Undergraduate / A Tree or a Cloud? - Harvard Optional Essay [7]

hey all, do help me take a look at my supplement essay. feel free to voice out any suggestions, thoughts or improvements. :)

A Tree or a Cloud?

Life is unpredictable - you blurted.

The sky turns dark, and you know it will rain; comes 5pm, the roads get noisy, packed, like puzzles piecing up - not to a beautiful picture, but stressful, crowded, disorganized cars and angry people; your boss throws you piles of folders and paperwork, then you realized its near the holiday season, and you are bound to your desk; your girlfriend says - we need to talk - and you know, something bad is around the corner. Everything in life, is written out, like a story so familiar we all could guess the ending halfway through it. Still unpredictable?

Nonsense, utter nonsense! Why then do some people say life is beautiful, breathtaking, surreal - you questioned!

My friend, the world, at large, is too enigmatic for a short, simple, sweet answer to your question.

But, if you insist:

You see, people, more often than not, are sedentary beings. Motionless, desk-bound, settled for what is within hands-reach. We take a step forward, pause, hesitate, worry about the next day, our next word, our next dollar, our next failure; and eventually, we lament on our coward devouring for the same old riches, that stoops down below our feet: sons, inheriting the riches of their fathers; children, trapped in the same cycle of life - school, college, work, marriage, family, retirement. You say life is unpredictable, I say life is pre-determined.

My friend, we are all born with a faint delineation of our destiny, believe it or not - one set by our fathers, shaped by our societies, and one we all had long foreseen, knowingly or unknowingly. Our lives, as beautiful as it may be, will always be predictable, determined and unthrilling - if we live in the same predicament set by others

Funny, why are you so cynical, pessimistic - you quipped!

You see, life blankets us with an odd assurance; like a newborn expecting for warmth and attention from the surrounding - sometimes joyful giggles, other times cries, and some other times desperations: to reach out for a world, lived in, but not understood or well communicated, at least not yet. And so are we, when it comes to understanding our world - at times, we find joy from it, then sadness, and more surprises, but we never could understand the mystical influences that govern the pattern of events! And it is amidst these inabilities to understand our life, that we choose to leave the inscrutable only as thoughts and questions we all bewilder at; passive, subservient to the works of the world.

And the unpredictability of life is thus silenced by our passiveness towards life - that sometimes, we choose to live in the same manner we know we already will: cowardly predictable, and unquestioning.

What is it then that makes life unpredictable - you asked.
Life, as William Blake poetically puts it, paints a tree and a cloud above it; that the tree, graceful as it is, devours only the riches of the Earth bestowed within its reaches, and falters at the same ground where its seed first birthed. The cloud above it, however less lush nor graceful, is fluid and roams the Earth - worriless, so fast-changing, that its riches abound in greater multitude, and in far places, you and I, would never know.

So my question to you, my friend: the cloud or the tree - you choose.

Undergraduate / Princeton Supplement - about a person who has influenced you. (Harvard sup too!) [3]

Hey all, please help me out with this essay. :) lookin forward to your suggestions and improvements. THANKS!

Prompt: Tell us about a person who has influenced you in a significant way.

I eat grass.

Lalangs, we call it. Wild grass, but not the ones that cows and goats chew on. And neither do I chew on them like cows and goats - rather only for my tummy ache, I eat them.

It never occurred to me the way my friend would react when I candidly told him about my grass-eating experience - surprised and partly amused. I always thought it was in every way normal, and not, to put in his words, orang asli.

In fact, I find eating many things normal. I eat bats. I eat chicken feet, pig's liver, intestine, heart, gizzard. All parts of a pig, I put them into my mouth. My mother eats sago worms from tree barks - and it seems normal to me. Yet, I always had the same response - laughter, and more laughter - when I unfold such stories of myself to my friend.

I know I cannot help myself from all these. Food, like shopping to women, is my obsession - and my weakness. I prey on them, literally. Throw me a box of donuts, some chicken wings, a big glass of chocolate ice-cream, and I probably would promise you anything. Thoughts of food are quite literally brimming in my head. Perhaps that is the reason why many of my friends idolize me - for being the roundest thing that they have ever seen. Round belly, round face, and probably my whole figure, head to toe, is round (at least for now only, I hope).

But I find joy from eating food - and my friend couldn't agree more. Perhaps also, it is in my nature that I can find joy from the simplest of all things. Just like how I loved being naked. Not because I am a mad exhibitionist, nor am I a self-indulgent narcissistic. I hated clothes, quite literally. I did not like the feeling of things pasted upon my skin - it was troublesome and unnatural, I thought. And probably part of the reason was from my native upbringing - that I did not find much shame in being naked, and running around in places. In fact, I used to not wear clothes at all till I was 5-6 years old, unless forced to by my parents.

Now the only nakedness that I still love to live with - thank God, as my friend exclaimed - is on my feet. I love to be barefooted. I walk around without shoes, play sports without shoes, and prefer to do anything without shoes - even tennis under the scorching afternoon sun was without shoes. And the only thing that comes close to my mind to cover my feet with - is a pair of slippers.

Yet, of all the weirdest things and habits that I have of myself, this friend of mine treats me nothing differently. That I was still the same person that he sees in his eyes - Andrew, a plain round boy, orang asli, short and loud. He still pampers me with food, proudly shares my weird experiences with his friends, still plays tennis with me under the hot sun - barefooted, and God-knows what other things we do together. He makes me accept myself for who I am, and to continue pursuing the things and living the way that I find most joy in - even if it may seem funny, out-of-the-world to him.

And to a great extent, I learned to be more comfortable with who I am from him. That I know - it is perfectly alright to be a person that other people may not find normal: unless you're a terrorist, a pedophile or a psychopathic clown; and that sometimes, it is alright for me to find men crawling inside my head, instead of women, for some good reasons. But surely, you will not find me running around the streets naked, thinking that it is normal anymore - I have grown up from that!

Now, I am happier, and I do things that are me without worrying what others might think - thanks to him, my friend.

660words

Undergraduate / Common App Essay on Mount Kinabalu, Sabah [9]

Mount Kinabalu, Sabah

I remember a legend - it all begins from the foot of this mountain, where a sacrifice was made. One so bloodless and divine, that soon - vows were exchanged from the people to the Heavens above: a promise, that first birthed the ritual of a long march towards the doors of Heaven, and then birthed the beliefs for generations of Kadazans.

The march to Libabou, they called it.

I am a Kadazan. We worship the ancient Gods of the land. Kinoingan, my great-grandmother told me, is one of the five ancient Gods of Borneo. He casted a strong wind upon the land, and divided the world into three: Libabou and Kolungkud (heaven and hell), and Mount Kinabalu for the spirits of the deceased to find rest. I grew up with my great-grandmother at the foot of Mount Kinabalu; I called her mamak tua. We lived in a wooden house that was not too small, yet not too big for our small lives. And for many years before I was born, mamak tua had stayed there - at the same house, next to the same river, beside the same road.

There were many differences that came forth in her eyes, about the many parts of the mountain that made her seem to stay put; I found no differences then staying at any parts of the mountain: you still feel its same edges, stare at its same green valleys, at many parts you still see the river and taste the same water, you see the same sun rising, and maybe only at different times you feel not the same thickness of the air.

But to mamak tua it all seemed so incomprehensibly different. That to her, nature was not a cover book that you glance through with the same idle-happiness - there was cadence, subtle enigmatic nuances, much more to her eyes than in mine.

Then I learned from her that there is a gift to every kadazan man like me - a shooting pipe, skulls, or a journey into the mountain - one much different from the gift mamak tua perceived for her female kind. Bravery is at heart to what is to become of a kadazan man. Hunters, warriors, travelers; they all seek for distances, much less to the women who seek loyalty to their grounds. Just like me, my mother told me: a brave man right at the age of 14 travelled to distances, two-and-a-half hours plane ride across the South China Sea, with no relatives but strangers. I treaded walks of life I would not encounter in Borneo.

You see, months ago, I would be out-and-about, roaming and seeking unhealthy solace at every corners of the unsleeping city, with friends I could barely trust and had barely known; many more months ago, I would be sitting at the park with my smoking companions, only to waste our nights away; a year ago, I would be sitting at the couch of my lover's house, indulging myself in a period of exploration of my own sensuality and sexuality; and three years ago, I would be quivering in fear plastered, several times, by a middle-aged ogre - an unspoken physical harassment in trepidation of his superior authority. Life in new distances was not easy to live by at first. Yet later on, it became too easy for the wrong reasons.

But that was not the case for mamak tua, or any of my kadazan ancestors at large: they never felt that it was easy to leave in the first place. It often dawned on me, the reason for mamak tua to have the firmness grounded upon her life and her stubbornness to live at the mountain. Easily I thought, that perhaps it was because for too many years, she had only amazed at the green horizon of the land from the same edge of the mountain; and that she may not even have seen the vast seas, and the world that lies beyond them.

Little did I understand, that her loyalty for the mountain sprung closely from the kadazan legend she spoke of to me - the march to Libabou. That just like every kadazan, I was born with a promise, one marked in my blood and made to the God of my ancestors.

For it is where she and I had lived, at the foot of Mount Kinabalu - a sacrifice was made by our God, Kinoingan. Spared before the doors of Heaven, His beloved daughter Huminodun vanished; that Her flesh became the first seeds of the Padi Huma (hill paddy), Her blood became the water in the rivers, and Her existence vanished, only revered as the spirit of hill paddy, Bambaazon. And it is from such divine generosity, our ancestors laid a promise to find rest nowhere else, but near the sun at the highest point of their land, Mount Kinabalu no matter how far they have travelled - a loyalty to guard what was heavily paid for by our Gods: life in the land of Borneo.

And so, towards the sky, the long march begins. Grateful spirits of my ancestors follow a path along this mountain to the doors of Heaven; like passing ships in the dark sea - sailing blindly, but faithfully, towards the far-reaching lights of the lighthouse. And there, before the eyes of their Creator, they fulfill a promise which I must follow: an eternal vow to protect the mountain and a loyalty to safeguard our birthplace, our beginnings.

tinggi tinggi gunung kinabalu,
tinggi lagi sayang sama kamu.

Mount Kinabalu.