Read this and tell me what you think of it. Questions, comments, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated!
Personal statement for the Common App (the significant experience prompt)
WORD COUNT: 973
CHARACTERS: 5,563
STARDUST
*Last March I was faced with the daunting task of spring cleaning, thanks to my parents latest undertaking: eliminating household dust. My dad had proclaimed my room free of the offending particles after he had given it a thorough vacuuming - no part of it was left unscathed, not the ceiling, the walls, or even the door. I was then charged with tidying the remaining debris; the flotsam and jetsam of my life that had accumulated in unstable piles atop bookshelves, in corners, and under furniture. I attacked them at first with a vengeance, with the Red Hot Chili Peppers providing the perfect backdrop for my antics. But my progress soon slowed as I began to cast a closer eye on the clutter of years long past.
<pre><code>I am a packrat. Nestled in the nooks and crannies of my room were volumes of miscellany: old school projects and unfinished diary entries, letters from friends and forgotten musings in sketchbooks. An hour into my recovery efforts, painstakingly sorted piles appeared -testaments of reason and organization in the face of the madness that was my bedroom. In stark contrast to the neat stacks of paper surrounding it was a haphazard mound of glow in the dark figurines and other oddities a pile that I had mentally titled Keep for Sentimental Reasons.
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Each item there was discovered in a giddy moment of serendipity and pored over for a few golden minutes, awash in nostalgia. To the casual observer, I probably looked ridiculous, smiling and cradling a jar of dusty pebbles as if it was my firstborn. That humble jar sent me back to the second grade, rummaging through rocks at the playground with some other amateur geologists, pretending to find agate and jade in ordinary stones. In a way I was still doing that, searching for precious stones of memory amongst scraps of paper and Ziploc bags. I was reclaiming parts of myself that I had accidentally discarded.
In a binder my younger self had ingeniously titled Personal Stuff, I found pages and pages of facts and figures on astronomy. There were charts of constellations and photocopied articles about our solar system, all meticulously compiled. Apparently all this had been of great importance to me eight years ago. Not surprising, since I collect information and blaze through any subject that catches my interest like a rabid squirrel. Vague recollections began trickling back as I studied the star maps with growing interest and fondness. The memory of one summer night spent stargazing stuck me with particular clarity.
That night, my dad heard a radio report proclaiming that the planet Venus was visible to all in the Western Hemisphere for a limited time. Father and daughter ended up outside, necks craned upwards for hours, attempting to find it amidst all the other similar looking specks of light in the night sky. Venus was a sneaky planet. We were inept astronomers. By the fluorescent light of a street lamp, we mulled over star charts pulled off the Internet. Which way was North, anyways? We found the Big Dipper, only to lose sight of it half an hour later. We traced our bumbling course across the sky with pointing fingers, hopelessly lost and greatly confused. The only constant was the constellation of Orion, the three bright stars of his belt guiding our wavering path. To this day, it is the only star formation I can find with relative ease. Wherever I go, its familiar shape jumps out at me from the jumble of other stars, unchanged since that summer night. It seems fixed in time, like my memories a constant reminder of the past, as well as a comforting symbol of stability for the future.
My dad and I never got any better at stargazing. I abandoned the idea of becoming an astronomer. It was just as easy to get lost in astrophysics as it was in a tangle of constellations, both of which I was getting very good at. However, that has not stopped me from turning my eyes skyward. Looking at the night sky is more humbling for me than standing before the ocean. I know that those tiny pricks of brightness are in reality giant balls of burning gases, inconceivably far away. The light that reaches my eyes is billions of years old. I am not looking at the present - I am staring far into the distant past.
Those stars are burning hydrogen and helium deep within their cores, simple elements that are also a part of me. Im coupled with the rest of the cosmos in an especially profound way the building blocks of those stars and galaxies are exactly the same as the chemicals that make up the very structure of my body. I am made of stardust. Whenever I glance up at the sky and the stars, I am sensing a connection thats too ancient for my mind to properly comprehend. This is much deeper than looking through piles of childhood memories that span only a few years, yet this is also very much the same.
By glimpsing into the past, I am cementing myself more firmly in the present. I have the distance of years to look back, reevaluate, and relive my experiences. I am not just the person I am right now I am also a collection of thoughts, feelings, and experiences spread out over sixteen years worth of time. I dig through my past, literally and figuratively, and find forgotten jewels of childhood memories. On a considerably grander scheme, I turn my sights to the stars, and connect myself to a much greater span of years. Im seeing the history of the universe, painted out for me across the sky. I am going back, but by doing so I am also finding myself, maturing and growing and going forward.*
thanks for reading. 
PS: Plagiarize and I will personally hunt you down and RIP YOUR FACE OFF.