In that moment all the long hours of struggle fell into place. I had already accomplished what I had set out to do before my final performance. Just being there, having worked as hard as I had, made all the worry dissipate. It was just me and the light.
As I sat there and the lights in the theatre clicked off one by one, the setting sun cast a beam of orange sunlight directly center stage. I pretended to watch myself perform in that light, pacing to and fro, shouting heroically to my men and charging headlong into battle, into victory. I looked back down at the memento.
Then something clicked. Henry V never lost hope and neither would I. So I went once more to the stage. Nathaniel Colburn Aliso Viejo, Calif. Keeping my head down and avoiding eye contact, I tried not to attract attention. Drunken shrieks and moans reverberated through the darkening light of the bus stop, while silhouettes and shadows danced about.
My heart pounding, I hoped I would survive the next 40 minutes. I had never seen the homeless at the stop act so deranged. But I had never been there so late. It was well past sundown. A man passed out on the next bench awoke only to shout and drink. One screamed racial slurs and curses at another while they both staggered around. Another lacked an arm and had the most baleful gaze I had ever seen.
After a few long minutes, a shadow detached itself from the opposite benches, came over and sat down next to me. Squinting, I took in her kind, wrinkled face. Ah, thank god, a kindred soul enduring the same thing. When I was a bit older than you, my home was a car. Can you believe that my car, an old Toyota, got 50 miles to the gallon?
I could drive from here to San Francisco in one sitting. The more we talked, the more I enjoyed her company and forgot about the craziness around me. She loved helping people and went to church. Before I could learn more, a homeless man staggered up to me and asked me for money. I was so uncomfortable I relented. Give them food.
The stereotype is true — they buy drugs and alcohol. Look around you. Just then a bus arrived — apparently hers. She procured two hardboiled eggs from her pocket and offered them to me. I politely declined, and she went to get her stuff.
But wait, why was she carrying eggs in her pocket? When the woman emerged from the other side of the stop, she boarded the bus with a sleeping bag and backpack.
She was homeless! She smiled down at me, the bus left, and I sat there in quiet shock. I explored the stop anew. Drugs, alcohol, missing limbs were no longer terrifying. Now, I saw the symptoms of sickness, a sad lifestyle that did no harm except to those who lived it. The homeless lady probably has no idea what an effect she had on me. I even loved the electric feeling of anxiety as I waited for the results. Most of all, though, I loved the pursuit of science itself. Before I knew it, I was well into the seventh week and had completed my first long-term research experiment.
In the end, although the days were long and hard, my work that summer filled me with pride. That pride has confirmed and reinvigorated my love for science. I felt more alive, more engaged, in that lab than I have anywhere else, and I am committed to returning. I have always dreamed of science but since that summer, since my experiment, I have dreamed only of the future. To me, medical science is the future and through it I seek another, permanent, opportunity to follow my passion.
After all, to follow your passion is, literally, a dream come true. In addition to its use of clear, demonstrative language, there is one thing that makes this an effective essay: focus. Indeed, notice that, although the question is broad, the answer is narrow. This is crucial. It can be easy to wax poetic on a topic and, in the process, take on too much. This emphasis gives the reader the opportunity to learn who the writer is on his terms and makes it a truly compelling application essay.
Find your school with our USA School Search College Essay Three The winter of my seventh grade year, my alcoholic mother entered a psychiatric unit for an attempted suicide. Mom survived, but I would never forget visiting her at the ward or the complete confusion I felt about her attempt to end her life. Today I realize that this experience greatly influenced my professional ambition as well as my personal identity. While early on my professional ambitions were aimed towards the mental health field, later experiences have redirected me towards a career in academia.
I come from a small, economically depressed town in Northern Wisconson. Many people in this former mining town do not graduate high school and for them college is an idealistic concept, not a reality.
Neither of my parents attended college. Its light sensors on the alert, it sensed that something was near. It nudged forward as it felt its Day One "Take my advice, I've been here for a while. What did you do? Clarinets, Calluses, and Chemisty For as exclusive as it was, Copley's soloist room was rather simple, furnished with only a piano and a bench.
It was narrow too: the architect must not have considered the consequences of claustrophobia before a solo performance. In any case, I took a seat on the bench and started to set up my clari Why Carnegie Mellon?
Perseverant, intelligent, and a problem solver. I would use these three words to describe myself and to say why I believe Carnegie Mellon University is the school where I would find the most success. Carnegie Mellon has a rigorous academic environment and will allow me to reap the rewards of an educ Karate Extracurricular Essay - "Little Ninjas" Every weekend after my karate class, I volunteer for an hour and a half teaching kids ages The first class is the "Little Ninjas," who are just years old.
If one of the purposes of a college essay is to make yourself come to life off the page, then this essay hits the mark. Far from seeming unfinished or unedited, the somewhat stream-of-consciousness style establishes a humorous and self-deprecating tone that makes the reader instantly like the applicant. The sweet smell of cinnamon resonated through the house. A wave of heat washed over my face as I opened the oven door to reveal my first batch of snickerdoodles.
Small domes of sugary cookies shyly peeked from the edge of the door. I smiled as I thought about the joy these cookies would bring to my friends. They like to compare me to the witch in Hansel and Gretel, joking that I fatten children up and then forget to eat them.
There is something about the warmth of a kitchen filled with the buttery smell of pastry that evokes a feeling of utter relaxation. I find joy in sharing this warm and homey experience by showering the people around me with sweets. For as long as I can remember, baking has been an integral part of my life.
Thanks to busy parents and hungry siblings, I was encouraged to cook from a relatively young age. Time spent in the kitchen naturally piqued my interest in baking, and that glimmer of interest blossomed into a heart-warming hobby that rejuvenates my stressful days, improves upon even the happiest moments, and brings joy to the people around me. To me, food is not simply about sustenance.
A month earlier, the Pasadena Symphony-Pops had commissioned me to create a video featuring its debuting conductor, Michael Feinstein. Now, the five-time Grammy nominee hunkered down on his piano bench, impatiently waiting for my command. With no professional equipment and little preparation beforehand, I had thrown together whatever I could find.
A day before, I had taken pliers to bend a coat-hanger into a holder for the purple-cased iPhone 4. I even used a block of Post-Its to prop up a second-hand GoPro for another camera angle. Fumbling about, I felt like a child looking desperately for direction, almost expecting an adult to hand me a checklist—complete with the right questions to ask, directions to give, and instructions to complete.
Just then a bus arrived — apparently hers. We were assigned to a small room on the 14th floor with two tiny twin beds. I dove head-first into editing, determined to not let my inexperience stop me. They look at you unjudgmentally and li I needed, more than anything, to escape. Reading sample college essays gives you great ideas and helps to illustrate what is expected from a good college essay.
He had performed for American presidents and even the Queen of England, every moment documented with autographed photos hanging in his guest bathroom. This student focused on a single question — where is home? I blended into crowds, the definition of typical. The 4 years I spent in the Army cultivated a deep-seated passion for serving society. Perseverant, intelligent, and a problem solver.
Harvard is a school built on strong christian foundations and this has influenced my body, soul and spirit to be in that college. We visit every two or three years or so.
Sweaty palms and dizziness, a tap of a shaking finger to a smudged screen. There are various semesters where, due to this demand, I attended school less than full time. Resource in Mind I only allow myself to watch one movie in theatres every year. I went home after the service and threw my laptop open and wrote about all that was unfair, and there was a lot to write about. Warrior Princess To understand why I want to attend the University of Chicago, take a look inside my mind.
NMR Spectroscopy Had my synthesis reaction worked—yes or no? While in the Army, I had the great honor to serve with several men and women who, like me, fought to make a difference in the world. Despite taking a long time and the difficulty in carving separate time for school with such occupational requirements, I remained persistent aiming towards attending school as my schedule would allow. His words somehow become my words, his memories become my memories. In that moment all the long hours of struggle fell into place.
Face ashen, she stumbles toward me, the heavy footfalls syncing with my throbbing heart. All other questions flooding my thoughts dissipated, however, when my eyes lay on Rice's beautiful Byzantine styled buildings with its magnificent archways A wave of heat washed over my face as I opened the oven door to reveal my first batch of snickerdoodles. We were assigned to a small room on the 14th floor with two tiny twin beds.
As it disappeared under handfuls of dirt, my own heart grew stronger, my own breath more steady. I ran down to grab breakfast, but the voice of the news reporter and the hurricane alert noise coming from the kitchen television distracted me. I explored the stop anew.
The sweet smell of cinnamon resonated through the house. Embarrassed, we both laughed and picked up the books a second time. When I was a bit older than you, my home was a car.