<p>Good God, i only hope that God will bless me with a stroke of brilliance when i write the essays this summer.. i plan to write them on campus in a library after my summer session class..</p>
<p>Wow. My essay sucked compared to these essays and I got accepted...I guess I didnt get in because of it because compared to these, mine is a pos.</p>
<p>nada07,
Which summer course at the U. of C. will you be taking? Just curious, as I took one over the past summer. . .</p>
<p>Katharos,</p>
<p>Is there any way you can activate your pm? I had a question I wanted to ask you about the summer class. Congratulations on being accepted to U of C!
micromom</p>
<p>well I have to admit there are some horribly stupid and over the line things in here ("bringing out the power I feel within my heart..." how gay is that?)
and some funny grammar/spelling errors... and the fact that I even put the WRONG name for one of my OWN bands songs (it is called trying to light a fire ON the sun... not in.) </p>
<p>I wrote it by myself at like 3 in the morning some weekend when I was feeling really down. I was completely honest with everything that is in here. I never let anybody read it I actually did what they said... I just started writing about myself... There is no structure and no sense.
One thing you guys can't see is the words that I bolded or changed font underlined ect... (Edgy I know.)</p>
<p>It is the Langston Hughes topic.</p>
<p>IDENTITY: (a self portrait by Chad Hughes) Snap Shot: -Basic height- Not tall, but not short- Skinny build, approaching scrawny- One rib is protruding way out from the rest- Argyle socks- Grey boxer briefs- A pair of ripped jeans with long johns underneath- A button up shirt with green and blue stripes, and a grey knit zip up sweater, just the way I like- girl lashes- plain eyes - Heavy bags from all the times- wide lipped- wide nosed- Squared off cheek bone and jaw - face is clean shaven, but certainly not by choice, I would choose a complete full beard- If I do not shave I will develop a dirt mustache, a small patch under my lower lip, and three hairs on my chin- Hair is brown and long. Flips down in front of my eyes in an attempt to capture a 70s retro style- INGREDIANTS:. My parents are truly one in a million. I cannot stress enough how blessed I have been to have been raised by these two individuals. They somehow gave me the freedom to make my own choices, and the strength to make the right ones. They never forced a thing upon me. I was not even baptized as a child. Religion is my own choice. They will always remain by my side each stride of the way, but at a distance where I can safely guide my own ship. They man the lights on the shore, but do not (like some parents I have encountered) take the helm and throw me in a life preserver. THE IN-BETWEEN TOWN: Redford, Michigan: The Gateway to the Suburbs! To the east is impoverished Detroit, to the west there is wealth. It is funny, at first I began to type about how the diversity of this town has shaped me in so many amazing ways. I was writing what I believed you would like to hear, but the truth is I have not really experienced much diversity through Redford, unless diversity means half black and half white. Having black kids at my school should not be a reason to differentiate myself, because to be honest I do not believe the black kids in my school have taught me any sort of magical lesson. Blacks and whites are more alike at Thurston High School than either group would ever admit... When I was thirteen years old I decided to walk home from my summer job at the golf course. I walked from the Northern tip of Redford to the Southern tip. This is when I planned to write my first novel entitled, The In-between Town. For some reason I never got around to it. THE GRECIAN: I have held on to the same best friend nearly 15 years now. Jeff and I met at pre-school registration and have never had a falling out. We have been like brothers to each other for years. However, if I ever want to go out late for coffee and have a heart to heart Jeff is not the one to call. The one I turn to would be my good pal Nate. Nate is the classic example of the brilliant idiot: brilliant because he is naturally smart as hell, but an absolute idiot because he does nothing about it. Nate is a movie buff, pure and simple. The three of us have developed a great past-time of watching terrible B horror and action flicks. I swear there is nothing funnier than a terrible B movie. My most common hangout is the twenty-four hour Grecian Café. Here the waitresses know us by name, and I swear the cook looks exactly like Frank Zappa. There is something so ultra cool and comforting about nights at the Grecian. We sit around, drink way too much coffee, talk over politics and philosophy, go for walks around town, and then drive through the ever so lonely Hines Park. I do not think I have ever turned down the idea of hitting up the Grecian. It is just such a comforting experience. ROULETTE: Another past time of mine, and my favorite, is jamming with my band Roulette. The hot stage lights incessantly pound away at my senses. As usual, my eyes are focused only on the microphone I play into. I cannot allow myself to look up and break concentration. My fingers roll over my Bari trying to bring out the power I feel within my heart. I accent a throaty C sharp, holding it to produce the tension that will pay off when I drop down to low B. Steves voice rises with a certain pure and painful sound that shakes my soul. Dan pops up and screams through his trumpet. My spine tingles. The whole band cuts out to open the way for Brandons roar. He reiterates his version of the theme and then scorches into an improvisational solo. His trombone reacts as if it is no longer separate from him. Leland breaks into a straight beat and drives us all home. Ken and Ryan let the final chord ring and then we break into Trying to Light a Fire in the Sun. An old man sits by the stage, the culmination of a dying generation. He rocks back and forth and up and down as if he and our music are one. I have never been more proud in my life. I have been so fortunate to be a part of this band. When my brother first created Roulette he had no idea the kinds of places it was going to take him. The eight of us have combined all of our distinct styles, tastes, and talents to forge a sound unlike anything I have ever heard before. We pour passion into our music. There is no greater feeling than just dropping everything and jamming with Roulette. HEATDEATH THEORY: All objects in the universe are transferring heat to each other. If you touch a cold door handle the handle heats up and your hand cools down. The theory is that eventually every object in the universe will be set in equilibrium. If this happens there will be no more transfer of heat, hence no more energy. Every object that ever existed will just sit in time. There will be no light, no heat, nothing. Eventually the galaxies will all fade out like the scattered embers of a camp fire. This theory directly applies to relationships. In my very narrow experience relationships have always started out so exciting. Every moment you are with that new interest your heart is on a roller coaster. The first kiss, the first date! It is all so exciting. Yet, as time goes on you begin to give each other all you have to offer. Eventually, there is nothing left and the relationship dies. I believe this theory may explain why great girls always seem to find their way to idiot guys, or perhaps the reason that if you are cold to a girl she will be immediately ten times more attracted to you. Relationships are tricky, and there is only one thing I do know about them: I know nothing. PELLET SHOTS When I think about my life, and my attempt to find any sort of significant meaning, I can only explain it as random pellet shots into the night. Yes, random little insignificant nothings that I toss back and forth with some invisible figure as we try to sort through my past for any sign of meaning. I cannot comprehend where my life has gone, I can only hope to predict where I am going. I am the complete opposite of a tough guy. Sometimes I push myself a bit too far. I feel like I have pulled more all-nighters this year than I have actually slept. I over analyze and freak myself out. I am big on adventure, one day I was joking around with a couple of my friends about making a road trip to Washington D.C. and twenty four hours, countless cups of coffee, and two tanks of gas later we were there. I have been lucky all of my life, my family is wonderful, I am not rich, I am not poor, I like myself. I truly believe that I am a part of the most streamlined generation ever. What is okay now? What is alright? Ninety percent of the people I meet fall into a few separate categories of dress, musical taste, and attitude. I am reminiscent of an age I have never touched, but as I look back I wonder if the generations of the past have been any different? All of the people I meet that claim to be original are the ones that are most like everybody else. I am highly critical of the world around me, but this is only because I have my own blemishes I would like to spend less time thinking about. I think my problem with life is that I try to make everything out to be more than what it really is. I want life to be a depressing yet fulfilling novel, but God continues to write happy endings. I am still moderately afraid of the dark. I hate being alone in my basement at night. I do not know when to cut myself off; I go overboard way too fast, my voice crescendos with excitement level. I had to walk out of a movie theatre during a horror movie, and I am more afraid of death than I am anything else in this whole entire world, but at the moment of my life when I had three guns held against my head all I could think about was how cool of a story it was to be. Something has to be wrong with me. Looking back, I want that moment to have meant something, it will forever be etched into my brain and yet it has no true meaning. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, depending how you look at it, the right place, at the right time. I wish my life could be one giant piece of literature for me to take one section at a time. I would sit, sip away at some warm drink and dissolve every last detail. I would have a purpose. Someday, I will be prepared to rush out into the world and create my own meaning. Until then I will just continue on, running from the inevitable heat death of every relationship I enter, and throwing random pellet shots into the night.</p>
<p>Micromom,</p>
<p>I believe I just activated my pm. I am quite computer-illiterate, so let me know if it works.</p>
<p>I would be happy to answer any questions that you have about the U. of C. summer program.</p>
<p>arabic for third years, i'm a native speaker.. (from Egypt)</p>
<p>Topic #1 "Theme for English B" </p>
<p>I'm one of those really terrifying people who say nothing, but sit in corners scribbling in notebooks. Silence gives you a reputation for cleverness, but what, by God, is on that paper? People look at me as though I were Harriet the Spy. Even when I'm not, literally, tucked away somewhere writing, I compulsively study the things around me. The world is my fishbowl.
This face peering through the glass, this face that's mineI wish it looked a little more writerly. I'm short. My hair is a sort of ruddy brown. I'm not too fat and not too skinny, not too foul and not too pretty, neatly dressed, inevitably found with book in hand and loaded backpack. Granted, I do have abnormally large feet, and my hair sometimes sticks straight up on a dry winter morning, but for most part, my looks are boring-shmoring. Staring at my yearbook photo, one would not guess that I regularly roll schizophrenia, espionage, and classical music into a joint and smoke itschizophrenia, espionage, and music being the chief ingredients to a good story.
Imagine trying to tell people that.
Yesterday, on the bus home from an Academic Team meet, it was a rainy warm night, too dark to write in a notebook. The windows were misted over, so that we floated in a shadowy box, the headlights outside just a swimming neon blur. My fingers, itching for a pen, found instead the rain-frosted bus window beside me. It started modestlya playful little doodle in the condensation, but the canvas was too tempting. Soon, I was scrambling from seat to seat, scrawling the latest chapter of my novel across the panes. My friends thought I was mad, but there you go. They're a few nibs shy of a quill pen themselves. One friend had a miniature spelunking headlamp in her purse; the other strapped it on and, very kindly, taught me how to word-process on my TI-84 graphing calculator. He wouldn't lend me the light so I could start typing right away, but I've memorized his instructions. It's a magical thing, my calculator. I do believe I prefer it to conventional notebooks, not least because of the potential for surreptitious writing during precalculus class.
A funny thing: I portray myself as a writing junkie, a graphophiliac, but I don't know the reason I write. Why people are compelled to doodle on fogged window panes? There must be an anthropological/psychological/biological explanation for it. Are we carving our personal path to the world hidden on the other side of the glass? Am I, the writer, within the bus looking out, or outside the fishbowl looking in? Or both at once?
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.
Perhaps I write to find out.</p>
<p>nada07,</p>
<p>Wow. Good luck to you with that. I hope it is not a killer course. :)</p>
<p>yeah me 2, if it is they said i could drop down, but it's my 2nd language.. i'm not too nervous.. but just bc it's u of c, so i am nervous.. </p>
<p>is 3rd yr graduate level?
(i've been learning formal arabic since age 4)</p>
<p>The essay about my tv show which I used for chicago and other colleges </p>
<hr>
<p>When a fellow classmate tells me, Hey Alex, it sucks we dont have a more difficult calculus class, I can do more than just carp about it; I can directly address such a concern to school administrators, including Superintendent Diana Sirko, on my independent television show Meet the Press with Alex and Jake. My 30-minute show, during which we interview people from all walks of life, came as a consequence of challenging the school on its policy concerning the separation of church and state. After having my articles severely edited without my consent in our school newspaper, I knew I needed an outlet that would be independent of the school. I wanted the show to challenge school administrators on critical issues such as class size and the allocation of school resources.
In addition to having school representatives discuss issues, my friend Jake and I decided to expand the show to include other vital people in the community such as the mayor and editor of the local newspaper. These interviews have made a significant difference in our community. After interviewing the mayor right before the election to discuss issues regarding affordable housing, Su Lum, a local writer for the Aspen Times, wrote that we asked probing questions to understand the mayors position on key issues. Lum also wrote, I would have liked to have seen [Alex and Jake] interview all the candidates running in Tuesday's election. I'm sure they would have had plenty of juicy questions. Through our show, we have been able to keep community members informed about issues at school and in our community.
The most thrilling part of the show though is interviewing such world-renowned people as Robert F. Kennedy Jr., Evander Holyfield, Michael Eisner, and former Secretary of State Madeline Albright when they visit Aspen. Since we do not have to worry about rebooking the same guests, we are free to ask all our guests tough questions. I asked Albright, for example, Do you think Russia is a democracy given that they have recently canceled elections? and, Why does the U.S. not put more pressure on China to stop giving the Sudanese government oil revenue when the Sudanese government uses that money for weaponry to kill innocent Christian men and rape Christian women?
The television show has made me think about issues I would not have pondered before. When preparing to interview Kennedy I learned how corporations have valued profits more than the environment and how grave of an impact this has had on our planet. The show has also given me a chance to contribute to my community because I have played an essential role in helping parents understand where their school administrators stand on crucial issues.
Ever since I moved to Colorado in 8th grade from New York City, I have had a challenging time here adjusting to the differences. The television show has helped make me feel more part of our community by giving me the chance to ask questions on behalf of the informed Roaring Fork citizen. When the assistant principal comes up to me and says, My son and I watched your show with Robert F. Kennedy Jr. about the environment and as a result we discussed the environment at dinner and he understands the issues better now, it makes me proud. Thats what being a leader encompasses: challenging the status quo on important issues and promoting discussions on vital topics that concern the citizenry</p>
<p>this was my favorite essay by far. I only wish I could have sent it to other schools!!</p>
<p>response to favorite artists, etc prompt (I hope it comes out properly):</p>
<p>The ability to communicate well</p>
<pre><code> to send s h o c k w a v e s through26littlecharacters ((maybe32orso if we count ; and : and ~ and and = and + and all of the little intricacies of punctuation))}] ;
</code></pre>
<p>to paint a SCENE(that of the Mountains or River or Beautiful Beach but also possibly the one with the 2 who were onceinLOVE (the kind with tears and illuminating conversations) or with the 2 who are just st
art
ing to
f
a
l
l
intopittheofpass(tears)ionlaught[latenights]er
andofcourseconver[illuminating]sation
--that is the most desired skill. E. E. Cummings has this<br>
way
this method (ohsodifferentuniquesplendidwonderful) of strewing words,letters,commas,exclamationmarks
across the page so that they make us
SEE
make us
FEEL
everything, anything. His works have this
way
of conveying red
or showing me a sunset
or introducing me to LOVE (that with tears and illuminating conversations of course) that I cannot experience from anything else. For experiences are either experienced (with firsthand touchtastesmellsightfeelingemotion) or relayed through someone who has experienced. And what are we--what is the world or humanity or any of it all of it--but the sum of our experiences? what do we know besides experiences and the thoughts in our heads (which are determined by experiences)? </p>
<p>thus,
since I like to<br>
KNOW.(know. Know. knoW.),
my favorite poet
(writer? artist? the symphonies of lettersnumbers and punctuation that are HISWORKS </p>
<pre><code> higher
</code></pre>
<p>seem more, seem than the titles of poemswritingscompositions.) is E.E. Cummings,
for it is through his --s that I truly (totally)</p>
<p>experience.</p>
<p>yeah it came out a little distorted. but you get the general idea.</p>
<p>oh, and I was admitted. and nada07, I think you'll be fine. what helped for me was to read the prompts and then let them "stew" in the back of my head for a few days or even weeks. then something materialized and I was able to write.</p>
<p>Nada07-</p>
<p>I think third year is considered both undergrad and grad. I know with Greek at least one can register for Advanced under either the grad or undergrad course numbers.</p>
<p>thanks.. i hope it goes well, i just found out who my proffessor is!</p>
<p>i wrote this essay right before it was due. no one read over it, so you guys are the first besides the admissions officers to read it. apologize in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes.</p>
<p>I am a bubbly girl who drew her first breath on a cold day in March in a country halfway around the world. I explored Dalian, China until I was eight and a half, when I began exploring Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Its hard talking with your hands, but Ive become proficient while I was learning English. I went through almost every book in the childrens section at my public library in my attempt to learn English. I succeeded. Books were my best friends as I moved from place to place, finally settling in Chicago. Of particular comfort were my Anne of Green Gables books. The cheerfulness and simplicity of life that was presented always managed to cheer me up. My parents were also the constants in my life. They are the ones that encouraged my reading and furiously worked so I could have a good life and hopefully go to a good college. At the age of eleven, I began attending Whitney Young where I thrived. I began expressing my personality rather than just hiding in books. Reading has always been important to me. When I first learned English, reading was how I learned how to act around people. Books were my teachers in proper deportment. Ill always be grateful for that, but then, the time had come for me to actually start talking to people more. Soon, everyone could hear me coming from a mile away. Im instantly recognizable as the voice of the intercom. Im loud, and Im not afraid of it. I express my opinions firmly but if someone has an opposing opinion, I wont just arbitrarily cut them off. I will hear them out, and consider their viewpoint. I believe in hope, equality, world peace, and that all diseases can be cured. Admittedly, some of these things probably wont come to being in my lifetime, but I will work and strive to make sure that they do. Im an idealist. I cant stand seeing people treated unfairly or cruelly. I wish that everyone in the world was honest and had a personal code of honor that they held to. I love to debate and making arguments, I love history, I love to read court cases, and I want to do something that will make this world a little better. I want to be a lawyer, and I want to see if I can find a job for some non-profit organization that needs a lawyer, and not one that can simply pay well, though that would be a bonus.
Im not a morning person, but once I get started, I will probably bowl anyone over. I have a lot of energy and once something catches my attention, I throw myself into it completely until its finished. Some of my friends say that Im like a tornado. Warning signs are there, but people usually dont take them seriously. Im pretty sure they didnt either at first. Reading is still a huge part of my life. In the past year alone I have read more than 150 books, not including the ones for class. However, there are times where reading simply doesnt cover it all. Sometimes, true experience is needed. I hope that at UChicago, I would be able to not only read more and gain knowledge, but also have more of a chance to experience new things firsthand, instead of reading about them in a book or magazine. I dont want to be the person that is just avidly listening to others describe new experiences. I want to be the person that is describing her new experiences. As I love reading, I had always thought I would probably go into something in the humanities, and I usually shied away from anything involving math or science. In June 2005, I attended an accounting camp and shocked myself by how much I enjoyed it. I had always been interested in business, and I thought that accounting camp would be a chance for me to learn more about the numbers side of business. We ran a 40 million dollar company for a week, and I loved it. I knew I was going to like having control of a company, but to my surprise, I found that I honestly enjoyed juggling the numbers. I actually liked calculating how much could be spent on advertising and development so that the company could still turn a profit. College would be a chance for me to explore my future, and plant some roots that will help me as I go further along the path of life.</p>
<p>bump please post more essays!</p>
<p>I am seventeen, liberal, born in Whitefish, Montana. I go to school here, in Bigfork, in this village by the bay. I am the only Jewish person in my class. From the school lead stairs onto Grand Avenue, then the avenue runs down a hill overlooking the bay, where I cross the street and stride down more stairs towards the city dock. Here I sit, jeans rolled to my knees, feet dangling in the lake while I type my thousandth essay, trying to find something that sounds remotely like me.
My teacher tells me to write about my passion, about who I am or what I love. He cannot remember what it is like not to be certain about anything while at the same time pursuing with reckless abandon everything. My age does define me in this sense. I do not find anything else in common with my peers, other than age and location. They like reality TV and paying too much for their designer clothing. I read books, and do not have a television. I buy clearance-priced everything. When trying to define oneself, many people look around at others to make comparisons. Am I an athlete? Am I a musician? Am I an iconoclast? Possibly, but my classmates do not inspire me to write about myself in such a comparative manner. We are not the same, despite some common hobbies we have.
Maybe, then, my location can help me realize who I am. I breathe in the clean Montana air, full of the smell of water and pine and sun-baked grasses mixing together. There is not enough room in my lungs to hold all the air I wish I could breathe. This is my favorite scent in the world. I stare at the internationally renowned Big Sky. I have lived here all my life; I cannot imagine not being able to see such an integral part of my world. I know my college and
profession will take me away from these things. Soon, I will be willing to give both up, if in return new opportunities arise.
I can foresee my life in the future without such an azure view, but I prefer to keep myself more in the moment. Outside my window, darkness obscures everything, giving me a canvas on which I paint my reflection in light. My computer blares Bohemian Rhapsody as I harmonize into a spoon of peanut butter. Cracking on the top note, my voice mutates into giggles and I collapse breathlessly onto my bed. I glance at my phone, wanting desperately to
share this feeling with someone else. Before I start to dial, I realize no one will quite understand the momentary high I felt, looking at my reflection, mimicking my overzealous orchestra director, trying to sing with a serious expression on my face.
I think about why I feel so isolated. Why do I find it difficult to share these experiences with others? I remember standing before the Rosh Hashanah candles. My voice flowed over the Hebrew prayer as I light each candle with a
match. I love thinking about thousands of my ancestors performing this same service year after year thousands of years ago. I constantly question my beliefs, religious and political, because I like to learn from these challenges. And
yet, I hold these traditions in special regard, because they are beautiful and ancient in their simplicity.
Although I look forward to exploring my beliefs further in a more diverse setting, being Jewish does not account for my feelings of seclusion. However, my ethnicity and my faith leave me in yet another minority group in my high school. I am the girl constantly asking for signatures on my latest petition. I am the student who actually cares about inequity in school policy. I am the vegetarian in a school full of hunters. I am the overachiever who always has too much to do. My faith does not create these boundaries. Rather, I think it just adds to my idiosyncratic image. No one else sees the point in trying to change anything. I cannot envision sitting around when I feel angry. And yet, I am a part of them; I channel some of their thoughts about the administration and act upon them. I do not like my identity being part of theirs, or theirs part of mine. Inevitably, we mix, we rub off on one another, and we are all resentful because of this. I am sick of hearing about how I am going to hell. The student body is tired of my cynical attitude. It is time for us to part.
Here I sit, jeans rolled to my knees, feet dangling in the lake while I type my thousandth essay, trying to find something sounding remotely like me.</p>
<p>This is my essay for Application</p>
<p>I cannot believe this essay got me into Chicago and Harvard. I used it EA at Chicago and was accepted. Basically, I suck at writing and the MT thing got them. They wanted me for my place of origin.</p>