Undergraduate / Fortification - Rice Supplement Essay [6]

Prompt:
The quality of Rice's academic life and the Residential College System is heavily influenced by the unique life experiences and cultural traditions each student brings. What perspective do you feel that you will contribute to life at Rice?

On a whim, the box was picked up. I stood on my bed, looking down to the floor, and turned over the box releasing the multitude of letters from colleges and universities that had accumulated over the year. The colorful papers fluttered down landing sporadically on the floor like a collage. I jumped down on them, almost slipping, determined to look through every single letter, booklet and package.

Eyes weary from looking at the small lettering in the thick booklet from Chicago University; I lifted my gaze to let my eyes rest. Rather than seeing a wall of colorful stripes, as expected, I saw inspiration. Visible from my window was a recently shaved palm tree. I quickly grabbed my shoes and ran outside, my small, yappy-type dog running after me. Resting on the grass lay gold, in my eyes; trash in my parents'. I walked back inside dragging four or so palm tree branches behind me, thorns sticking out every which way, but I ignored those and the little cuts my fingers were attaining. Such trivial things were ignored for I saw something grand up ahead - I saw a fort. My grandfather built his house; my dad built my room and the study, extensions from our house. It was obviously in my blood to build, I assumed.

Time revealed, however, that I did not receive the amazing building genes my dad's side of the family possessed. After having painstakingly removed the leaves from the branches, cutting them to equal lengths, reviewing the remaining college letters, taping the letters together to form one continuous sheet, and connecting the four branches together, the fort collapsed. It descended slowly before my eyes, as if mocking me, laughing at me and my silly attempt to make a fort. This one minor setback didn't get to me though. I would not allow it to. I was determined to make a fort, I was determined to create something useful of seemingly useless objects, I was determined to create a nostalgic piece of functional art. With pride and resolve coursing through my veins, I set out to try again. This time, armed with a dome-like design, I was sure that I could not fail.

I was wrong. After two failed attempts my resilience was wavering. I wanted to make a fort, that much I knew. How? I had no clue. My impulsively thought out designs had both failed, and a little part of me wanted to just stop. Inside my head was a little voice telling me to reach for a videogame and command a group of loyal soldiers with the use of rhythm instead of making a fort, however epic it may be. A louder voice drowned out that softer voice. It was the voice of my parents telling me "Síguele, mija," and "Andale, mija," encouraging me to continue and try again, to finish what I had set out to do.

I listened and persevered. At this point I realized that I was not the best at making plans, so I swallowed my pride and asked my future architect of a sister for help. She agreed, and, with two brains working at it rather than one, we were sure to succeed. We headed outside and -- like our ancestors -- used a bit of adobe to build the fort. The supports stood up well and were sturdy, reinforced with hardened mud, the sheet of paper went on smoothly and the fort was up.

I reveled in not my, but our success and stood back to admire the colorful 'building' we had created in the sweltering heat. After sitting inside for a while, I went back into my house to help my mother out with dinner. I did not notice the accumulation of thick, gray clouds or the darkening of the sky. I failed to notice that distinctive pre-rain smell. I failed to notice the miniscule droplets falling on my arms as I headed inside.

It rained. After finally getting the fort up, cruel nature quickly tore it down. I, however, felt no anger toward the rain as I saw it tear down the beautiful creation. I felt no exasperation as the papers got wet and soggy, as the dried mud keeping the supports up moistened and slipped away. As the vestige of my hard work melted away, I smiled. It wasn't really about the fort, I realized. It was about doing something, anything other than sitting around lazily during the summer. It was about showing my unique quirkiness and relentless determination and accomplishing something I could take pride in. It was about being creative and having fun through working laboriously, and it was fun.

I'm not sure about the last sentence, and I think my grammar needs some help.
My friend mentioned that the evolution of ideas in the second paragraph was like me - quick, sporadic, random and kind of hard to follow. After re-reading it I saw what she was talking about, but I'm not sure how to fix it or if it needs fixing...

Help please.
:)

Undergraduate / Contribution Essay (Rice's academic life) [3]

Hello,

I am writing this essay to show what I have to contribute. Honest feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Here's the prompt: The quality of Rice's academic life and the Residential College System are heavily influenced by the unique life experiences and cultural traditions each student brings. What perspective do you feel that you will contribute to life at Rice?

It was a late school night, and even though the day had been tough, I could do nothing but sit and wait. The silence had caused my patience and composure to flee, leaving me to face fear head on. And yet all I could do was sit in that chair with a worn cushion, that chair that had and will seat many more like me. Its scent was uncomfortable yet welcomed, smelling of acceptance, smelling of the loss of hope. I sat, allowing the stagnant walls to echo the voids of loneliness. I sat, wishing for her, and for us, to pull through together.

I had been woken by my stepfather late that night, leading me to find her in her room, lying on her side. Our tear filled eyes met, and as she gasped for precious breath, she held her chest, making time float heavily, dreadfully suspended in the thick atmosphere of anxiety. Her bluing countenance made my insides turn into water, letting the big "why?" run through my head, strangling my sinking heart in a deadly hold. I moved her tear soaked hair from her face until the red and white flashes from the ambulance colored our faces. The strange men in white and blue came and took her away, leaving me uncertain, afraid, and alone.

My beautifully delicate mother has lived a tired life. I wonder how such a tiny woman can have so much strength, but my mother was strong enough to survive her husband's death, her battle with thyroid cancer, and to this day, she possesses enough might to carry the heavy load of loving her five young adults, having cared for my siblings and I since day one. I never imagined that one could love as much as she can. She is the kind of mother that laughed when I accidentally put salt in her coffee instead of sugar, the kind that is able to have held me as I cried, making my homosexuality known. As ashamed as many may be to have a lesbian for a daughter, she proudly made it known that her hard working, persevering daughter was gay. My mother's victories over her ever so tricky life have inspired me to make the best of every little situation, to make two rights from every wrong. She is the one I call best friend, my amazing and incredible mother.

While I sat in that hospital, I thought I had forever lost her to cruel and wretched death. Terrible thoughts of a life without her fueled my already racing heart, almost numbing me to the point of painlessness. Deep breaths were taken, only in an attempt to mollify the void of my nearly lost better half. But finally, another strange man in white sat next to me, informing me that her strong will to fight allowed her to stay with me. Rising from the chair with the worn cushion, I walked into her room, finding my delicately tired mother asleep. I then sunk into a new, soft seat next to her bed and waited for her awakening.

It is not uncommon to have to live an uneventful life, but only a handful of people can look at every situation as either a blessing or a lesson learned. The fear that I have experienced allows me to appreciate every adversity as strength gained or a new understanding acquired. I am able to offer a radiant optimism to those I meet due to every tear that has been shed or withheld. With my hands, callous and tough from working in and out of school, I am enabled and willing to offer the firmest of work ethics and disciplines. And with my words, I intend to bestow the most ardent inspiration that sparks the desires to learn, to live, and to love the life that needs to be lived.