SineFine
Nov 18, 2014
Undergraduate / The Function Defined as P = Math - College Essay [10]
Hello! I answered the first prompt for the Common App: "Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story". I'm generally so nervous and shy that I can't muster the courage to ask anyone in real life (not even my friends) to read it. It doesn't mean I don't want any feedback though. I'd appreciate all and any suggestions as well as grammatical corrections. Thank you.
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Scrutinizing eyes wash over me. I feel the intensity of her stare even as my own eyes are focused on the backs of calendar pages, scrap paper. "What are you waiting for? Go on", she presses. Pencil in hand, I oblige her as I so often do. 1010, 1015, 1020, 1025, 1030, 1035. Strokes carefully form the makings of the next number: 1, 0, 4, and 0. Minutes transform into hours; the numbers begin to blend with one another as they swim in and out of my vision. Page after page fill up. I finish at 20,000 and present the finished product to the person beside me, my life's arbiter. Today, she smells decidedly of shampoo and ginger. With a mixture of pride and apprehension, I await judgement. Her eyes scour the paper for mistakes. Unable to find any, she releases me with pursed lips. If she was pleased, I can't tell. With no sign of approval or disapproval, she dismisses me. I am done for the day. I was five at the time.
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Hello! I answered the first prompt for the Common App: "Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story". I'm generally so nervous and shy that I can't muster the courage to ask anyone in real life (not even my friends) to read it. It doesn't mean I don't want any feedback though. I'd appreciate all and any suggestions as well as grammatical corrections. Thank you.
-----
Scrutinizing eyes wash over me. I feel the intensity of her stare even as my own eyes are focused on the backs of calendar pages, scrap paper. "What are you waiting for? Go on", she presses. Pencil in hand, I oblige her as I so often do. 1010, 1015, 1020, 1025, 1030, 1035. Strokes carefully form the makings of the next number: 1, 0, 4, and 0. Minutes transform into hours; the numbers begin to blend with one another as they swim in and out of my vision. Page after page fill up. I finish at 20,000 and present the finished product to the person beside me, my life's arbiter. Today, she smells decidedly of shampoo and ginger. With a mixture of pride and apprehension, I await judgement. Her eyes scour the paper for mistakes. Unable to find any, she releases me with pursed lips. If she was pleased, I can't tell. With no sign of approval or disapproval, she dismisses me. I am done for the day. I was five at the time.
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