Undergraduate / Common App short answer; At age three, violin was an experiment like ballet and basketball [18]

At age three, violin was an experiment like ballet and basketball. However, as I continued playing the violin, it presented opportunities and inspiration found nowhere else.

In fourteen years, I have held leadership positions in all my music groups, including the MacPhail and Edina orchestras, and two chamber groups. I also won the 2008 Edina Concerto Competition- and a ninety-member orchestra accompanied me.

I also traveled to Iceland, played for President Grimmson, and stayed with a family in Reykjavík. With the Edina orchestra, I visited Greece, playing for schools around the country.

In 9th grade, I read about the cutting of inter-city orchestra programs. In response, I created a non-profit called Music and the World, which donates instruments and has Edina students tutor low-income, inter-city music students. Although the students are from different backgrounds, for a few hours a week, music brings them together- no matter the obstacles.

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Should I make the essay more "deep"? I thought it would be better to just throw out more facts about my involvement, since I only get 150 words.

Thanks!

Undergraduate / Harvard (optional) essay- about Iran and travel. [8]

To some, if not many, Iran conjures up words like "Axis of Evil", "nuclear bombs" and "terrorism.", Such stereotypes were ingrained into my mind as I stepped off the airport tarmac in Tehran, Iran when I was fifteen. My family had decided to visit our dwindling number of relatives still living in Iran. I remember nearing the Mehrabad Airport, as the British pilot announced that all ladies must cover their hair with a headscarf. In a flurry, women snatched for the scarves tied daintily around their necks, placing them around their hair. I struggled with my thick woolen scarf, stifled by the way it imprisoned me. As I walked past menacing guards and women in black, full-length chadors, the typecasts deepened in my mind. I fell asleep that night anxious for what was to come during my stay over the next month.

First on our agenda was meeting my "long-lost" relatives. What would my cousins think of my American accented Farsi? Would they feel offended by what Bush had said about their country?

As I walked into the front door, the mutual unease vanished after only a few seconds, as I felt like I belonged- not only to this family, but to the Iranian culture. The kindness and euphoria emitted from these relatives, mere strangers if seen on the street, was welcoming.

As I traveled around the country, in Shiraz, Esfehan and elsewhere, the people I met were excited to learn I came from the US. Just as to early twentieth century European immigrants America meant opportunity, to Iranians, it meant freedom from oppression.

The look on the streets of Iran was nothing like that of the airport. Young men donned baggy jeans and Adidas shoes, listening to illegal Madonna tapes. The young women's chadors were mere handkerchiefs, while their bold make-up and nose jobs was what made a statement. They were aware but still defiant of the infamous "fashion police".

One month later, the grief of departure was overwhelming. I felt I was leaving behind my second home as I said my good-byes to my aunts, uncles and cousins. When I abandoned my stereotypes on the front step of my aunt's home, I embraced my heritage. I understood then that Iran is not how a handful of clergy portray it, but how its people do.

Following the aspirations and horrors of the 2009 elections, Iran's corrupt leaders have lost all legitimacy. Now it is the people of Iran who have risen to represent their country. The stereotypes of Iranians must be shattered, so that the world can support the imprisoned college students, Neda's symbolism and the millions around the world gathering for yet another day of protest.

Undergraduate / "Crossroads" - Common App Personal Essay [10]

"Crossroads"

A woman's gold hijab flutters past where I stand, her husband's neutral maawi accenting its vibrancy. A man wearing a salwar kameez darts through the throngs of people, shouting in Urdu as his mini-me son lags behind. A familiar sight: a jumble of fluorescent yellow Crocs huddle around a screen announcing the next flight to Atlanta. I am standing in the Charles de Gaulle airport, captivated by the different cultures, identities and traditions.

An airport for me holds special fascination. This is where men and women from every corner of the world amass. Although this fleeting encounter lacks cohesion, the story and culture behind each passenger captures my imagination.

Ever since childhood, the crossroad of societies and cultures has fascinated me. Whether it is trekking hours to an indigenous Andean community, spending a month with another family in Southern Spain and Iceland, or walking through Tehran's bazaar, I have taken every opportunity to learn more about and from others.

Understanding other peoples' culture and life begins when a language barrier does not exist. My first language as a child was Farsi, followed by English; Spanish, which I speak fluently, is followed by French and Italian, both in the learning process.

This curiosity about the world began at an age of Curious George and Madeline. My Iranian parents would tell me about the horrors and the aspirations of the 1979 Revolution, although at the time, I understood little. As I grew older, I became fascinated with the country of my heritage and its turbulent relations with the country I call home.

I discovered news outlets such as the New York Times and the BBC, and I read personal accounts about the inflation and suffering in Zimbabwe, former child soldiers in Sierra Leone, and the post-apartheid era.

By my sophomore year, I had not found a path to express these passions. Although the news cycle for the 2008 US elections stole the media's attention from the news of human suffering elsewhere world, I began learning more about the genocide in Darfur. I couldn't understand how such atrocities could be committed without international outcry. As the details of Darfur's horrors became more embedded into my conscience, an opportunity presented itself. I was asked to organize two events sponsored by Genocide Intervention Network, featuring Dr. Ashis Brahma, the sole doctor in a Darfur refugee camp of 27,000.

I poured much of my energy and soul into planning the event. From speaking to the media, sponsors, donors and politicians, I discovered an outlet where my passion could convert itself into action.

On February 10, 2009, as I addressed an audience of over 900 students, I had a sort of epiphany. If a high school student- with four months of dedication- can educate and encourage hundreds to take a stand as well, then it is worth spending a lifetime on activism and community service. Collaboration and negotiation should not be made between countries and diplomats, but between humans.

I founded the first high school STAND (student anti-genocide coalition) chapter in the state. In just three months, we raised thousands of dollars, educated politicians about Darfur and related legislation, and organized a rally at the State Capitol for Obama's 100th day in office. This year, we aim to focus on the atrocities in the Congo.

I now view success as the ability to make a difference in the lives of others. When I hear of the suffering of the innocent, I feel obliged to help. But with what voice is such suffering conveyed? This question compels me to want to lend my voice to those who have been robbed of their own. I hope to translate my passion to other young people, so that together, we become not only the leaders of tomorrow- but of today.