Undergraduate / Calvin and Hobbes influenced my life - Common App [8]

Please help me make this essay more coherent. I don't think the meaning of my essay is really understandable...

Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.

When I was ten, I picked up The Days are Just Packed by Bill Watterson, my first Calvin and Hobbes comic strip anthology. The title and the golden-brown cover stood out amongst the endless drab shelves of the used bookstore like a piece of hard candy among peanuts. I bought it, took it home, and immediately became lost in Calvin's imaginative world: a world where there are no lasting consequences, where it is possible to genuinely forget about your troubles, where Santa exists and where there is a stuffed tiger named Hobbes doubling as imaginary friend and as warden. I was enraptured by Calvin's naïve curiosity, enthralled by Hobbes' silly shrewdness. When I reached the end of the book, I was bewildered. I did not care that Calvin was only a drawing on a piece of paper. To me, he was real.

My mom had always imposed a time limit on television and my Game Boy Color when I was young. "They destroy your eyes and make you silly," replied Mom when I asked her why. "Go read a book." She loved books; they were on the same tier to her ("Brain Food") as salmon, carrots, and broccoli. So every night I would curl up in my spot on the living room couch and read my Calvin and Hobbes books until bedtime. It was sort of like I was creating my imaginary world. Growing up in a traditional Chinese family, I was reminded every day by my parents that they did not go to college so that I could. To be a big businessman, or an engineer, or a doctor, they said. I was hard pressed to prove to my parents that their investment in my education was not going to waste, so naturally I was nothing at all like the wild Calvin in more ways than one. He was bratty and hyperactive while I was quiet and well behaved; he was using his imagination to craft worlds and fantasies while I was storing mine in a dusty compartment in the back of my mind.

But reading Calvin and Hobbes made me realize just how important it was for me to appreciate myself. Calvin was not named after John Calvin, the theologian and philosopher famous for his theory of predestination, on accident. Calvin's consistent gripe is that the troublesome acts he commits are outside of his control; he is simply a product of his environment, a victim of circumstances. He struggles to combat this situation by creating elaborate fantasy worlds to escape to, because Calvin's actual intellect is severely underrated by everyone in his life except his imaginary friend Hobbes. His parents, classmates, and teacher see him as a troublemaker with an affinity for daydreaming; I saw him as an incredibly intelligent and compassionate kid who causes trouble to break free of his "predestination." And when that fails, he crafts his own world where he gets to decide what he is to do. Yet Calvin has also set his own course in his tangible life as well. In one strip, Calvin's mother is seated at the coffee table reading the newspaper when Calvin walks past her and quotes Paul Gauguin. "'Whence do we come? What are we? Where are we going?' Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I came from my room. I'm a kid with big plan, and I'm going outside! See ya later!" His mother is visibly shocked until Calvin adds, "Say, who the heck is Paul Gauguin anyway?"

Calvin was still in the process of discovering the world around him. Like me, he still has much to learn about everything. But he also holds the determination to assert his individuality. Calvin inspired me to appreciate my own abilities and understand that it was up to me to decide my future. Since the day I picked up my first Calvin and Hobbes anthology, I've read every single strip of Calvin and Hobbes through the anthologies countless times. Those books are the only childhood items I've kept, and they have their permanent spot on my computer desk. They serve as a reminder to me that, like a certain precocious six year old, I am fully ready to determine my own course in life.

Undergraduate / Devotion to Volunteering at Senior Center - UC Prompt 2 [6]

Thanks for helping me revise my UC Prompt 2. I removed all the names and locations.

I did not find out that my grandmother was not really my "grandmother" until I was fourteen. My mom delivered this revelation bluntly; there were no bubble-wrapped words of caution involved. Mom and I were in Grandma's new community apartment, phoning "home" to our Shanghai relatives, delivering good news that Grandma had finally found a great place to live after moving out of our home.

"Hi, Mom, how are you? Uh huh...I'm doing great," said my mother cheerfully through the speaker. "So are (my name) and (grandma's name)." But (grandma's name) is my grandmother's name; my mother's mother. So who was on the phone? I gave a perplexed look to her but she waved me away, so I patiently waited until she was done. After the call, Mom proceeded to tell me, in a matter-of-fact tone, that the woman on the phone was her biological mother; she had given Mom to Grandma when she was only three because they were best friends, and Grandma desperately wanted a child of her own.

I was at once shocked and offended and furious. Shocked to find out, offended that my mother spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone, and furious that I was kept in the dark for fourteen years. But it was Mom's turn to look confused. "So what?" she said. "She's still your grandma." I mulled these words over and realized she was unconditionally the best judge of my character, because those would have been my words, had my emotions not clouded my judgment. The smiling old lady sitting cross-legged on the sofa was my grandma when she peered curiously over the crib when I was a toddler. She was my grandmother when she made me her special Shanghainese Pork Nian Gao on special occasions, such as my ninth birthday. She was my grandmother five minutes before the phone call ended, and she will always be my grandmother.

Since that day, I have only been to appreciate Grandma even more; for her devotion, her caring, and her time. She took care of mother and immigrated to America to take care of me. She was tied to us not by blood, but by love. When she was finally able to take a break from taking care of us after getting her own apartment at (retirement community), I felt obligated to pay her grace and altruism back. So I started to visit my grandmother every weekday after school until dinner time, and every Sunday morning, and I took up her suggestion to volunteer as an Event Coordinator for the senior citizens. I have volunteered there ever since, never missing the chance to organize another Bingo/Coffee day, a Thanksgiving potluck, a Christmas gingerbread house building session, or a Moon Cake Festival party.

My devotion to helping her and her fellow senior citizen residents causes her to beam in delight whenever the other grandmas and grandpas tell her how lucky and proud she must be to have a grandson that visits her so frequently. She is proud to have a grandson like me. I am proud to bring such joy to her. I am her grandson, after all.