenty they had lived in that home on their own for three years.
Nobody knew why they had started fighting, but everyone knows the offenses that had piled up over three years were unforgivable. Egging, toilet papering, theft, and even acts of arson were fresh in the minds of the residents. War was the only way to accurately describe the situation. Isis and Seth seemed to be Switzerland.
On a particularly rainy grey day, the residents were out fighting over the condition of one anothers perfect pristine houses when Isis came out to see what the fuss was about. She was unsurprised to see her neighbors fighting outside in the rain.
Theyre like animals. She thought to herself.
As the throng of battling neighbors screeched on. When she reached the heard, everyone fell silent. One of the Harts asked what brought Isis out.
My brother and I heard you all arguing. I wanted to see if there was anything the matter. So my friends, why such noise?
Nobody answered. Like children rebuked for fighting, they all suddenly found something absolutely captivating about their shoes. This was not a foreign happening . Seth and Isis often had this effect on the fighting heathens. The twins cool, calm neutrality momentarily made each person stop and think about why they were fighting. Isis looked at each in turn and left.
The moment she was back in her home the fighting resumed more intense than ever. People began throwing punches and within seconds. Blood splattered the ground and was washed away down the gutter by the rain. By the end of the skirmish everyone one was limping or crawling back to their homes.
The avenue was many things but peaceful was far from one of them. That suited Seth and Isis just fine, for they enjoyed the show from the living room window. Their lives had been boring and filled with routine in Egypt, but here on this street there was always a fight or a prank being pulled. It was the kind of excitement they fed off. Every rude word, drop of spilt blood on the pavement, and murderous thoughts gave them a joy only gotten by dark beings. They were the reason for the unearthly hatred that consumed the neighbors.
The fall was rainy and uneventful except for someone setting fire to the Smiths garage. Then in the middle of December Mr. Hart was transferred to Europe and a new couple moved in. They were the peaceful sort, who loved books and polite debate. This raised the question as to how they came to this hate and violence riddled utopia. Nobody really knew but their presence was known immediately. Everyone tried to fill their heads with spiteful gossip and lies; however, the new couple sent each family away feeling foolish and with a need to fix their broken relationships.
Seth and Isis were the last to greet the new couple. They knocked on the door and were let in by a petite woman in a sari. Her name was Oriana and it seemed as if she was almost glowing. Behind her was her husband Ari, who also seemed to glow in his white tunic and jeans. Seth and Isis followed them into the living room. The room had been transformed into a bright cheery space. Isis and Seth began telling the tales of the avenue when Oriana held up her hand.
We have heard all of these stories from the others. They will not phase us. We are peaceful and will help to make our neighbors reconcile.
Isis and Seth stared at her in dismay. They had worked for three years at this violence, and this one couple could not be allowed to shatter it. Sensing the change in mood Ari asked the twins to leave and not return. It was the start of the biggest most dangerous rivalry on the avenue.
On Candlemas , Oriana and Ari held a neighborhood dinner. Only the twins were missing. The residents ate and exchanged gifts. It was a peaceful event where broken bonds were mended. The Golds, that was Ari and Orianas last name, had brought friendship and peace to the avenue in a week, where it had taken Isis and Seth years to bring hate and war. As was to be expected, Isis and Seth were livid.
The rage in the twins stewed for weeks. Each unsuccessful attempt at a fight and kind word turned the heat up. On New Years Eve, it became too much when they saw the Jones helping the Smiths take down lights and decorations. They could not let this peace continue, it ate at them like a vulture with a mouse. Their plan was simple and if the residents hadnt been so blinded by the new peace and happiness, they would have seen it coming.
For the first time in weeks Seth and Isis left their home. It was night and fireworks lit the sky. They set up their own version of fireworks. It was in the middle of the beautiful avenue. The snow sparkled in the light of the fuse as it moved toward the explosives. And before anyone could realize, let alone stop it, the bomb exploded. Everyone on the avenue was obliterated by the blast. The homes, lawns and even the pavement were now destroyed. Everything was charred, burnt and in spots coated in blood. Nobody and nothing had escaped the bomb. The twins plan had went off perfectly. The avenue is now just as flawed as its residents had been in life. </p>
<p>Why Chicago?</p>
<p>Striving for Excellence</p>
<pre><code>The lights in the room are dim and all eyes are on the stage. The room seems to be a conference hall in a hotel and it is filled with women of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors. The crowd is silent and has one thing in common: an overwhelming aura of confidence and success. This apparently random group of women has come together to celebrate excellence. As one looks around the room there is one person who looks somewhat out of place; this person is a girl of about thirteen. That night the girls life changed.
She sat and listened to this select group speak about bettering not only themselves but the community and about excellence. The YWCA held these ceremonies once every few years to honor prominent women in the community. It began with a keynote speaker, then presenters for each award came forward to award each winner an engraved glass plaque. The program continued with awards for Community Service, Business, Leadership, and a few other categories. The young girl watched with respect and admiration as these women won awards and gave eloquent, captivating speeches. These wise words made her realize how badly she wanted to become one of those women . When it was announced that there were awards for Young Women of Excellence, and high school girls only a few older than she stood to be honored, she knew that even if she never received an award on that stage, she would strive for excellence.
After the event, everyone congregated in the hotel lobby. The young girl went around and spoke with the women that had inspired her. Each of them gave her advice and praise. On the drive home she barely spoke because she was so engrossed in reliving the night. Even her dreams became about that night and earning such an honor.
Now, four years later that same little girl is writing an essay for college. She has chosen the University of Chicago. She was searching online for a place that was the best at what they did, a place that had achieved excellence. It was a place that could claim more Nobel Prize winners than any other American university and some of the greatest minds of our time. The University of Chicago is always at the top of every academic college ranking system , is in-state, and has the small class sizes she wants. The Professors are dedicated and care. There is no doubt that this is the place she belongs.
She loves to help people with their problems and decided psychology would be a perfect major. She does Teen Court and 4-H to learn and help the community. Her love of theater and art pushed her to join Art Club, Set Design, and act in the school musical every year. She writes everything from plays to poetry to stories in her spare time. The strive towards excellence kept her grades at an A- average and earned her a place in the National Society of High School Scholars.
In the summer the girl works as a camp counselor. She enjoys working with children which is why she has decided to become a childrens psychiatrist. People tend to forget that children have problems as well, and they disregard the stresses of people younger than themselves. Having had many of her own trials and tribulations, she wants to help others get through their rough times.
Excellence is constantly talked about, but seldom is it truly seen or achieved. This girl is me and I would like to think that I am on the road to achieving excellence. Every since the YWCA Women of Excellence Dinner, my life has been geared towards being the best at everything I do. In school, work, community service, and life in general my goal is to excel. After looking at hundreds upon hundreds of schools, the University of Chicago is the place where I can truly realize and achieve my dreams and goals of excellence.
</code></pre>
<p>So What do you think?</p>
<p>I can see why your essays got you in :)</p>
<p>I had chosen essay 4, the accelerator thought experiment.</p>
<p>Afghani Kabuli Pallow </p>
<p>The common person: 4 Cups of Basmati Rice.
The movers and shakers: 2 lb of marinated and spiced Beef; cut into cubes.
Your worldly and shallow pleasures: 4 Carrots; shredded.
True happiness: ½ cup of Raisins.</p>
<p>Step 1:
Place the meat, spices, and curries into a pot and cook. Add water to stew.</p>
<p>Before any societies emerged, the world was like a pot. It was relatively desolate and even a little quiet. As people began to congregate themselves together, merging in the interest of progression, our primitive ancestors realized that without any sense of direction, no possible mold could be created. So they decided to add the meat - our world leaders – into the pot. The world leaders being the people we, the common folk, look to for direction. They instruct and guide us in the ways that we should go. They are our backbone, uniting people of contrasting backgrounds and beliefs. They find one common strand, such as education, to build upon and with this common strand they eventually unite contrasting points of view, thus creating the promise of establishing a better
tomorrow. In parallel today’s societies, the meat, or world leaders, in Afghani Kabuli Pallow would serve as the element that engenders the satisfaction and success of the meal. Just as the world leaders were the elements that engendered satisfaction and success amongst ancient societies.</p>
<p>Step 2:
Add the uncooked rice into the pot and cook. The rice is cooked when it absorbs most of the meat stew. Add the shredded carrots and raisins.</p>
<p>Only one person needs to climb a mountain to prove it is possible, and others will follow. The point of leaders is not only to do great things, but to inspire, to guide, and to ultimately change the world. In the same light, the stew that is produced from the meat is
used not only to cook the rice – to inspire people – but to flavor the rice, leaving a sliver of each piece embedded within the common person. While absorbing the stew, the brittle rice expands and softens as new ideas are introduced. Great leaders do the same: they reaffirm the good in humanity. From religious leaders like Jesus to silent heroes such as Anne Frank, they bring hope that there is a point in life, and that the good can triumph over the evil.</p>
<p>As a society develops into a civilization their aim advances from mere survival to happiness, and climaxes all the way to Maslow’s hierarchy. At this point, add the carrots and the raisins. With their added sweetness, they contrast the hearty and savory flavors of
the rice and meat. The carrots captivate everyone’s attention, as they disperse themselves throughout the pot, operating the same way our worldly pleasures do. People walk by skyscrapers, daily reminders of what it means to literally reach for the sky. They motivate
people to aim for success. It’s getting the window seat on the twentieth floor, riding down the elevator, and driving the new Mercedes-Benz to the freshly constructed six-bedroom,
four-bathroom house complete with an indoor heated pool. Through the bombardments of billboards, newspaper and TV advertisements, the media have sold us the “perfected” image of societal success, and so many people buy into it.</p>
<p>Hidden by the carrots and other masses are the raisins, the key treasure in this meal. Happiness operates similarly as both it and the raisins are sought, stumbled upon unexpectedly, and always appreciated.</p>
<p>Step 3:
Bake in an oven until fully cooked.</p>
<p>As civilizations fully emerge into existence time is needed for them to achieve their full potential. For this reason, the meal needs to bake before it is devoured. After all the ingredients are added and cooked, baking locks all the flavors, meshing them to create
a distinct dish. Beware! Baking for too long – like giving a civilization too much time, for example the Roman Empire – will ruin it. With history as the verdict, all civilizations have a beginning, a Golden Age, a downfall, and an end. When one is pushed too much –
over baked - one burns out. The meat becomes charred and dry – the leaders corrupted – and the central backbone begins to break. With the connective cord severed, communication between the leaders and common people fragments, resulting in the
withering of the common person. The individual, and the common people amidst, begin to lose the notions of pleasure and happiness, and a downfall erupts. Perfecting the amount of time for a civilization to grow is like knowing how long to bake Afghani Kabuli, the perfect time produces a Golden Age.</p>
<p>Step 4:
Eat and Enjoy!</p>
<p>After a civilization is cooked, the effort put into preparing the success can be enjoyed. When eating Afghani Kabuli, one notices that things are not always as they seem. The seemingly unimportant ingredients, like the raisins, become the most pleasurable contribution to the meal. In terms of reality, while the leaders are revered in history, they – the meat – are few and far between. Kabuli is a rice dish, it is a meal primarily based on the common people. The common people apply what the leaders theorize: they construct the skyscrapers – the worldly pleasures - believing that they are
contributing to the success that one person, perhaps even them, may have someday. And that is where happiness emerges. Happiness is acting with the belief that one action will benefit another. When this interblend of theories, applications, pleasures, and happiness are intact, steps toward progression begins to emerge, and that is when a civilization can
fully enjoy the meal.</p>
<p>This is my Why Chicago Essay:</p>
<p>A Chinese proverb states that “Falling leaves must return to their roots.” My roots come from a poor, and often misunderstood, country: Afghanistan. As a child, I always felt different. I could not fathom why I had been given the opportunity to indulge in the prosperity, opportunity, and hope that many members of my own family had not been able to experience. When opportunities interwove with my roots, a strong pang – a strong desire to help others – emerged as a result.</p>
<p>Last spring, I had the chance to visit one out-of-state university, and, like any other sixteen year-old teenager, the prospect of only choosing one thing can be quite mindboggling. As I sifted through college brochures and websites, I stumbled across UChicago’s Human Rights Program. Then it clicked. At that instant, I knew this was the university for me.</p>
<p>As I walked through the streets of Chicago, the diversity engulfed my eyes. Never had I seen so many multifaceted cultures operating amongst each other. This variety gave me insight into an array of communities – their languages, religions, and remedies. It was like a sliver of the world had come and planted itself here.</p>
<p>At the university, I had the honor of speaking with the Human Rights Program’s director, Susan Gzech. As we spoke, she told me about the opportunities that both the program and the university offer – from courses concerning international crises to volunteering in global human rights hotspots, such as Afghanistan. It is an interblend of
theory and application, of learning and doing. As I listened, thoughts of the Peace Corps trickled in. I realized that was how I could use the opportunities given to me to enhance the lives of my family, and of others.</p>
<p>As I boarded the plane for my flight home, I knew that UChicago had reached me as the place where I could return to and expand my roots.</p>
<p>Optional Essay:</p>
<pre><code>I’m going to write about my favorite book, The Foot Book by Dr. Seuss. Yes, I know I sound crazy. Yes, I know that anyone above the age of five would probably discard the book as “childish,” but for me, my educational journey holds its roots within this book.
Coming from a low-income immigrant family, my family was limited to what toys they could buy for both me and my brother. While my brother was content on playing with model toy cars, Legos, and action figures, I always just wanted three things: a backpack, a notebook, and a pencil. I really don’t remember why I had an obsession with school, but my mother said that I always happy to just “write” in my little notebook while I sat “in class” in my baby stall.
However, something was missing. A book. Not one of those coloring books or pop-up books, but a real book – a complete story with a beginning, middle, and an end. Yes, my parents took me to the local library where I was able to select two books, which in turn, took home and devoured the same day, but I never had my own book. A book without a barcode, a return date, and a potential late fee. A book that was new, a book that could proudly state: “This book belongs to Abrams Jamassi.”
Then one day, I got a package from my local YMCA. My mom opened the package and handed me my first book, The Foot Book. For me, this felt like winning the lottery. I quickly ran into my room, examining the book. There it was: brand spankin’ new, each page folded crisply. On the front cover, an inscription explained that this book was given to me as a mission that every child in my area would be able to own their very own book. The next day, I proudly shared my book with my classmates. To my surprise, none of my classmates in my kindergarten class received a book. Then one kid spurted out that I got a book because I was “poor” and “stupid.” Obviously hurt and confused, I ran to my mom after school and asked her if it was true. She said, in her broken English:
</code></pre>
<p>“Bachaam, the book you got don’t mean you’re stupid. We are poor, but you it is not your fault. If you want a brighter future, education is your key to it. Everything in life has a root, let this book be the root for your education. Get an education. But never forget that you must give back what you are given. The people who gives this book to you, gives a start, a beginning. When older and wiser, you must give someone else a start and beginning for them to succeed as well.”</p>
<pre><code>Taking her words to heart, I read The Foot Book until I memorized it. Then it happened. My thirst for reading began. Till this day, I thank the people who gave me this book. But as I grow older, I realize that, unlike me, there many people who aren’t blessed to receive a book – or their key for their future. This triggered me to found my own non-profit organization, Understand Me, which aims to unearth issues not revealed via mainstream media, so that people from all roots – and of all feet - can walk upon their beginnings.
</code></pre>
<p>....So what do you guys think? Be honest cause I am getting so nervous! Good luck with everyone :)</p>
<p>Batman, duh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh Batman! Yes, I'm serious.</p>
<p>This is from Essay Option 3, relating to a road of some sort.</p>
<pre><code>A boy and his parents step out from a late night production of The Mask of Zorro, the amused family of three still ecstatic at the poetic justice served to their by the rapier-wielding working class champion. The crook in the shadows had orders, despite his personal disapproval of what he was about to do. Kill Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha. Leave the boy as an alibi in order to prove his boss’s innocence. He had been waiting in the alley, as disclosed in the orders for his assignment. Of course the hired assassin understood the orders, if not the magnitude of his actions.
</code></pre>
<p>Shoot the most influential man in all of Gotham City? The would-be murderer saw a philanthropist and a symbol of all that is good for a city drowned in corruption. He also saw a mother who seemed to love her hopeless city just as much and maybe more than her husband. At times came the question of whom she loved most: her family or her city? Then came the boy. The hired gunman had no idea how his next action would alter the child’s life. If he had, he would’ve not put his plan in motion, his next motion forever bound to the shadows. But none of whom he saw mattered, only what he had to do.</p>
<p>The man, and his gun, would come out of the shadows. Thomas would come in front of his family, offering all valuables on him. In some ways, hearing the way he pleaded with the gunman to take the jewelry and money and leave his family, the assassin thought Thomas hadn’t offered all of his belongings. Without further hesitation, the hired hitman would shoot to kill. Thomas Wayne fell down, his last facial expression shaped into one of shock because his killer would not pass on the only true valuable in Wayne’s life. His wife pleaded and screamed for herself and her son, all to no avail. The second bullet in his clip flew out on a mission. Her husband’s true partner in all their endeavors, she would not leave him alone at his time of death.</p>
<p>The boy would be left to provide an alibi for the police, who would come after the killer. Of course, since the hitman’s boss had the law enforcement on his payroll, the boy would never get to truly give a testimony of the horrors he saw that night. Then that child would almost certain live a life of obscurity, surrounded by unimaginable amounts of wealth that were unable to save the people that mattered most to him. In Crime Alley, a boy’s childhood was left to die alongside his parents.</p>
<p>However, the boy lived, fueled by the desire to avenge his parents and the many innocents of his beloved city. This child, named Bruce, would become a man as he learned to embrace the darkness he once feared, to harness the shadows that shielded his killer from view on that tragic night. The film he saw that night would serve as much more than poetic justice: it was the blueprint on which he would base his own epic endeavors. He answered to no one because few in the city harbored enough honesty to earn his attention. This unyielding form of justice would earn him many titles: vigilante, Caped Crusader, outlaw. To create some clarity, he would make up his own identity: Batman. In Crime Alley, a hero was born.</p>
<p>Cower to the epic grandeur of this essay!</p>
<p>Hmmm, as I read these essays I begin to worry that mine missed the mark. Mine was far less creative than the others posted.</p>
<p>Creativity is my forte!. lol.</p>
<p>if you're not a creative writer, than you needn't have written a creative essay. If you're a very straight-forward person, then it's probably best that that's how your essay was. Your essay should represent you. I don't think my essays were particularly creative. I answered the prompts in the best way that I saw fit. I didn't want to write a cutesy essay, so I didn't. have faith in your writing, es four. good luck.</p>
<p>Lamia, your essays are sick. I love the third person viewpoint</p>
<p>Optional essay:</p>
<p>If you come to my house, you’ll find magazines and newspapers everywhere. On the wall hangs a collage of magazine cut-outs I carefully crafted in my art class two years ago; on the desk by the “interior garden” of our house, recent prints of the [my city's local newspaper] are splattered all over. Step into my room and open the 2nd drawer of my desk and you’ll find a journal with newspaper/magazine cutouts glued in each page. This journal has been my companion throughout my years in US. It contains my favorite comic strips (Frank and Ernest makes me smile, Foxtrot reflects my geeky side, and Zits can tell my mind), countless “OMG!!!!”s, and an archive of world history from 2004-2008, all borrowed from the massive subscriptions to media outlet. I feel like a little historian, collecting not just my thoughts, but the thoughts around the world in a 5-subject notebook. </p>
<p>I can’t tell you enough about my love for magazines. With a record of six magazine subscriptions, I slowly came to the realization that I will never be able to finish reading all my magazines if I read every page (yes, I am that obsessive), and that I was nuts. Oh, I forgot to mention that my journal would explode with its obesity if I continued my habit. Now, with a lessened temptation, I subscribe to three of my favorite magazines: TIME, NYLON, and GOOD. TIME, the smart digest compressed of news and entertainment, is my political almighty. I enjoy the occasional humor, especially of Joel Stein’s columns. NYLON, on the other hand, is my fashion and celebrity feed. Although, it advertises clothes that I don’t have the money to buy for, its brilliance in introducing new ideas and in delivering a feel of city-ness is priceless. Finally, GOOD magazine is, as its name suggest, really good. First of all, I have a particular affinity toward this magazine because I spent my first earned money ($30 for an art award) on it. What’s better is that a 100% of this spending went to Teach for America, the charity I chose as I subscribed. It was like a little gift that came along when you did something philanthropic. GOOD’s content, which mostly consist of world issues such as poverty, environment, consumerism, among others, fuels my worldly knowledge and feeds my visual appetite. </p>
<p>I could go on as I list more digital publications, such as Slate or Reason magazine, but I will keep my mouth shut before my disease spreads to you. </p>
<p>Was this too colloquial? It's much less serious than my other two essays.</p>
<p>???
could i interest you in an advil? or perhaps something stronger?</p>
<p>Essay #3 (about roads). Sidenote: The things I mention are the historical attractions you would see going from Chicago to Rolla(My town).</p>
<p>Route 66</p>
<p>I. Chicago</p>
<p>We prepared for our journey
A quest you might say
From city to city
Ho hi and away</p>
<p>In the heart of Chicago
My eyes bounced about
Where skyscrapers grow
Our mouths would cry out</p>
<p>From Buckingham Fountain
On south of Jackson
Oh Santa Fe Building
Oh what an attraction!</p>
<p>The Art Institute on Adams
The Orchestra Hall
The El Purple Line there
But the Sears Tower trumps all</p>
<p>II. Springfield</p>
<p>Now onward go forth
To Springfield I say
Where Abraham Lincoln
Sleeps calmly all day</p>
<p>As the car drives through
I imagine that day
When Lincoln stood up
And said Farewell in a sad way</p>
<p>We go to Adams Street
Quite a busy affair
The Old State Capitol
No longer in state fair</p>
<p>Now move it or lose it
We have to move on
Time is a wasting
I’m being called upon</p>
<p>III. St. Louis</p>
<p>Close to our home
Route 66 pulls us
There’s no time to argue
No time to discuss</p>
<p>The Gate Way Arch
It’s right in our view
Let us all march
Our time’s almost due</p>
<p>Bush Stadium is open
Cardinals run for base
The Union Station makes my dad
Buy a tool case</p>
<p>It’s been fun but farewell
We must make haste
Our home calls us in
For fries and tomato paste</p>
<p>IV. Rolla </p>
<p>There are acres and acres
Of grapes and wine
We’re almost in the clear
We’re going to be fine</p>
<p>A giant farmer and his mule stand by
Waving hello to all passersby
The road is smooth until we turn
Then it makes my stomach churn</p>
<p>Rolla welcomes us home
It’s been a long while
Since I’ve seen these old roads
And I think to myself only one more mile</p>
<p>And that is my story my compadre my fella
Of how I got from Chicago to Rolla
Down the Mother Road down Main Street U.S.A
That’s how I did it all in one day</p>
<p>I hope it brought a smile to your face :).</p>
<p>Some great essays posted here!</p>
<p>My essay definitely was not creative. I think its best to write an essay reflexive of yourself, as others have already said.</p>