Undergraduate / uc promt 1: addictions/world [2]

i deviated from my common app, because i was lazy, and i dont think i like it...
thoughts on it?

With my eyes slightly closed, I swipe my bus pass on the metal fare box and proceed to choose the spot in which I will stand for fifteen miles and forty-five minutes, when I will finally arrive at Palm Springs High. My relaxed, somnambulant stage is quickly interrupted by the twittering of students, gossiping of old ladies, and the intoxicating blend of coffee and "Top Ramen".

As I look out the windows on the bus, I think about the mountains at a distance; mountains that have been a part of my surroundings since birth. I begin to remember hiking up those mountains with my father; I remember running away to those mountains and hiding in a secret cave with my brother; I remember, and instantly I am transported to my childhood years.

As my father violently argues with my mother, my sister sneaks off into our room, my brothers naively ignore the argument and divert their attention into the Nintendo, and I silently look out the window at the mountains, thinking about the world that I am forced to survive in.

Though at the time I was only eight years young, I can still smell the chorizo and eggs on the stove; I can still see the dirt stains on my fathers torn t-shirt; I can still see the empty beer cans on the dinner table. It is impossible to forget the sounds of my father drunkenly screaming at my mother, whose cheeks were flushed red with pain and humiliation.

My world made sense because I knew of no other. To say that my father was a violent, jealous, drunken mess is an understatement now, but back then, it was a terrible misstatement! My father was the sweetest man on Earth. He was justified in beating my mother-he was simply "teaching her how to behave". He was justified in drinking day and night-he supported his five children and his wife, so why shouldn't he drown his stress in alcohol? He was justified in abusing his youngest daughter-simply because she was his daughter... right? At age eight, nothing was more true to me than his reasoning, and because of my adolescent mind, it was shocking to me when my mother filed for divorce two years later.

Walking towards school from the bus stop, I take a look at the mountains, still at a distance. I realize that my father was not the only person with an addiction. Everyone needs something to be addicted to; everyone needs something that makes them happy. Some people choose food, some people choose drugs, and some people choose love. I could have easily drowned my sorrows in alcohol, smoked marijuana until I could not think of my past, and given my body to someone for love; I could have killed my mind so I could forget. Instead, I choose to embrace my mind and the memories it has kept safe for years-because those memories, which make up my world, have taught me that I can choose the life before me. I can choose what to become addicted to and I have chosen to become addicted to my future.

Due to my addiction, I have thought about what I want from my life. I do not want to go to a university and waste my time on drinking alcohol or consuming drugs, but I do want to take advantage of what It has to offer; I want to squeeze everything I can out of it, and leave, knowing that I satisfied my thirst. My dream is to attend a university and become addicted to it. I want to teach people that addictions can be positive, if you choose them.

Undergraduate / common app: character in literature! review? [4]

I'm not finished with the editing part, but help as far as structure and general idea? :)

With my eyes slightly unclosed, I swipe my bus pass on the metal fare box and proceed to choose the spot in which I will stand for fifteen miles and forty-five minutes, until I finally arrive at Palm Springs High. My relaxed, somnambulant stage is quickly interrupted by the twittering of students, gossiping of old ladies, and the intoxicating blend of coffee and "Top Ramen".

As I look out the windows on the bus, I think about the hundreds of windmills at a distance; windmills that have been a part of my surroundings since birth. As everyone on the bus continues with their lives, the windmills furiously thrust their blades in my direction, and each blade shoves memories into my thoughts. Instantly, I am transported into my childhood home.

As my father violently argues with my mother, my sister quickly sneaks off into our room, my brothers naively ignore the argument and divert their attention onto the Nintendo, and I silently look out the window at the windmills, hoping they, too, don't strike. Though at the time I was only eight years young, I can still smell the chorizo and eggs on the stove; I can still see the dirt stains on my fathers torn t-shirt; I can still see the empty beer cans on the dinner table. It is impossible to forget the sounds of my father drunkenly screaming at my mother, whose cheeks were flushed red with pain and humiliation.

My life made sense because I knew nothing else. To say that my father was a violent, jealous, drunken mess is an understatement now, but back then, it was a terrible misstatement! My father was the sweetest man on the face of the Earth. He was justified in beating my mother-he was simply "teaching her how to behave". He was justified in drinking day and night-he supported his five children and his wife, so why shouldn't he drown his stress in alcohol? He was justified in abusing his youngest daughter-simply because she was his daughter... right? At age eight, nothing was more true to me than his reasoning.

Because of my young mind, it was a shocking surprise to me when my mother decided to file for divorce two years later. The divorce brought about a dismal solitude for me; never had I felt so lonely. As a result, I attempted to forget about my life by reading about the interesting lives of made-up characters. By a brink of faith, I came across "El Ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha" and met don Quijote. I can remember my mother referring to him as a crazy, old man who came to be that way because he spent all day reading about cowboys; however, I remember reading about a completely different man. Don Quijote set forth to undo the unjustified wrongs of the world; and, though he faced mockery during each adventure, he continued with his dream of helping people in need.

On a specific outing with Sancho Panza, don Quijote spots what he believes to be monstrous giants with arms whirling in the air. Despite the squire's realistic warnings, don Quijote proceeds to attack the giants, which are obviously windmills. This scene portrays what many consider don Quijote's "madness", but, more importantly, it emphasizes his invincible spirit-the spirit that I had wished to possess every time I looked out the window and saw the ferocious giant that threatened me with the intense movements of his arms.

Had I read this marvelous novel a few years earlier, perhaps I could have reversed the unjustified wrongs that were present in my life. I could have walked out the door, stood in front of my crystal shield, and attacked the giant before me-leaving in its place nothing but a windmill. This battle was delayed a few years, until don Quijote influenced my life. As I look out the windows on the bus, all I see is windmills that hold my memories, both good and bad. I see the windmills not as giants, not as machines at a distance; I see them as the barriers that I have broken down, and am ready to leave behind, as I take on my personal adventure in the world. Similarly, I see life not as what it once was or is, but instead, I see life as it should and will be.