Undergraduate / Activity Essay for Common Application (paintings) [8]

In the space provided below, please elaborate on one of your activities (extracurricular, personal activities, or work experience)(150 words or fewer).

I stand before the canvas, tools in hand. Meticulously, I brush on a layer of glossy gel to the surface of my eighteen-by-twenty-four canvas. As I stand back to evaluate the painting's newly shimmering exterior, I note the gel's transformative effects. It adds a glimmer to even the dullest of surfaces. Art has been the gloss medium in my life. On even the most lackluster of days, I know that there's a tube of paint, a sable brush, and my stout bottle of gloss medium to brighten things up. When I can't be at the easel, I neglect the canvas and turn to other means. I'll sketch the doorknobs of my bedroom, observe the lines in a building, or mull over the ways light passes from the sunny exterior of my classroom to illuminate its dark interior. In this manner I apply art, my internal glossy gel, to all that comes into my visual space.

Undergraduate / Essay for Princeton, Williams, Swarthmore, Bowdoin, and Kenyon-(Personal Essay) [2]

Setting Werther Free

The spine was a faded yellow. The modest price was scribbled messily beneath the book's ragged cover. A musty odor had found a home amidst pages and pages of antique german script. It would have been impossible to guess that my shabby, unassuming copy of "The Sorrows of Young Werther" would have such a great effect on me. But it did. The novel wasted away on my top shelf, unopened, for over a year. Only until the book had gained a brother-this time, an english one-would my connection to it become firmly established. You see, Werther and I have a lot in common. Both of us are products of our societies, and both of our societies are in love with the idea of change.

As I believe most adolescents of Generation Z would concur, life is a journey filled with turbulence, woe, and the occasional spurt of happiness. Goethe's "Werther" chronicles this passage from hopeful beginning to tragic end. I saw myself in Werther's attempt to establish a life of personal creativity and freedom. For years this has been my own goal, and I have taken many of the same approaches as Werther in my effort to become a more accomplished artist. Daily sketches, paintings, and journal entries. I even laughed to myself as I read a passage describing Werther's intense observation of a water droplet. I had done the same just weeks before. But all of Werther's efforts were for naught. In the end he was reduced to a hopeless pile of emotional wreckage-his desire to become a better artist coupled with his desire for Lotte, his love interest, grew too burdensome. Should I have grown scared as I watched Werther follow a fruitless path into oblivion? No. I know that I can limit myself, apply restraints; that I can "be in this world but not of it."

Moderation and independence are two important lessons I gleaned from reading "Werther." Watching Werther fall deeper into his obsession with Lotte, the woman he passionately pursued, gave me the chance to see the ravages of letting one's desires grow out of control. Had Werther been able to limit his need for love, his life would not have ended so tragically. I feel independence ties into this need to limit oneself as well. Werther invests himself so deeply in others that he becomes dependent on them to grow and flourish. Finding out that Lotte has no desire for his affections is Werther's ultimate downfall. Herein lies the path to awakening I experienced while reading "Werther." We cannot be so needy as to wait for others to guide us from paths of destruction; we must keep ourselves from hanging on the words of others as if they are the reason for our sustained existence.

As I sit here now, both editions of the book placed before me, I see "three Werthers." Beneath the tattered cover of the first I imagine a Werther still writhing in the wretched agony of a world he forged for himself. The second edition reveals a Werther brought back to life; reanimated and ready for a second chance at being understood. This Werther waits on edge to pull the unsuspecting reader into his painful domain, but gives the reader a chance to pity him still. The last version, but an illusory construct of my own mind, is "my Werther." There is no room for suffering here. I find the "Sorrows" lessened when I apply my limits to them. My final Werther is set free from the chains of reliance and the fetters of need. I'm glad to be the author of my independent Werther.

Undergraduate / "Setting Werther Free"--Common App Essay [10]

Setting Werther Free

The spine was a faded yellow. The modest price was scribbled messily beneath the book's ragged cover. A musty odor had found a home amidst pages and pages of antique German script. It would have been impossible to guess that my shabby, unassuming copy of The Sorrows of Young Werther would have such a great effect on me, but it did. The novel sat on my top shelf, unopened, for over a year. Only when the book gained a brother-this time, an English version-would my connection to it expand and become firmly established. You see, Werther and I have much in common. Both of us are in pursuit of artistic greatness and a better understanding of the world around us. I, however, go to different ends in my quest toward self-improvement.

As I believe most adolescents of Generation Z would concur, life is a journey filled with turbulence, woe, and the occasional spurt of happiness. Goethe's Werther chronicles this passage from a hopeful beginning to a tragic end. I saw myself in Werther's attempt to establish a life of personal creativity and freedom. For years, this has been my own goal, and I have taken many of the same approaches as Werther in my effort to become a more accomplished artist: daily sketches, paintings, and journal entries. I even laughed to myself as I read a passage describing Werther's intense observation of a water droplet. I had done the same just weeks before. But all of Werther's efforts were for naught. In the end, he was reduced to a hopeless pile of emotional wreckage-his desire to become a better artist coupled with his desire for Lotte, his love interest, grew too burdensome. Should I have grown scared as I watched Werther follow a fruitless path into oblivion? No. I know that I can limit myself, apply restraints; that I can "be in this world but not of it."

Moderation and independence are two important lessons I gleaned from Werther. Watching Werther fall deeper into his obsession with Lotte gave me the chance to see the ravages of letting one's desires grow out of control. Had Werther been able to limit his need for love, his life would not have ended so tragically. I feel independence ties into this need to limit oneself as well. Werther invests himself so deeply in others that he becomes dependent on them to grow and flourish. Finding out that Lotte has no desire for his affections is Werther's ultimate downfall. Herein lies the path to awakening I experienced while reading Werther. We cannot be so needy as to wait for others to guide us from paths of destruction; we must keep ourselves from hanging on the words of others as if they are the reason for our sustained existence.

As I sit here now, with both editions of the book placed before me, I see three Werthers. Beneath the tattered cover of the first, I imagine a Werther still writhing in the wretched agony of a world he forged for himself. The second edition reveals a Werther brought back to life- reanimated and ready for a second chance at being understood. This Werther waits on edge to pull the unsuspecting reader into his painful domain, but gives the reader a chance to pity him. The last version, an illusory one of my own construct, is my personal Werther. There is no room for suffering here. I find the "sorrows" lessened when I apply my own limits to them. My final Werther is set free from the chains of reliance and the fetters of need.

Undergraduate / John, my grandfather- Heritage Essay for Supplement [2]

If I am the sum total of all my experiences, than the story of my grandparents is worth relating. My grandfather, John Ayala Alonzo, was born in 1934 to Roman and Maria Alonzo. After the death of Maria's first husband, she met Roman. She was ten years his senior. Maria had already raised six children by her first husband, although many had died. At age forty-two, she gave birth to my grandfather. John was to be her last and only child with Roman.

Roman was a philanderer. Maria was said to have engaged in knife fights with the townswomen who mocked her husband's serial infidelity. John witnessed this ridicule. When John was fourteen years old, the town sheriff knocked on the Alonzo's door and callously informed John that his father had been murdered and he needed to identify the body down at the station.

Perhaps the "sum total" theory motivated my grandfather's high school journey and eventual career. John loved the movies. He went as often as he could. It is possible that he modeled his persona after the characters in the movies he admired. At least he dressed the part; he bought and pressed his own clothes. I suppose it is not a surprise that he appreciated the theatre and was an actor in high school plays. Was John a high achiever, or a young man ashamed of a sordid past? Either way, ego was the driving factor behind his success.

My grandmother, Suzanne, had serious intentions of becoming a nun. One of the young nuns at her parochial school vehemently urged her to reconsider this choice and wait to make it after she had dated for a while. This led to Suzanne's decision to leave Catholic school and attend public school. Her intense desire to become a nun was soon replaced by her equally intense desire to be with John. He was the embodiment of her romantic ideals: a hardworking, handsome Latino. In Dallas, Texas, this was not an acceptable partner for a Caucasian woman. This was irrelevant to Suzanne, however. They married after her high school graduation.

John got a job at a local TV station, where he moved up the ladder. He got a part doing a puppet voice on a local night show, which was eventually syndicated. Suzanne encountered blatant racism in Dallas after the birth of their first child. This influenced their move to Hollywood, where John's career could flourish. While racism existed everywhere, it was easier to be Mexican-American in Southern California than it was in Texas. Suzanne's devout Catholicism quickly led to three children.

John found himself repeating family history. He followed in his father's footsteps and engaged in an affair. After a long separation, Suzanne and John eventually divorced. She received meager child support and no alimony. Suzanne qualified for welfare and educational funding at a UC campus, but denied herself both in hopes that she would be able to support herself on her own and not leave her children to a caregiver. She regrets not getting a college education, but she does not regret being there for her children.

John was now achieving success as a cinematographer. His career was his focus, not his relationship with his daughters. John's daughters were critical of his fatherhood. He was unwilling to tolerate this criticism, and in turn, disowned them.

My mother's childhood created an opportunity for her to see duality. My grandmother chose parenthood over the pursuit of education and career status, while my grandfather chose the latter. One can resent family history, or learn from it. What I have learned from this history is that balance creates harmony. Without balance, all things fall apart. I realize I am an impermanent creature, but with the application of balance, I can achieve harmony in both my career and family.

Undergraduate / How I First Learned About Bowdoin [4]

Hi guys! I just want to check this brief (under 150 word) statement for grammar and sentence structure. Thanks! It's simply a response to how I first learned about Bowdoin.

A Bowdoin student and alumna of my school, ******* Cutler, visited Country Day during Winter Break last year. Being new to the school, I hadn't been acquainted with *******, but most of my friends knew her well. They greeted her warmly with hugs and questions about her college life. ******* could only rant and rave about how much she was enjoying Bowdoin-the people, the classes, the athletics. Although I was mainly an observer of my friends' conversation with *******, I listened carefully to the things she had to say about Bowdoin College, and researched Bowdoin on the internet that night. I was delightfully surprised by what I found out about Bowdoin during my search. Earlier this year, I attended the Bowdoin Invitational. ******* kindly offered to meet me in Smith Union to chat about her experiences at Bowdoin. We ended up having a three-hour long conversation!

Undergraduate / "Preparing to join my fellow polar bears" - Bowdoin supplement [9]

Do you guys think this is too different? Bowdoin's mascot is a polar bear, so I thought this might be an interesting, creative-writing-sort-of-take on the prompt. Should I cut out some of the parts about reuniting with Bowdoin and talk more about my academics?

Bowdoin is a liberal arts college that thrives on intellectual discourse in and out of the classroom. Students, faculty, and staff all participate in the exchange of ideas in an atmosphere characterized by high achievement and a sense of balance. The Admissions Committee is eager to learn more about you and your school community. Reflecting on your own educational experiences, how have you prepared yourself to enter an academic environment like Bowdoin's? (Suggested length: 250-500 words.)

Parker was a young polar bear. He wasn't a cub, but he wasn't an adult either. As a youthful bear, Parker relied on his strong sense of curiosity to help him solve problems and become a stronger student. He found his method of learning helped him through high school. Instead of simply settling for what he learned in class, he would expand upon his knowledge by doing research at home. History projects were not finished until he had thoroughly examined every detail, read every minute fact, and covered every inch of the topic in question. He developed a polar bear-sized hunger for knowledge.

Parker may have been motivated academically, but he felt that balance was lacking between his academics and extracurricular activities. He had always been interested in art, but had never really pursued it at school. Along with enrolling in an intensive AP Studio Art class, Parker reestablished the National Art Honors Society at Country Day and was appointed president. As the polar bear president of the NAHS, he quickly learned how to manage his succeed in his academics and extracurricular pursuits while still getting adequate time to hibernate nightly. Parker enjoyed being a leader. He also enjoyed the strong sense of camaraderie he felt with his peers as he led a study group or an NAHS meeting. There was only one problem. Parker was the only polar bear at his tiny Sacramento school.

Earlier this year, Parker was asked to apply to the Bowdoin Invitational. He sent in his application with his snout twisted into a worried polar bear cringe; for some reason he was particularly anxious about being admitted to the program. Parker felt the Invitational had something truly exciting in store for him.

And he was right.

The day Parker arrived at Bowdoin, he was greeted in Moulton Union with a warm polar bear hug. He ran into a familiar polar bear, Tiernan Cutler, while sitting in on an engaging Renaissance Art History class. They spoke for a bit afterward, and decided to meet in Smith Union to chat a bit more about Bowdoin. Tiernan shared Parker's interest in Art History. "As long as you've prepared well enough in your Art History classes," Tiernan told Parker, "the faculty will let you curate your own exhibits at the art museum."

As he passed through the long hallway and out the door, something happened. Memories flooded his furry skull as he stood before the polar bear statue in front of Smith Union. He remembered the "Great Crack"; the momentous splitting of the Bowdoin Iceberg when he was but a wee cub of three or four years old. It was all coming back to him. He recollected the time at which the icy ground beneath him had split from his home of Brunswick, Maine, drifted all the way around the tip of South America, and landed on the shores of the Sacramento River. He had finally returned home to his fellow polar bears at Bowdoin. After years of hard academic preparation, he was ready to go back.

Undergraduate / Bates Vitality Essay--Collecting and Restoring Antique Books [6]

How will you, with your life experiences, contribute to the vitality of Bates?

Some people simply ignore them. I, however, adore them. Antique books have been my passion since I walked through the door of Scriptum Bookstore in Oxford, England. What separates me from most book collectors is my penchant for the "not-so-rare" books: the ones with modest prices scribbled carelessly beneath their covers. My ideal book is that which has been shoved into the cracks reserved for useless, stained, unredeemable volumes. Once I get my hands on a book such as this, I begin my work. I am always willing to restore my acquisitions: even if it means buffing out a book's leather cover with old shoe polish, resewing the binding of a mangled manuscript, or painstakingly erasing every pencil mark left by a book's previous users.

In my eyes, each individual book is a one-of-a-kind treasure. Every one of them deserves a chance to be held, to be read, to be restored. I extend to Bates my knowledge of the "book arts" and my intense curiosity for the dusty and forgotten of this world. Through my restorative efforts, I have breathed new life into things once considered irreversibly derelict. Adding to the life of an already flourishing Bates shouldn't be too hard, then.

Be harsh, please! I'm hoping to submit this soon...

Undergraduate / Williams Supplement "Looking into the bookshop window" [5]

"Imagine looking out a window at an environment that is particularly significant to you. What do you see? Explain how this environment relates to you and why it is significant." 300 word limit.

I really think I need a transition between the first and second paragraph. What do you think?

Just past Brasenose Lane and to the right of Cornmarket lies quiet little Turl Street. People rarely find themselves on "The Turl." I am not surprised by this-the reasons to be there are few. Besides being a back ally entrance to three lesser-known Oxford colleges, Turl Street is only home to Scriptum Bookshop. As I peer through the leaded glass window of this hole-in-the-wall store, I am bemused by the curious way in which the owner has arranged his stock. Never have I seen such a mishmash organization of items that would be treated with reverence by any respectable antiquarian collector. I see mangled manuscripts in need of rebinding and pages requiring the erasure of pencil marks from years gone by.

In my eyes, each individual book is a one-of-a-kind treasure. Every one of these books, I think to myself, deserves a chance to be held, to be read, to be restored. I want to share with the clearly negligent owner of Scriptum Books my knowledge of the "book arts," and my intense curiosity for the dusty and forgotten of this world. Through my restorative efforts, I have breathed new life into tomes once considered irreversibly derelict. I see nothing but potential-small projects stacked neatly, one on top of the other, taking the form of books.

Pity, Scriptum is closed tonight. I suppose there's always tomorrow.