<p>MIT reject, Harvey Mudd acceptee, waiting on Princeton. Comment on them, for what it's worth... I'd be extremely interested in hearing people's comments. I wrote them pretty last-minute-y. Search my posts if you wanna know my stats :)</p>
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[QUOTE=(Commonapp) In the space provided below, please elaborate on one of your activities (extracurricular, personal activities, or work experience).]
My first cheer performance was a disaster. I had five days to learn the 10-minute routine, set to a fast-paced Britney Spears mix track. I had never been fast at picking up dance steps, and before the entire school, I forgot my steps. The next year, I deliberated over joining cheer--the previous year was enough embarrassment for a lifetime. But surprisingly, I found myself enjoying practice, without the pressure of a performance impending in five days. In front of the coldly-reflecting mirror, every finger had to be arranged, every arm poised, every pleat on the skirt tucked carefully. The motions looked smooth, but had been manicured until spontaneity became a fiction. And after I got over my fears, I found performing exhilaratingly exciting. Standing on the track, the familiar beats fluidly caress my ears, and as I count – 1, 2, down, up – I anticipate the high after successfully flying. I just smile and let my body take over.
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[QUOTE=(MIT) We know you lead a busy life, full of activities, many of which are required of you. Tell us about something you do for the pleasure of it.]
Non-fiction gives me control. I can learn and know the material; it is reassuringly predictable. But reading my favorite mystery short stories takes away that control and gives me an adrenaline boost like no other. I'm being openly manipulated by the author, and I know it. My friends claim they can predict the ending, but I’m always dragged along like I’m sitting in the last carriage of the roller coaster train. With every twist and turn of the story, I feel pain and happiness and, on behalf of the imaginary characters, I feel vindictive toward the villains. Even after reading volumes of Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and Agatha Christie, I still am shocked when the butler turns out to be the mass murderer.
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[QUOTE=(MIT) Although you may not yet know what you want to major in, which department or program at MIT appeals to you and why?]
Ever since I was a wee child, I have asked questions. Horrible questions. I'll give my mother credit for trying, but back when I asked "Why do I have to take this medicine?", "Because it's good for you" didn't cut it. In the eighth grade, a door opened--my chemistry teacher dropped clear Biuret solution into test tubes, and voila, the protein-containing liquids turned violet. Chemistry has answered some of my questions, like how aspirin relieves headaches (by disabling the pain enzyme). But many are still unanswered. For example, building up complex molecules from simple ones--a conundrum that requires puzzle-solving skills as much as technical knowledge. I don't expect that a MIT Chemistry education will answer all my questions, but with faculty expertise in many sub-fields, I will learn the basics. And through the widely available opportunities for undergraduate research, I can answer more of my questions; though undoubtedly, I will raise even more along the way.
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[QUOTE=(Commonapp, MIT) Topic of your choice (My family)]
My family is all girls. Typecasting, bigoted but usually somewhat truthful, is brought to a new level of failure here. Where are the alpha male, the housewife, and the child? My 45-year-old mum has been working a nine-to-five accountant job to provide for the family ever since my dad left in 1991--but she also loves to decorate. My grandmother cooks and cleans, but she also weeds the garden. </p>
<p>I qualify as the child by virtue of age; I study at school and receive the obligatory stream of constant reminders about homework and chores. However, I double as the resident menial laborer, although any other family would think a scrawny 110-lbs girl weak. Assembling an IKEA pine-veneer bookcase? Sure. I also own a keychain screwdriver, and nearly qualify as a mover.</p>
<p>I also work on the technical jobs. Recently I replaced the keyboard on my Dell laptop in order not to pay 40 dollars--"Too expensive!" With an eHow.com guide (step-by-step!) I meticulously unscrewed every one of the 24 screws on the metal chassis before realizing that I only had to remove a plastic bevel above the keyboard. Doing stuff for the family is usually fun, but frustrating. My mother and I once painted an entire master bedroom in seven hours--I couldn't stand the aroma of turpentine for weeks.</p>
<p>My grandmother, true to stereotype, is a domestic expert. Grandma still alters the curtains with her 1960s Singer. On the same machine that she used to sew my mother's school uniforms, I've learned how to thread a needle and oil the gears, and press the pedal just so that the machine purrs away happily without sticking. Now that her eyesight's deteriorating, I do some of the sewing; not with the machine, but simple darning and mending.</p>
<p>Apart from sewing skills, my grandmother has taught me real thrift--not just sending used clothes to the Salvation Army, but avoiding waste by extracting full utility from everything. I've learned not to throw away dragon-fruit peel; it makes an excellent rejuvenating mask to rival Olay's best offerings. Led by my grandmother, my family tries to recycle as much as possible--old clothes become rags and worn bed sheets become pillowcases. Much to my chagrin, most Singaporeans still don't recycle. My friends still throw away aluminum cans despite my reminders: every recycled can saves 300 kcal!</p>
<p>Though my mother supports the family, pays the taxes, and fixes the heaters, she's not any ordinary worker bee. She's also a closet wannabe Martha Stewart with a vision for decor. The beautiful cut-rate antique vase (cut-rate, because of the crack on the bottom) in the corner, she bought from eBay. My mother picked out all the knick-knacks and potted plants in the basement, which is wonderfully kitschy and eclectic.</p>
<p>Truthfully, I'm not as close to my mother as my grandmother. When I was young, my grandmother cooked my meals, saw me up the school bus, and oversaw my homework. On the other hand, my mother had to work late and usually came home after I had gone to bed. Still, I see and appreciate her sacrifices; she perseveres for us. I try to contribute too--I tutored a secondary-school boy in Math, Physics and Chemistry, but somehow the $200 I brought in a month didn't make much of a dent when gas alone was $300. </p>
<p>I love my mother for what she does (a lot!), but I love her more for why she does it--for the woman who brought her up, and the girl she's bringing up.
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