ryanrhee90
Feb 3, 2012
Undergraduate / "Pho changed my life" - Common app transfer essay [8]
Prompt: Please provide a statement (250 words minimum) that addresses your reasons for transferring and the objectives you hope to achieve.
This past Sunday, I woke up wanting pho. No, that's an understatement - I woke up needing pho. You see, I have a ritual every Sunday afternoon where I have pho, to calm my stomach from the alcohol that I probably had the night before. Nothing's ever worked quite as well, or left me quite as satisfied. There's just a certain way the pieces fall together when you combine a night's drinking with warm beef broth the next morning.
Oh, right, this past Sunday. I woke up, called up my best friend, and made plans to give into our cravings. (My little habit was a contagious one, and there were a few others with that awoke with the same condition every Sunday morning.) We threw on some clothes, met up, and set off on a journey to the promised-land of Pho Saigon.
I wish I knew then - how accurate the word "journey" would describe our trip. For some reason, the weekend after Chinese New Years, all of the roads were clogged up near china-viet-town in Austin. It took forever and a day to enter the parking lot, only to realize that there's probably no parking and that the line for entry into heaven (and its steamy broth) would take hours. We tried our other place of tangy noodles, but it was the same story - hours of waiting in line. Like Harold and Kumar, we just wanted some food, man.
We weren't about to give up on our quest for our sustenance just yet. No other dish would do. We knew exactly what we needed, and we were going to get it. After calling around other places that came up on a google maps search for "pho", we decided we'd just drop by a couple of them to see if they were crowded or not. We said we'd give up only after seeing that there was no other choice. We picked the one with the highest rating on yelp, and off we went.
We pulled in, and we weren't particularly impressed with its exterior. It was a small shop, with a couple of open tables. Nothing about it seemed special, and it was almost too easy to accidentally pass it by without ever noticing it, but we were desperate for any form of relief from our carnal need of pho. We pulled in, parked quickly, and got out of the car. As soon as we opened the door, it hit us: the aroma of slow-cooked bone marrow intermingled with a hint of star anise, basil and cilantro. I swore to myself to never judge a book by its cover again, and we entered paradise.
We were seated promptly, and our orders were taken by a friendly-but-hard-to-understand lady. I'm fine with that. There's a relatively significant correlation between how understandable your waitress is and how authentic the foreign food is, so things were already looking promising. The sight of so many tantalizingly appetizing dishes around us reminded us of how much we had to journey to find this remote haven. After what seemed to be the longest, most grueling 300 seconds in my life, our saviors were delivered to us.
The rest of the visit is is a blur in my memory, with the choice round-eye steak being cooked to perfection in the piping-hot broth and a symphony of spices overwhelming my senses. I added the freshly picked and washed sprouts, the full-bodied asian basil leaves that crisply tore off of my finger tips, and the juiciest lime slice I had ever squeezed. It had the most delectable soft-tendon, and of course, the divinely distinctive taste that only fatty brisket could add to the mix. I kicked up the heat with some fiery Sriracha, the most addictive hot-sauce known to man, and it began. The rest of the experience is even harder to describe: so sinfully ambrosial, walking the lines between gluttony and greed, tormenting me to have to choose between the most tender and succulent of the meats.
Before I knew it, it was all gone - decimated by my overpowering desire to consume more of the mouth-watering goodness. My best friend and I just looked at each other, and knew that we had just stumbled upon a magical place. That was the most satisfying meal I had in a long time, and was by far the best pho I had in my life, hands down.
We so often find ourselves unsatisfied. We want more. No, we desperately yearn for more - and yet, we do nothing about it. If my best friend and I had given up and decided to eat something else instead, we would have never stumbled upon that fine gem. We were unhappy about the state of affairs, and decided to do something about it.
Good things only happen to those who take action to change the situation. It wasn't until after despairing from how hopeless it seemed to want pho to how gloriously satisfying that meal was, that I really learned to take action. This is me taking action. I'm taking action because I'm not happy with knowing that I could be at a more prestigious school, learning more, and actually being challenged. I chose my major because I wanted to learn everything about it, but I feel like I'm missing out on things that I could be learning at a different institution - perhaps one that's known to be more rigorous in its course load. This is me taking action, and I know that I'll be even more satisfied when I'll be instructed on the knowledge that I so yearn to consume.
Prompt: Please provide a statement (250 words minimum) that addresses your reasons for transferring and the objectives you hope to achieve.
This past Sunday, I woke up wanting pho. No, that's an understatement - I woke up needing pho. You see, I have a ritual every Sunday afternoon where I have pho, to calm my stomach from the alcohol that I probably had the night before. Nothing's ever worked quite as well, or left me quite as satisfied. There's just a certain way the pieces fall together when you combine a night's drinking with warm beef broth the next morning.
Oh, right, this past Sunday. I woke up, called up my best friend, and made plans to give into our cravings. (My little habit was a contagious one, and there were a few others with that awoke with the same condition every Sunday morning.) We threw on some clothes, met up, and set off on a journey to the promised-land of Pho Saigon.
I wish I knew then - how accurate the word "journey" would describe our trip. For some reason, the weekend after Chinese New Years, all of the roads were clogged up near china-viet-town in Austin. It took forever and a day to enter the parking lot, only to realize that there's probably no parking and that the line for entry into heaven (and its steamy broth) would take hours. We tried our other place of tangy noodles, but it was the same story - hours of waiting in line. Like Harold and Kumar, we just wanted some food, man.
We weren't about to give up on our quest for our sustenance just yet. No other dish would do. We knew exactly what we needed, and we were going to get it. After calling around other places that came up on a google maps search for "pho", we decided we'd just drop by a couple of them to see if they were crowded or not. We said we'd give up only after seeing that there was no other choice. We picked the one with the highest rating on yelp, and off we went.
We pulled in, and we weren't particularly impressed with its exterior. It was a small shop, with a couple of open tables. Nothing about it seemed special, and it was almost too easy to accidentally pass it by without ever noticing it, but we were desperate for any form of relief from our carnal need of pho. We pulled in, parked quickly, and got out of the car. As soon as we opened the door, it hit us: the aroma of slow-cooked bone marrow intermingled with a hint of star anise, basil and cilantro. I swore to myself to never judge a book by its cover again, and we entered paradise.
We were seated promptly, and our orders were taken by a friendly-but-hard-to-understand lady. I'm fine with that. There's a relatively significant correlation between how understandable your waitress is and how authentic the foreign food is, so things were already looking promising. The sight of so many tantalizingly appetizing dishes around us reminded us of how much we had to journey to find this remote haven. After what seemed to be the longest, most grueling 300 seconds in my life, our saviors were delivered to us.
The rest of the visit is is a blur in my memory, with the choice round-eye steak being cooked to perfection in the piping-hot broth and a symphony of spices overwhelming my senses. I added the freshly picked and washed sprouts, the full-bodied asian basil leaves that crisply tore off of my finger tips, and the juiciest lime slice I had ever squeezed. It had the most delectable soft-tendon, and of course, the divinely distinctive taste that only fatty brisket could add to the mix. I kicked up the heat with some fiery Sriracha, the most addictive hot-sauce known to man, and it began. The rest of the experience is even harder to describe: so sinfully ambrosial, walking the lines between gluttony and greed, tormenting me to have to choose between the most tender and succulent of the meats.
Before I knew it, it was all gone - decimated by my overpowering desire to consume more of the mouth-watering goodness. My best friend and I just looked at each other, and knew that we had just stumbled upon a magical place. That was the most satisfying meal I had in a long time, and was by far the best pho I had in my life, hands down.
We so often find ourselves unsatisfied. We want more. No, we desperately yearn for more - and yet, we do nothing about it. If my best friend and I had given up and decided to eat something else instead, we would have never stumbled upon that fine gem. We were unhappy about the state of affairs, and decided to do something about it.
Good things only happen to those who take action to change the situation. It wasn't until after despairing from how hopeless it seemed to want pho to how gloriously satisfying that meal was, that I really learned to take action. This is me taking action. I'm taking action because I'm not happy with knowing that I could be at a more prestigious school, learning more, and actually being challenged. I chose my major because I wanted to learn everything about it, but I feel like I'm missing out on things that I could be learning at a different institution - perhaps one that's known to be more rigorous in its course load. This is me taking action, and I know that I'll be even more satisfied when I'll be instructed on the knowledge that I so yearn to consume.
