arberlajqi
Oct 30, 2011
Undergraduate / 'darkness is the mere absence of light' - University of Chicago Essay [3]
Essay Option 5: In the spirit of adventurous inquiry, pose a question of your own. If your prompt is original and thoughtful, then you should have little trouble writing a great essay. Draw on your best qualities as a writer, thinker, visionary, social critic, sage, citizen of the world, or future citizen of the University of Chicago; take a little risk, and have fun
One cold and dreary morning I had awoken to the absence of the miraculous light. Darkness had become impervious, beginning to surround me and lure me into hopelessness, agony and resentment. I was baffled by eccentric ideas perplexing my mind at unimaginably incomprehensible rates. How is that the one person who guides you your entire life vanishes at one instant? "Why me" and "Why now" I pondered continuously. Unable to hold this ineffable feeling inside or even know what to think at that age, I ruptured in tears and obscurity. But I knew that not even a bucket full of tears or an ocean full of them would ever bring him back. "What was I to do? Everything had suddenly changed and nothing seemed to make sense. It was the first time I had experienced the loss of a loved one. "Where would he go", "What would he do", "Would he ever come back" became the questions that were attacking the preliminary roots of my understanding of life itself.
Even though quite young, I knew many things for my particular age and thought I was prepared for anything I encountered. However, that day proved me wrong, establishing doubtfulness for everything that lay ahead. I knew that life is not fair but I was not ready for it to happen, not then and not at that point. I was beginning to grasp the difference between visualization and personal experience. I did not want to hear the "do not worry for he will always be in your heart or watching over you" talk because it simply was not enough to satisfy my emotional desolation. How could such a fragile child, as I was, accept the death of his grandfather who had always been there for his entire life? Since a child, my grandpa had taken care of me as if I was his own child. He disciplined me and taught me how to behave as a man even though I was nothing but a child. He was like a father to me and at the same time a best friend, one who I could tell anything. When you lose such an altruistic and inspiring person from your life in one instant and know that there is nothing you can do to revive him or her, for the first time, you begin to fear death and abhor life. All the late afternoons out on the porch, the rainy soccer Sundays, the Friday historical discussions and the morale lessons of the week, altogether with my grandpa are now nothing but a memory.
In Kosova it is a tradition to bury the dead five days after his or her death until the family members have been visited and received their condolences. This gave me time to prepare for what was going to be an unforgettably poignant funeral. Before the funeral, as visitors passed by and gave their condolences to our family, I hid in my room because I communicating with people would only deteriorate me further. Finally, the funeral had arrived and I was nowhere to be seen. I had promised my mother that I would have walked alone to the funeral because I wanted to be alone one more time before his burial so I would have given my last farewell. I could not bear to see my grandfather buried under what I began to assume a cold earth because his benevolence was too greeting, too candid and too warm to be taken away from my family and me. I found myself standing in front of the soccer court, a mesmerizing reflection of a childhood memory with my grandfather. It was the precisely the soccer court that had strengthened our relationship and his encouraging words that had made me a successful and devoted soccer player. At times of despondency, my grandfather and I visited the soccer court which provided us with comfort and took our pessimistic thoughts away from us. I walked along the court reminiscing old memories with my grandfather, as his reflection faded into the depth of the river that lay ahead of the court. I found myself lost, insecure, hopeless and ready to relinquish everything I had accomplished because it just seemed tangential and abstruse. Tears had begun to fall down my numb face, a face that no longer gave an emblem of optimism or jubilation.
Dazed I was as, I heard the voice of my grandmother in my head "Arber, my poor child, get up your soaking wet". I had been lying on the ground at the soccer court as if I were swimming in the depths of the dark ocean, daydreaming about what could have happened or what would have happened next but I woke up to reality. "I know you miss him and so do I but do you think this is what he would have wanted for us? Do you think that he would have wanted you to suffer and not move on your life? No! Grandpa Jakup lived a long and happy life and you know he would scold you for acting this far out. I know you love him and miss him and so do all of us but we have to try to understand the situation and be thankful that we had such a man in our lives. You have known him your entire life and you know better what to expect from him. There are two types of people Arber and you know this saying more than I do because grandpa Jakup recited it more times than the years of his life. There are quitters and there are those who fight to the end no matter what the circumstances and level of difficulty and Lajqi's are not quitters, neither are you nor will you ever be. Now rise up at this instance and let us give your grandfather the Funeral he deserves. Everyone is awaiting your presence because we will not to bury him without your presence." Tough one is she not? My grandmother definitely learned the art of persuasion throughout my grandfather, for when he talked you thought that anything was possible. Suddenly, I began to feel cold, wet and foremost alive! Everything my grandmother had stated started to connect and formulate into positive thoughts. My grandfather would not have wanted me to move on with my life full of sorrow, for he believed that every moment of it should be cherished and celebrated. I evoke thinking that if my grandfather had been alive I would have been in real trouble due to all that pessimism that I allowed escape from my control. I began to recall on his witty words, remembering him saying that it was never too late to change and then it just made sense.
In the midst of mayhem, a small particle of light began to take shape and penetrate through the darkness that had blinded me. I got up soak and wet from the ground and proudly went to my grandfather's funeral. As I threw dirt onto his casket, my tears had become pure water for there was simply no more salt left in my swollen eyes. They say that the good are taken away at most difficult times and that those around to experience the tragedy will become stronger and learn how to deal with difficult situations because life is too long to learn from and too short to learn experience. My grandfather has secured his place in my heart, a scar that not even darkness could overwhelm. He has helped raise me into the man I am today and I will never forget his words or his presence within my life. I now understand that there are different approaches to an issue or a situation that people can choose from. Optimism is the best approach because life is too short to be pessimistic and long enough to be optimistic. I now vividly see the light, the light that even at its smallest capacity could still penetrate through the dark. Einstein believed that darkness is the mere absence of light. If that is the case then Jakup Kozmaqi has and will always be a part of my life. I may not see him but I am always under the hope and will of light.
If anyone can help me with the grammar errors and some suggestions as soon as possible because today is the deadline for early action and i'm aplyying.
PLEASE HELP!
Essay Option 5: In the spirit of adventurous inquiry, pose a question of your own. If your prompt is original and thoughtful, then you should have little trouble writing a great essay. Draw on your best qualities as a writer, thinker, visionary, social critic, sage, citizen of the world, or future citizen of the University of Chicago; take a little risk, and have fun
One cold and dreary morning I had awoken to the absence of the miraculous light. Darkness had become impervious, beginning to surround me and lure me into hopelessness, agony and resentment. I was baffled by eccentric ideas perplexing my mind at unimaginably incomprehensible rates. How is that the one person who guides you your entire life vanishes at one instant? "Why me" and "Why now" I pondered continuously. Unable to hold this ineffable feeling inside or even know what to think at that age, I ruptured in tears and obscurity. But I knew that not even a bucket full of tears or an ocean full of them would ever bring him back. "What was I to do? Everything had suddenly changed and nothing seemed to make sense. It was the first time I had experienced the loss of a loved one. "Where would he go", "What would he do", "Would he ever come back" became the questions that were attacking the preliminary roots of my understanding of life itself.
Even though quite young, I knew many things for my particular age and thought I was prepared for anything I encountered. However, that day proved me wrong, establishing doubtfulness for everything that lay ahead. I knew that life is not fair but I was not ready for it to happen, not then and not at that point. I was beginning to grasp the difference between visualization and personal experience. I did not want to hear the "do not worry for he will always be in your heart or watching over you" talk because it simply was not enough to satisfy my emotional desolation. How could such a fragile child, as I was, accept the death of his grandfather who had always been there for his entire life? Since a child, my grandpa had taken care of me as if I was his own child. He disciplined me and taught me how to behave as a man even though I was nothing but a child. He was like a father to me and at the same time a best friend, one who I could tell anything. When you lose such an altruistic and inspiring person from your life in one instant and know that there is nothing you can do to revive him or her, for the first time, you begin to fear death and abhor life. All the late afternoons out on the porch, the rainy soccer Sundays, the Friday historical discussions and the morale lessons of the week, altogether with my grandpa are now nothing but a memory.
In Kosova it is a tradition to bury the dead five days after his or her death until the family members have been visited and received their condolences. This gave me time to prepare for what was going to be an unforgettably poignant funeral. Before the funeral, as visitors passed by and gave their condolences to our family, I hid in my room because I communicating with people would only deteriorate me further. Finally, the funeral had arrived and I was nowhere to be seen. I had promised my mother that I would have walked alone to the funeral because I wanted to be alone one more time before his burial so I would have given my last farewell. I could not bear to see my grandfather buried under what I began to assume a cold earth because his benevolence was too greeting, too candid and too warm to be taken away from my family and me. I found myself standing in front of the soccer court, a mesmerizing reflection of a childhood memory with my grandfather. It was the precisely the soccer court that had strengthened our relationship and his encouraging words that had made me a successful and devoted soccer player. At times of despondency, my grandfather and I visited the soccer court which provided us with comfort and took our pessimistic thoughts away from us. I walked along the court reminiscing old memories with my grandfather, as his reflection faded into the depth of the river that lay ahead of the court. I found myself lost, insecure, hopeless and ready to relinquish everything I had accomplished because it just seemed tangential and abstruse. Tears had begun to fall down my numb face, a face that no longer gave an emblem of optimism or jubilation.
Dazed I was as, I heard the voice of my grandmother in my head "Arber, my poor child, get up your soaking wet". I had been lying on the ground at the soccer court as if I were swimming in the depths of the dark ocean, daydreaming about what could have happened or what would have happened next but I woke up to reality. "I know you miss him and so do I but do you think this is what he would have wanted for us? Do you think that he would have wanted you to suffer and not move on your life? No! Grandpa Jakup lived a long and happy life and you know he would scold you for acting this far out. I know you love him and miss him and so do all of us but we have to try to understand the situation and be thankful that we had such a man in our lives. You have known him your entire life and you know better what to expect from him. There are two types of people Arber and you know this saying more than I do because grandpa Jakup recited it more times than the years of his life. There are quitters and there are those who fight to the end no matter what the circumstances and level of difficulty and Lajqi's are not quitters, neither are you nor will you ever be. Now rise up at this instance and let us give your grandfather the Funeral he deserves. Everyone is awaiting your presence because we will not to bury him without your presence." Tough one is she not? My grandmother definitely learned the art of persuasion throughout my grandfather, for when he talked you thought that anything was possible. Suddenly, I began to feel cold, wet and foremost alive! Everything my grandmother had stated started to connect and formulate into positive thoughts. My grandfather would not have wanted me to move on with my life full of sorrow, for he believed that every moment of it should be cherished and celebrated. I evoke thinking that if my grandfather had been alive I would have been in real trouble due to all that pessimism that I allowed escape from my control. I began to recall on his witty words, remembering him saying that it was never too late to change and then it just made sense.
In the midst of mayhem, a small particle of light began to take shape and penetrate through the darkness that had blinded me. I got up soak and wet from the ground and proudly went to my grandfather's funeral. As I threw dirt onto his casket, my tears had become pure water for there was simply no more salt left in my swollen eyes. They say that the good are taken away at most difficult times and that those around to experience the tragedy will become stronger and learn how to deal with difficult situations because life is too long to learn from and too short to learn experience. My grandfather has secured his place in my heart, a scar that not even darkness could overwhelm. He has helped raise me into the man I am today and I will never forget his words or his presence within my life. I now understand that there are different approaches to an issue or a situation that people can choose from. Optimism is the best approach because life is too short to be pessimistic and long enough to be optimistic. I now vividly see the light, the light that even at its smallest capacity could still penetrate through the dark. Einstein believed that darkness is the mere absence of light. If that is the case then Jakup Kozmaqi has and will always be a part of my life. I may not see him but I am always under the hope and will of light.
If anyone can help me with the grammar errors and some suggestions as soon as possible because today is the deadline for early action and i'm aplyying.
PLEASE HELP!