skirt
Jan 29, 2014
Undergraduate / Memory of my last day of high school; U Washington Personal Statement (Transfer) Summer 14 [2]
Hi - I've never used this forum before but I'm hoping to get some help on my personal statement. It's terribly, terribly overwrought and there might be some grammatical errors, but I'm hoping to get some feedback/thoughts about my chances of getting in with this essay as-is (or with some minor suggested changes). It's also more than 100 words over the suggested length, does anyone know whether this will be be well/poorly received? Thanks!
My personal statement:
The memory of my last day of high school hangs high in my mind like a crystalline ornament; it appears to me with more dazzling clarity than memories of a thousand other firsts and lasts. My first kiss, my first school dance and my first apartment are all half-remembered dreams to me now because they did nothing more than cement who I was in a moment - but it's that last day of school that I feel cemented who I would be for the rest of my life. I remember that I stayed behind at my desk, long after my peers had rushed through the halls and spilled out to the front of the building and then somewhere past it, signing up for colleges and reporting to new jobs, leaving high school behind forever. I knew I wouldn't be joining them - not in a few hours or even a few years. I took my time on that last day to finish writing a poem about what it felt like to be left behind, and I remember that once I was done, the beginning and end of the poem were exactly the same. They consisted of just two words:
"I wait."
I had blown my free ride a long time before, caring for my mother at home. Growing up, my father had kept the details of my mother's epilepsy hidden from my younger brother and me, but once I had a grasp of how severe her condition was I found myself skipping school all of the time just to be near her. I frequently worried about how much longer I'd have to spend with her. My future was hazy; I saw myself at home, helping with chores so that my mother could spend more time in bed, while my father worked hard to support our small family. My parents never cared much for school themselves and never went to college, so I didn't get much in the way of encouragement from them as a result. I tried to make peace with the fact that I would never even graduate high school--much less go to college--and as time went on I hardly noticed as my grades dropped and the years slipped past me completely. I received my education at home, learning invaluable skills that are still with me today: patience, accountability, and how to adapt in times of crisis. I learned to cope in whatever way I could.
When I wasn't helping my mother, I was writing. It was something that always came easily to me and had been a great source of pride for me in the past; I'd won many awards for work I'd submitted to various poetry and essay contests and I was the Editor-in-Chief of my high school's literary magazine - The Viper Voice. In tumultuous times, writing was as much a hobby and a comfort to me as it was a necessity; it was a door through which I could escape the miseries and overwhelming responsibilities I faced in my everyday life, though it was a door that seemingly led nowhere. I didn't know how to translate my writing skills into an opportunity without an education. After high school, my friends all began their respective careers while I was forced to take on any menial jobs I could find that didn't require a diploma or a degree. Though these jobs offered me a way to climb around the obstacles I had created for myself and gave me the opportunity to make an honest living, they left me unsatisfied and longing for a sense of personal achievement.
Ten years later, I'm sitting at my desk, on my last real day at Seattle Central Community College - writing. In spite of everything I've been through, writing has remained my one reliable constant. Today, I'm over three thousand miles away from my old high school and my childhood home. My mother passed away from complications with her epilepsy and my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and has been hospitalized indefinitely. I've taken on many odd jobs in different states and lived wherever those jobs would afford me. Though I've gained a great deal of life experience over the years, I was hardly content with the fact that I had so little control over the situations I found myself in. I realized that even my writing detailed an abject passivity I could never admit out loud; I never made myself a priority and I suffered more unnecessarily because of it. After taking some inventory of my life, I realized that I needed to focus on myself again and I knew that meant I had to go back to school.
My parents aren't around to see all of the things I have achieved, but I owe a great debt to them for instilling in me the values necessary to continue to pursue my goals. Growing up in a Cuban-American household, stories of perseverance in the face of adversity and hardship were ingrained in me from an early age and I can tell that those stories have influenced my own. Since I've been in school, I've more than compensated for lost time; I took a newfound interest in subjects I had once disliked - excelling in math and science as I simultaneously built up a writing portfolio of pieces I hope to submit to the University of Washington's Creative Writing program in the future. During my time at Seattle Central Community College, I maintained good grades and frequently made Dean's List and President's List for consecutive quarters, eventually graduating with a 3.8 GPA.
The self-confidence I gained by earning my Associates degree is something that I feel can only be enhanced by furthering my education and obtaining my Bachelor's degree from the University of Washington - where I intend to major in English in order to sharpen my writing skills enough to make a living I can be proud of. I hope to work towards become a teacher; one that can help others to embrace writing not only as a creative outlet but as an emotional support as well. I was unsure for so long that I'd be able to get an education and to pursue my goals, but had I known on my last day of high school at age 18 that I'd at least be well on my way to doing both by age 28, I wouldn't have stayed behind to write an ending for my poem. I would have been outside with my classmates, congratulating them on their hard work because I would have realized I wouldn't be waiting too long to celebrate milestones of my own.
Hi - I've never used this forum before but I'm hoping to get some help on my personal statement. It's terribly, terribly overwrought and there might be some grammatical errors, but I'm hoping to get some feedback/thoughts about my chances of getting in with this essay as-is (or with some minor suggested changes). It's also more than 100 words over the suggested length, does anyone know whether this will be be well/poorly received? Thanks!
My personal statement:
The memory of my last day of high school hangs high in my mind like a crystalline ornament; it appears to me with more dazzling clarity than memories of a thousand other firsts and lasts. My first kiss, my first school dance and my first apartment are all half-remembered dreams to me now because they did nothing more than cement who I was in a moment - but it's that last day of school that I feel cemented who I would be for the rest of my life. I remember that I stayed behind at my desk, long after my peers had rushed through the halls and spilled out to the front of the building and then somewhere past it, signing up for colleges and reporting to new jobs, leaving high school behind forever. I knew I wouldn't be joining them - not in a few hours or even a few years. I took my time on that last day to finish writing a poem about what it felt like to be left behind, and I remember that once I was done, the beginning and end of the poem were exactly the same. They consisted of just two words:
"I wait."
I had blown my free ride a long time before, caring for my mother at home. Growing up, my father had kept the details of my mother's epilepsy hidden from my younger brother and me, but once I had a grasp of how severe her condition was I found myself skipping school all of the time just to be near her. I frequently worried about how much longer I'd have to spend with her. My future was hazy; I saw myself at home, helping with chores so that my mother could spend more time in bed, while my father worked hard to support our small family. My parents never cared much for school themselves and never went to college, so I didn't get much in the way of encouragement from them as a result. I tried to make peace with the fact that I would never even graduate high school--much less go to college--and as time went on I hardly noticed as my grades dropped and the years slipped past me completely. I received my education at home, learning invaluable skills that are still with me today: patience, accountability, and how to adapt in times of crisis. I learned to cope in whatever way I could.
When I wasn't helping my mother, I was writing. It was something that always came easily to me and had been a great source of pride for me in the past; I'd won many awards for work I'd submitted to various poetry and essay contests and I was the Editor-in-Chief of my high school's literary magazine - The Viper Voice. In tumultuous times, writing was as much a hobby and a comfort to me as it was a necessity; it was a door through which I could escape the miseries and overwhelming responsibilities I faced in my everyday life, though it was a door that seemingly led nowhere. I didn't know how to translate my writing skills into an opportunity without an education. After high school, my friends all began their respective careers while I was forced to take on any menial jobs I could find that didn't require a diploma or a degree. Though these jobs offered me a way to climb around the obstacles I had created for myself and gave me the opportunity to make an honest living, they left me unsatisfied and longing for a sense of personal achievement.
Ten years later, I'm sitting at my desk, on my last real day at Seattle Central Community College - writing. In spite of everything I've been through, writing has remained my one reliable constant. Today, I'm over three thousand miles away from my old high school and my childhood home. My mother passed away from complications with her epilepsy and my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and has been hospitalized indefinitely. I've taken on many odd jobs in different states and lived wherever those jobs would afford me. Though I've gained a great deal of life experience over the years, I was hardly content with the fact that I had so little control over the situations I found myself in. I realized that even my writing detailed an abject passivity I could never admit out loud; I never made myself a priority and I suffered more unnecessarily because of it. After taking some inventory of my life, I realized that I needed to focus on myself again and I knew that meant I had to go back to school.
My parents aren't around to see all of the things I have achieved, but I owe a great debt to them for instilling in me the values necessary to continue to pursue my goals. Growing up in a Cuban-American household, stories of perseverance in the face of adversity and hardship were ingrained in me from an early age and I can tell that those stories have influenced my own. Since I've been in school, I've more than compensated for lost time; I took a newfound interest in subjects I had once disliked - excelling in math and science as I simultaneously built up a writing portfolio of pieces I hope to submit to the University of Washington's Creative Writing program in the future. During my time at Seattle Central Community College, I maintained good grades and frequently made Dean's List and President's List for consecutive quarters, eventually graduating with a 3.8 GPA.
The self-confidence I gained by earning my Associates degree is something that I feel can only be enhanced by furthering my education and obtaining my Bachelor's degree from the University of Washington - where I intend to major in English in order to sharpen my writing skills enough to make a living I can be proud of. I hope to work towards become a teacher; one that can help others to embrace writing not only as a creative outlet but as an emotional support as well. I was unsure for so long that I'd be able to get an education and to pursue my goals, but had I known on my last day of high school at age 18 that I'd at least be well on my way to doing both by age 28, I wouldn't have stayed behind to write an ending for my poem. I would have been outside with my classmates, congratulating them on their hard work because I would have realized I wouldn't be waiting too long to celebrate milestones of my own.