Scholarship / The Human Body: My Passion -- short essay. [2]

This is very incomplete. I am at 330 words out of the total 500 I wish to reach. I am so pressed for time, any input would be extremely appreciated. I will definitely return the favor.

Please criticize grammar, content, everything!

The prompt is to "describe something you are passionate about. How will you incorporate this passion into the legacy you will leave behind?"

Thank you!

It was broad daylight, true, but I had my most deceptive garments on. The time for my daily eight in the morning escapade was drawing near. I slid down my stairs, pressed my back against my living room wall, and in a comical leap, landed right outside my front porch. I was free! A couple swift steps away was my favorite place to be--my neighbor's alternative health center.

You heard me correctly; this was the place I found most interesting and most stimulating, so getting there always seemed to feel like an adventure. Life was relatively monotonous over at my house, where I could not experience (be examined, etc). I would arrive there to the scent of eucalyptus and lavender essential oils, welcomed by my neighbor, the health specialist and owner. Adults there went to relax, prevent unnecessary disease, or recover from injuries; I went because I was the strange eight-year-old who would rather watch Discovery Channel marathons over the Disney channel any day. This small business, by opening its doors and allowing me to peek inside, helped me discover my greatest intellectual passion: the human body. It also became the nook where I observed medicine in its most noble (or pure, primitive, untainted, best, most effective) state--when it could be incorporated into daily life, when it is helping to prevent before it is forced to cure.

From the moment I, I knew human beings were much more than their actions. They do not simply think, walk, or contract disease-- behind this there are chemicals working undercover, neurons firing to transmit a thought, an unconscious working to create defense mechanisms. These are the intricacies that have captivated me for years--from spending hours on WebMD researching western cures to diseases to buying books on reflexology, Ayurveda, and other oriental alternatives. Both perspectives, I learned, must be considered. Someday, I hoped, I would grow in enough knowledge to help further fuse the disparity between the two branches.

Scholarship / Blackbird by the Beatles -- the work of music that inspired me. 250 word essay. [2]

I would love any form of criticism! Content! Grammar! You name it!
Thank you.

Sometimes, we get a chance to live again-to scatter our past into the wind and return, ready to tackle new experiences. Sometimes, life is simply telling us to fly.

That was exactly how I felt the first time I heard this song. The previous year had been startling; I lost my closest friends and watched my mother struggle to keep her job, among other things. I was only fourteen, but was beginning to feel worn down. I wanted so much to peer out of the tight box I inhabited and feel new again. So, I climbed out and began to clean my room. Inside my player was an old Beatles cassette my dad had left behind. I thought, "why not?" and began to listen.

The first song was Blackbird. I almost thought I heard it address me directly: "Fryda, fly." Yes, it was time to begin again. I would start playing music for the first time in a year. I would once again spend quality time in the art I love most!

I learned to play Blackbird, possibly out of gratitude, but more likely to master its beautiful riff and sing it to myself. After all, it gave me the strength to not only face my world but embrace it enthusiastically. I played this song the first time I performed for a patient in the hospital; I continue to play it for every patient I visit. "Why not?" I tell myself; I am not the only Blackbird in nest.

Scholarship / "The Cuban Refugee Musician" -- 250 word essay. [4]

Hi there, I have exceeded the 250 word limit by 30 words. I would love any help shortening this essay.. I would also appreciate the toughest criticism on content and grammar!Thank you.

As a three year old, I remember looking out the windows of the Mexicana airplane, astounded by the clouds. According to my mother, I spent this hour in elation, chattering about how excited I was to fly. Although I did not know this yet, I had every reason to be thrilled. I left the cage where my father nearly became a political prisoner and my mother, an engineer, resorted to sewing and selling dolls to make a living.

With few relatives, I grew up an only child in a family of three, living and breathing my parents' experiences. They told me stories of a childhood that starkly contrasted mine in everything from military school to tobacco picking. Our differences helped me understand the commodities I indulge in. Within me grew a second-hand awareness that nothing had to be easy-my way of life was a gift, somewhat like the music that ran through my family tree.

As a young girl, I watched music preserve ties and ease tensions. The few times we could call Cuba, it was so that my uncle and father could bring a musical piece together; my uncle working on lyrics and my father on the tune. Music filled our home for generations; today, it helps me surrender my limitations and revel in its soothing sounds.

Through my parents' stories-and instruments-I embraced the culture I left behind. Through every strum of the guitar and "one day, when I was a child," I learned to see.

Undergraduate / "Into the Light" -- Significant Risk Essay [7]

Hello!
I would LOVE some brutal criticism. I really want to make this essay the best it can be.. I'll be using it for my common application!

Thank you in advance.

Into the Light
The blank bulletin board in front of me had no expectations; it told me no encouraging words that could pressure me to sign it, yet this was exactly what I was about to do. I fumbled for a pen, secretly hoping to find none. To my immediate misfortune, the stranger to my right offered me one and I went directly to writing my name. Inside, I was bursting with thoughts of "I cannot believe I am doing this." Did I even belong there? Outside, I just smiled and gave the pen back.

After nine years of school, I had developed a conditioned cycle of study that I rarely broke free from. Determined to push myself to my intellectual limits, I had let my passion for music grow stale from disuse. A constant feeling of uneasiness and dissatisfaction with myself made me seek out new avenues of fulfillment.

My friend, Jessie, who was the lead singer of a band, regularly told me stories of the exhilaration she felt after a performance. I would watch her with a look of longing, dreaming of the opportunity to fearlessly communicate my capacity for art and creativity. To face an audience's expectations would mean to feel comfortable with my own. To perform would mean to be at ease with lights blinding me as I stood raw upon a stage.

As extraordinary as this sounded, I was acutely afraid. There seemed to be too many parts of my personality I would have to confront to merely tackle the monologue in the audition. It was impulse which drove me to sign up for the Pirates of Penzance Spring Musical; I felt an undeniable propulsion to take this frightening leap. However, rumors of the superficiality of "theater kids" were overwhelming; I could not help but feel frightened and anxious at the thought of losing myself in the whirlwind of outgoing personalities that starkly contrasted my own. I thought I could change, becoming a monster that fed an attention and self-aggrandizement. Even without this, I would have to battle my personal introversion, which turned contact with strangers into a nerve-wracking experience for me.

After finding out I landed the role of the soprano 'Constance', I could not yelp with glee; I was too wary of all the hurdles I would have to climb. I had seen how the theater director sternly reproached his students when they missed a beat. I had watched the drama students communicate in their native tongue of rhyme and song. Now, I would learn to survive in this foreign terrain!

It was the first day of practice. I looked all over the place for my tongue but could not find it--I was nearly mute. In the changing room, the lead soprano was grooming her feathers and practicing her trills; meanwhile, the director was rendering masterfully intimidating arpeggios. Suddenly, we were all asked to gather around the piano. In this strange new environment, we all began to sing. As a soprano, I was an essential component to the unity of the piece; this belief would slowly give me the confidence to find my tongue.

For the first month, I was a prisoner of nerves as the rehearsals drew near at the end of each day. I would shy away to the bathroom, breathe deeply, and tell myself to feel comfortable with new people and embrace the scrutiny of the critical stage lights. Soon enough, however, theater itself set me free. For almost the first time in my life, I was truly understanding the extrovert and engaging in foolish acts of humor. I sang, danced, and pantomimed through the hallways without a fear of being heard or seen. I learned how to bounce from the confines of my personality into the character I was interpreting. Overall, I allowed myself to step out of my insecurities; no longer would I mind speaking in front of an audience nor approaching absolute strangers. Drama had given me a strength I had hidden away most of my life.

As soon as the curtains closed on my first performance, I felt a triumphant rush of joy. Jessie was right; I would never be the same again.

For me, the actor is a brave soul, willing to expose his or her weaknesses to the perceptive and penetrating stage lights. However, it is a risk that one can only gain from. In life, we must learn to probe through our greatest anxieties. It is there where we find the courage to grow both inward and outward. Today, when I am faced with the observant, intimidating light of everyday experiences, I still take my distinctive deep breaths--but now I do so with acceptance and faith in my potential to persevere.

Oh, and if you have the time, please look into my "The Eight Grade Science Fair" essay! Thanks in advance :]

Undergraduate / The Eight Grade Science Fair - Brown Supplement Essay [5]

The prompt asked me to analyze an intellectual experience and its effect one me. The essay is supposed to be below 500 words.. It's almost completed but I'm stuck at the end, where I'm truly supposed to wrap things up!

Please be brutally honest. Any help would be highly highly appreciated!

It all began with a wad of spit. A group of drooling teenagers formed a line every day after school in Mr. Negrelli's science class. They had heard rumors of how they would be pinched and poked, of how with a few tests, they would learn the deepest secrets of their identity. They entered the room expecting to see Dr. Frankenstein in a laboratory suit. Instead, they saw amateur Fryda wearing oversize latex gloves, equally enthusiastic but slightly lacking in skill. Tongs held clumsily in one hand and a stopwatch gripped in another were her unrefined tools of discovery.

It was eighth grade when I decided to step into the coliseum of State Science Fair competitors. Familiar with exploding baking soda volcanoes and Rube Goldberg contraptions, I had fallen to the misconception that science projects were supposed to imitate and impress. While I was still expected to construct a presentation twice my size, I would have to abandon the mounds of paper-mâché for the more polished mounds of data and research.

Shadows formed under my eyes as I spent nights inputting the results of the Myers-Briggs tests--which measure introversion and extroversion--and comparing them to the masses of saliva I collected. Would there even be any relationship between the two? As drowsiness shuffled in, so did many forms of lucidity: modest drool suddenly transformed into a product of amygdala stimulation! I started seeing happiness measured in endorphin levels and temperature measured in neurons firing in the hypothalamus. After all, I was weighing personality in grams of spit--anything was possible! It was an exciting yet humbling experience--to feel so much like a scientist but still be so far from one.

Instead, I was a student that had joined the bizarre group of individuals that embraced this extra work like an adventure. We did not receive any grades for our work but I soon realized that this was never a problem. Standing on the same stage as students whose inventions would be patented by NASA was a privilege; a simple sense of accomplishment was more than enough.

Once I finally had a finished product, I could stare into the eyes of the judge, three-inch binder in hand, oversize poster board in back of me, and feel confident. Nevertheless, by this time, the project was more than a display. It had had catalyzed my fascination with the human body and introduced me to methods I could use to find answers to the most peculiar questions. This dynamic and hands-on experience made all my other assignments feel like worksheets of tedium and predictability.

In the middle of my presentation, I looked over at the graph I had plotted, and smirked. As odd as it sounded, introversion and saliva production had everything to do with each other! Research had proven what I thought was an unlikely combination. It had made me bigger than I ever was--and incited a thirst for more. While it all began with a wad of spit, it ended in discovery.

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Jan 1, 2010 #4