Undergraduate /
'Silence in the house' - common app: Topic of choice [19]
Hi guys:D This is my first common app essay so I really want as much feedback as possible from all of you:D Thanks in advance
I am lounging on my bed, at 11 o'clock at night, thinking randomly during a state of insomnia. Outside, I hear a squeaky sound in the living room, probably my host father checking if all the doors are locked. So cautious, he reminds me of my dad at home. Everybody else has gone to sleep. Silence permeates the whole house. The night here is so cold! A gentle breeze flows by, slightly disturbing the photo of my family on the shelf. The fragrance of pine brushes up against my face. Pleasant, yet I can't stand the chilliness. I get up to close the window. Suddenly there is a strange noise, coming from above the house. I lean over, look up to the sky. It's an air plane, appearing as a tiny light-dot. It flickers and draws my attention; it pulls my memory back to the night I first spent outside of Vietnam.
It was the 26th of August. After flying 6 hours from Vietnam, I had to transit at Tokyo. My first time going abroad, especially alone, I felt ... free. My curiosity rose up. I had 6 hours to explore everything, which I thought was so little time with so many things to do. Carrying my backpack and my laptop, I "travelled" all around the Narita airport, which is ten times bigger than the airport at my hometown. I took the airport bus to both of its terminals, I tried as much Japanese food as possible (unfortunately I could only eat three dishes). I even gave directions to the tourists when they thought I was Japanese, which one time earned me three candy bars from a lovely Swedish lady. However, after only five hours, I finished and exhaustedly took a seat in the waiting room.
Having less than an hour left, I simply sat there and looked at people passing by. I saw a family of four walking through, talking and giggling. The daughter jumped on her father's back. Unconsciously, I smiled and kept watching them until they got into the elevator. Then there was a group of teenagers, a boy and two girls. They laughed and seemed to have lots of fun; they chased each other through the whole room, ignoring the world around them, until they got caught by the security.
I watched them and felt something strange, vaguely inside my heart, but I didn't know what it was. The feeling stayed until I over-heard a man sitting near me. He was calling his mother to tell her that he was fine and his trip in Tokyo had been wonderful. His ebullient voice, his mother's caring questions, the sound of "mom" and "son", etc... made me feel a pang in my heart. I felt a flip-flop sensation in my belly. At that time, I discovered the truth. It was not freedom or independence here, it was loneliness.
With one hour left until departure time, I reminisced the times I was in an airport with my family. I saw myself, a 4-year-old boy, the first time having been to an airport. Desiring to discover new things, I ran away from my parents and would have got lost if my dad hadn't found me. He brought me back to our standing and scolded me. I was really scared. I just stood there, rubbed my hands; my eyes were moist with tears. I remembered looking up, the ceiling was so high and far away that I said to myself it would be so scary to get lost, and I would never stay here all by myself. And there was the time I was in the third grade. I lost my birth certificate so the airport officers didn't allow me to get passed with my family; instead I had to be interviewed about some basic information to confirm that I was my parents' son. I was only 8. Standing alone with three strangers, I was so nervous that I couldn't even say my date of birth. From ten meters away, my mother noticed my difficulty. She smiled cordially, came towards me and said "Just stay calm and tell the truth. Don't worry because we are right beside you." And yes, I passed my first ever "oral test" with the most self-assurance in me. And there were many other times we travelled together. We might not always laugh. Sometimes we argued about the best way to carry a luggage. But we were happy because we were there, all of us, together.
My flight was about to take off. Making sure I got all my belongings, I stood up and walked to the airport gate. It was 11 p.m. I looked up in the sky and saw an air plane flying over my head. Leaving behind the "home" where it was sheltered and all the air-traffic controllers always standing by, it held its head up high and made its way to its destination. I wondered how it was when my parents saw me off like this back in Vietnam. Were they sad because their baby son had left, or they happy to know that I was about to take a journey full of knowledge and experiences? I didn't know. But I hoped it was the second one. Because I knew I was.
The plane has flown past Mount Rainier. I can no longer see or hear anything of it. I close the window. The room goes back to its silence. Lying back on my bed, I run my eyes over its emptiness. My clothes are folded tidily on the wardrobe. My "house of friendship" - a cotton-made, colorfully painted, four-bedroom house with funny drawings - is hung nicely above my desk. It was made by my best friend and given to me right before I left. And there is my family photo. It stands proudly at the center of the shelf, distinguishing itself among surrounding books and paper. The scenery of Muong Hoa valley under the resplendent sun makes the photo look so brilliant! Everyone standing in front of it has to gaze with great veneration. Inside is the beautiful scene of the four members of my family. On the left of the photo, I see a lanky 16-year-old boy, taller than anyone else, smiling gently at me. Full of cheerfulness, optimism and confidence, he brings to mind of my past and foreshadows my future; a reflection of my-past-self and an example of my-always-should-be. He stands there, enduringly, to remind me that: being alone isn't necessarily synonymous with being lonely; it just means having to stand on your own feet and manage to do things by yourself. It is not comfortable. But only when you're there will you learn how precious what you had was, and you will know to treasure it.
