Undergraduate / Tufts - It's Not Easy Being Green! (Or Is It?) - Optional Essay [9]

Kermit the frog once famously lamented that it's not easy being green. Do you agree?

In equestrianism, "greenness" does not represent the color, or a penchant for environmental awareness. It is a state of learning; the state in which the subject can be considered a blank slate, primed and ready for the first layers of education. It is this quality that I find most compelling in a horse, because it offers nothing but untapped potential.

So, is it easy being green? If you asked one of my project horses, Abigail, she'd probably offer you an emphatic "no!" and an indignant head-toss, for good measure. She's never liked learning much, always preferring to stand knee-high in lush grass or sleep next to her best friend Theodora. As gently as I try to persuade her, she is sure that nothing good can come of being educated. Abigail is Huck Finn in equine form; as she gallops away from me in the field, I can almost hear her complaining about being 'sivilized.'

"I can't stand it!" she seems to cry out to her placid friends, "I been there before!"

Dante would tell you that being green isn't that bad. After all, you're never asked to do anything very difficult, and you're always forgiven for your "green moments." Dante likes to use this as an excuse to occasionally cavort and gallop off as I cling to his back. When he stops, he feigns sheepishness.

"But mom," he explains, "it was just a learning moment. I just didn't know what you were asking!" To Dante, greenness is wonderful fun - in fact, he may stay green forever!

There have been a few sensible souls who have struck a fine balance in their approach to being green. I'm sure these individuals are mocked mercilessly by the wild-at-heart and the 'evergreens' in the field, but I appreciate them. One memorable mount was Black Racehorse #1, who listened carefully, gave his best effort, and then waited to see whether he'd done it right. I'm sure he was relatively ambiguous to the idea of being green, viewing it as a necessary step to bigger things. I can't be sure, because he wasn't quite as vocal in his opinions as Abigail and Dante. He ended up moving up the training scale quite quickly, and may even have a name by now.

The consensus? If greenness is a state of learning, then its ease is determined by the approach you take to it. An open mind and a hunger for knowledge make it very easy to be green!

Undergraduate / 'Gift not for trade' -Tufts the environment in which you were raised shaped you [5]

It's kind of my thing to tell stories, so I answered this prompt a little differently. After all, they asked us to think outside of the box! :D Any help would be MUCH appreciated - this is due in an hour, haha!

We passed the girls, just as we had last Sunday and the Sunday before that. They were a vital part of our routine, bustling towards us with their large noses and friendly inquiries. We would always stay a while, allowing them to bump us clumsily as they reached deft tongues out to catch a taste of our faces. Their kisses were sloppy. By the time we said our goodbyes and turned to walk down the lane that led home, they had dispersed, their black and white bodies silhouetted against the cerulean sky. Their chorus of moos was audible even after we had long since left them behind.

Those four-mile Sunday walks shaped my childhood, and laid the framework for the person I would become. I always begged for riding lessons, and my mother managed to scrape together the money for me to have one a week. We couldn't afford to ride the bus home from my lessons, so we walked. At six-years-old, four miles seemed like a hundred, but it was worth it. Sometimes I have rued the fact that I have never had the money to compete on a national level or own several fantastic horses. But in the long run, I'm glad I've always had to work for the ability to do what I love. That has made me all the more appreciative of the opportunities ď both small and monumental ď that have come my way, and it has instilled in me a drive and determination I may not otherwise have. Growing up with extremely limited means has been a gift I would never trade.

Undergraduate / Tufts - Who Am I? (Indeed - who!?) [3]

Who am I, exactly? Good question. I've often asked myself the same thing, trying to pare the answer down into one neat little noun that I could offer people to would sum myself up. It hasn't exactly been easy, because you could say that I'm not exactly simple. So, who am I?

I'm an equestrian, who loves nothing more than a bewhiskered kiss and the sweet smell of hay. I'm a thespian, who delights in choreography and voice lessons. I'm a vegetarian and an animal lover, who hopes to have a menagerie of off-the-track-Thoroughbreds and greyhounds. I'm a musician, who plays guitar terribly and is even worse at piano, but enjoys the learning process regardless. I'm an addict, who savors the rich flavor of Earl Grey tea at least five times a day. I'm a Francophile, who longs to travel to Paris and study literature on the banks of the Seine. I'm a nerd, who adores Monty Python's Flying Circus and has read the Harry Potter series over twenty times. I'm an optimist, a nomad, an existentialist, and a dreamer.

I have yet to figure out that one tidy noun. But perhaps that's a good thing - I'd rather bring all of my nouns, adjectives, and verbs to Tufts, so that I can share them with everyone. Perhaps I could offer my love of horoscopes in exchange for an appreciation of Korean hip hop. The possibilities are endless! The wonderfully different words that everyone will contribute could write the strangest, most brilliant novel ever.

The supplement says 200 words/2000 characters. Does anyone know if it's one or the other or both? This is 253 words right now.
Thanks! :D

Undergraduate / "quirky, independently-minded partner" - Why Vassar essay [9]

ARE YOU "THE ONE?" Student seeks quirky, independently-minded partner with a passion for academia and an eye for design. Must enjoy lengthy discussions about T.S. Eliot and William Faulkner over a cup of Earl Grey. An equal appreciation of the hustle of city life and the tranquility of the countryside is imperative - candidates should love theater and indie music as much as riding horses through the woods and enjoying the peace and quiet of nature. Looks are important - those with classic appeal and a touch of modernity will be viewed most favorably. Most importantly - please be a free-spirit! A spur-of-the-moment game of Quidditch, exploring Europe, and carnival rides with friends must be as appealing as academia. If you believe you fit these criteria, please respond at earliest convenience!

I was beginning to feel like the college-search version of a spinster, destined to grow old alone, surrounded by cats. I had spent months perusing viewbooks, taking virtual tours, and scouring websites, desperately seeking the right fit. Every time I got my hopes up, I would find a glaring fault that would send me right back to square one. Renowned theater department, killer location...but nowhere nearby to keep my horse? Scratch that one off the list. Beautiful campus, high grad-school placement rates - but students have nicknamed it "Where Fun Goes to Die?" No thanks, I happen to like my fun. Oh! This looks promising - everyone is smiling, the classes are top-notch, and there are horses right on campus! But wait, what's that horrible screeching noise? The Theater department's fall musical, you say? Oh dear.

By the time I dragged myself to the Vassar website, I was thoroughly worn-out by the whole process. I loaded the virtual tour, and tried not to pay attention to the gorgeous, Hogwarts-esque building and incredible gardens decorating the site. The campus proved to be lovely throughout - with a lake, fantastic buildings, and even a farm! I could see myself reading Much Ado About Nothing in the Shakespeare Garden, or discussing philosophy over tea in the Rose Parlor. Pulling myself away from the panoramic views, I clicked on the Academics link. One of the first schools to offer a Drama program? Over 1,000 courses? Fantastic financial aid? Steeling myself for the downfall of this seemingly wonderful school, I navigated my way to the Drama page. I nearly laughed out loud with relief at what I saw - if Meryl Streep and Lisa Kudrow are counted among the alumni of the program, it must have something going for it! I browsed the faculty and the past productions, feeling steadily more excited. Performance opportunities were so abundant that even I would have to pick and choose. Even better, I could spend my junior year studying Musical Theater at Mountview Academy in London!

Had I found it? Was this the Holy Grail of colleges, "The One" that could satisfy my laundry list of requirements? A quick Google search reassured me that my horse, Dante, would have the choice of several nearby stables. So with a satisfied smile, I started my application to Vassar, already planning a song for the upperclassmen.

Undergraduate / UVA Short Answers - my favorite word, and something that challenged me (theatre) [3]

My favorite word:

Some people may argue that spontaneity is child's play, and that adults must utilize logic and reasoning. I agree - the ability to justify our actions logically is necessary if we want to succeed. But just as necessary is the ability to let life surprise you; to be moved with the waves rather than doggedly set on swimming straight forward. There is a perpetual child in all of us - the child that once saw magic where we now see scientific phenomena; the child that went on adventures that may never have physically left the backyard, but somehow encompassed the whole universe. That child must be allowed to thrive and express herself, so that we can continue to view the world as an ocean of possibilities. There is an adventure around every corner; the trick is merely to be open to it.

Spontaneity is my favorite word, but it is also a defining attribute of my personality. I take calculated risks and utilize quantitative reasoning to solve problems, but I am not, and never have been, afraid to take a leap of faith, especially when it comes to my dreams. I take pleasure in allowing life to surprise me, to catch me off-guard and present opportunities for growth. At the University of Virginia, I will continue to explore, enjoy, and delve into the unexpected. Some people may call it child's play. I call it the secret of happiness.

A piece of art, music, etc. that challenged or surprised me:

The clock struck its seventeenth reverberating note, and we discussed the positive effects of yogurt on the stomach, kidneys, appendicitis, and apotheosis. I tried to remain in-character, but Eugene Ionesco's "The Bald Soprano" was just too ridiculous. I felt like I was reading lines without significance in a play without a plot.

Although I was enjoying my strange dialogue, I couldn't help but wonder why Ms. Elz, my theater director, had chosen to focus on this play. Having recently tackled Sartre's 'No Exit' and Ibsen's 'Hedda Gabler,' I struggled to find the theme in Ionesco's work. I determined that there must not be one - his sole purpose must simply have been to exhibit his bizarre sense of humor.

Ms. Elz challenged me to dig deeper, and get to know the man behind the work. So, with my script in hand, I researched, annotating as I went. I discovered that the play is, in Ionesco's words, a 'tragedy of language.' It makes a point so startlingly obvious that most people, like me, miss it completely. 'The Bald Soprano' picks apart communication; it makes a farce of both the English language and the people who speak it. Although it was written sixty years ago, and tackles the entire construction of our language, it is relevant today for another reason - the rise of technology is killing the art of effective communication.

Taking the time to delve into Ionesco's motives instilled within me a great respect for Absurdist Theater. I enjoy the challenge of figuring out the theme, and playing over-the-top characters in a way that remains true to that theme. Eugene Ionesco changed the way I view the art of theater.

Undergraduate / UPenn Page 217 - my life in Paris :) [4]

It's formatted really nicely in Word, not so much here. ;)
I have a header and a footer on the document, my autobiography is called "My Life in Revue"...so clever, hahaha.

as I walked past the cafés. At one of the tables, a monochromatically-clad fille nursed a café au lait, while jabbering in rapid French to her androgynous copain. Ahead of me, an elderly lady walked hand-in-hand with a young girl, who sang unabashedly, her high-pitched voice filling the evening air.

"Les mains aux côtés, sautez, sautez marionnettes. Les mains aux côtés. Marionnettes recommencez." I smiled, recognizing the song. It felt like I had just been struggling to learn it yesterday, but it had been ten years already. Ten years, and I had seen so much.

Ten years ago, I first walked these streets. I was a junior at the University of Pennsylvania, and I had decided to spend the year abroad, satisfying my inherent wanderlust. Living in London to study theater had afforded me the chance to catch a train to almost any destination, and I had spent many a weekend wandering through the extraordinary greenness of County Galway, taking in the art and architecture of Luxembourg, and visiting my family in Bavaria. However, it was when I first stepped off the Eurostar in Paris that I knew I had found my sanctuary.

After spending the day in the Louvre, I had emerged to see twinkling lights blanketing the city. It was the Paris I'd dreamt of, the Paris of Baz Luhrmann films and romantic daydreams. The moon hung low in the sky, as ripe and full as an apple, and caught up in the beauty of the sight, I almost expected it to serenade me in a deep baritone.

That evening, I strolled along the bank of the Seine, explored Montmartre, and tested my French among the Parisians as I investigated the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. As I butchered verb conjugation and bon aprčs-midi-ed when I should have bonsoir-ed, I felt Paris claim a part of me as its own. On the train back to London, I dreamt of the adventures I would have when I returned to this strange, fantastic city. The lofty plans I made became reality as I spent almost every weekend thereafter in the city, staying overnight in youth hostels only to arise at the crack of dawn for another day of discovery. Soon, I could converse acceptably with the locals, and I knew when it was appropriate to faire la bise, and when se serrer la main was preferable.

Ten years later, I could almost pass for a life-long Parisian. I had moved to the city several months after I graduated from UPenn, and, clutching a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre and a stack of headshots, I made the rounds of Paris' theatres. I had performed 'The Bald Soprano' at the Théâtre de la Huchette in front of a grand audience of ten, the opera 'Roméo et Juliette' at the Théâtre Lyrique, and, most memorably, 'Les Misérables' at the Théâtre Mogador. I smiled, remembering my time as the ingénue Cosette. The role had certainly been beneficial for me; my name, albeit misspelled, had appeared in Parisvoice - surely the beginning of something great. Now, while I was certainly no Sarah Bernhardt, I made enough money to live in a diminutive flat on the Ile de la Cité, with questionable plumbing and a heater which only seemed to work in the summer. The city still filled me with the same magic it had on that first weekend, and I proudly displayed my UPenn diploma in my living room, eternally grateful for the opportunity my alma mater had given me. Happiness, I had discovered, was hidden largely within chance encounters. I may never have discovered my amour for Paris, had I not

Undergraduate / Yale Supplement - the Pitbull's grin [22]

I'm going to trim it a little so that I can add something to the end - not sure what, yet, but I think it needs some kind of powerful conclusion. The prompt is:

'You have already told us about yourself in the Common Application, with its list of activities, the Short Answer, and the Personal Essay. While we leave the topic of your second essay entirely up to you, try telling us something about yourself that you believe we cannot learn elsewhere in your application. Please limit yourself to fewer than 500 words.'

"What's that?" I asked, my ten-year-old face pressed against the car window. My mother glanced in her rearview mirror, did a double-take, and then, in her best Dale Earnhardt impression, yanked the steering wheel around into a U-turn and pulled over.

"Stay. Here."

I knew better than to ignore her when she unleashed the 'mom-voice,' so I rolled down the window of our toothpaste-colored Ford and craned my neck out, wondering what the massive black thing we'd stopped for was. It was just another of the oddities I'd come to expect on this trip. Newly arrived immigrants, we had decided it might be fun to explore our new country. We had been on the road about a week now, had made it to Georgia, and were working with so small a budget that we'd been sleeping in the car and eating Ritz crackers for three days. It didn't matter to us; this was an adventure, after all! The mysterious black object was all part of the expedition.

My mom was moving the thing towards the car. She opened the door to the back seat, and with a terrific scramble, it heaved itself in. I spun around in my seat, and found myself face-to-face with a huge, grinning pitbull - a pitbull that had been scalped.

Grimly, my mother rolled down her window in an effort to vanquish the overwhelming dog-stench from the car. I peered around at the dog again. He was lying down now, his bulk taking up every inch of the back seat. He was still grinning away, his floppy lips hanging clownishly from huge jaws. Seeing me, his colossal tail thumped feebly against the seat, and he wiggled his little ears. He didn't seem to notice the gaping wound on the top of his head, or the bare, scabbed over patches covering his thin body. He just smiled and smiled, and I couldn't help but smile, too. I fed him Ritz crackers all the way to the vet's.

By the time we arrived, I had named the dog Buddy, and insisted on cuddling with him while we waited, even though I would later have to throw out my clothes. When the vet saw him, she immediately knew what had happened - he'd been used as a target to train fighting dogs. When he had become too weak to stand, he'd been discarded by the side of the road. He also had horrendous mange, and probably hadn't eaten in days. Despite everything, the grin never left his face. Buddy sat bravely while he was prodded with various needles, given a bath, and patched up.

Buddy became the best road-trip companion we could have hoped for. He was happy with any destination, smiled his approval of any radio station, and was never happier than when he snuggled up to sleep in the backseat, grunting along with his dreams, grinning his way through the night. Having gone through what he had, Buddy could easily have been aggressive and distrustful, but instead, he was at peace. His unfailing happiness inspired me to view life in the same way - with a smile on my face, and the ability to enjoy the moments that matter. After all, those are the things we remember in the end.

*like I said, it's not just going to end there. It'll have some kind of powerful closing sentence about smiling even when you've hit rock-bottom. Anywho, it's due by midnight, so I thought I'd get some feedback thus far! Thanks so much!!!

Undergraduate / Yale Supplement Essay - The Barn Fire [4]

OK, so it's way too long - 613 words, and they'd rather it be around 500. I'm pruning as necessary but having a hard time pulling too much out. I also think the last paragraph needs more but I hate to up the word count... :/

"And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
-T.S. Eliot
The cataclysmic crash had thrown me backwards, and I willed my eyes to readjust as I stood. When they did, I couldn't believe the image they were transmitting to me. Slowly, seductively, a tantalizing finger of thick smoke beckoned to me from the roof, willing me forward as the world stopped turning. This couldn't be real.

"FIRE!" bellowed a voice, and the world resumed its orbit, pulling me swiftly back to reality. As if on cue, the sky darkened, and massive hailstones began cannoning down, beating like war-drums on the tin roof. The five of us scattered, adrenalized by the sweet, musky odor surrounding us. The smoke had wrapped its elegant fingers around the hay now, and the crackle-sssss-POP the flakes made as they ignited punctuated the hale's persistent beating.

I yanked open the nearest stall door, murmuring softly to the frightened horse inside. As I crept towards his head, he spun and kicked out, squealing in confusion and terror. I stumbled backwards, my pulse pounding throughout my body from the near-miss, and reattempted. This time, my fingers slid up his mane and I braced my body against him, throwing a rope around his neck as we rushed out of the barn. I slid down the slick embankment, threw open the gate, and released him. We each galloped in different directions. All around me, horses were screaming, kicking, slipping down the hill as we pulled them, white-eyed, from their stalls.

It was the explosion that stopped us in our tracks. The fire had spread to the far side of the barn, where a massive structure housed wood shavings that, when exposed to intense heat, combusted. Soaking wet and filthy, we mentally recounted all the horses, making sure we had gotten them all out of the burning building.

It was then that I heard the terrified scream from within the stable, shrilly cutting through the voluptuous rolls of smoke. Nestled in a stall in the center of the barn was a broodmare and her fortnight-old colt - how could we have overlooked them? Hurtling into action, I slipped on the sodden grass, teetered, and righted myself, dashing forward into the inferno. My cracked hands seared from the bullet-like hailstones and the charred embers raining down on me, and I choked on every lungful of ashy air. I felt my way into the stall, and grabbed onto the vague horse shape huddled against the back wall. The mare wouldn't budge, and her baby had no inclination of leaving without her. His small, hard feet struck out disorientated warnings. Time was swiftly running out.

"Grab the mare!" I coughed out. I knew what I had to do - it wouldn't be easy, but I had no choice. Avoiding his hooves, I wrapped my arms around the writhing colt's ribcage and hefted his 200-pound bulk off the ground. Staggering backwards, we escaped from the stall, the panicked mare pressing into me and her foal. As we reached the treacherous slope, I dug my heels into mud and tightened my grip on the spindly colt. He gave a terrific buck and my arm cracked, but I held on until we reached the field. I eased my way back up the hill and watched as the empty barn finally caved in.

It was on that day that I learned to ignore my self-imposed limitations. I discovered that I am capable of more than I could ever have imagined. That ill-placed lightning bolt shaped a part of me, and proved my worth as the new girl in the team. Do I dare? Yes, I do.