hiralarious
Nov 20, 2010
Undergraduate / Dancing at a ball, Writing & Baking - UC App Prompts #1 & 2 [4]
Prompt #1 - Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
I'm happily dancing at a ball. But then suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm walking through Egypt on my way to the Pyramids. And then I'm whisked away, suddenly traveling through the cold frigidness of the North Pole. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them again, my heart is hurting like it has never hurt before. My husband has just told me he doesn't love me, right after I realized I love him. I am Elizabeth Bennet, Santiago, Frankenstein, Scarlett O'Hara. They are all part of me, their stories weave seamlessly into my own. I read and become lost. My aspirations become lost with theirs. Who is Hira? For those few hours that I am reading, she does not exist. She is the one that is a figment of my imagination. She is the one that isn't real. I finish Scarlett's tale and suddenly, I am her. For a few minutes, I wonder what I will do. And for the rest of that day, a deep sadness rests upon my heart.
The books that contain their stories, looking brand new or practically falling apart, somehow become my family. Or, are they me? It doesn't really matter anymore. They are just there, parts of my life that I can't escape - nor want to. And that's family, isn't it? They say that at seventeen, you haven't experienced anything at all. But I disagree. You see, I've experienced a love like no other, heartbreak that shattered my soul, adventures that made me millions - life. Living vicariously, I suppose. But nonetheless, that's how it is. I have experienced so much, more than I could ever hope to really experience. I have discovered so many personalities, so many people. I have lived life through these books.
And then one day, I realized that it was my turn. I wanted to be the one to craft all these tales. To make someone feel the way I did when I read these beautiful stories. Long hours of writing slipped away and my dream stubbornly refused to fade. Slowly and carefully, entire novels were planned out and halfway written. Lives were planned out, characters immortalized. Instead of reading about the young man that brought a monster to life, of the young woman dancing and whispering secrets to her friend, I was writing about them. They became part of me, extensions of my mind. Looking back, I realize that all my characters were based off certain aspects of myself - they really were me. They had my bravery, my humor, my quirkiness, my everything. But they were also imbued with everyone around me, friends, strangers, family. My characters became the way that I saw the world, how I comprehended it. They became my diary - they told the story of my emotions, of my day, at that moment in time. I passed my diary on to friends, who absorbed my stories and my characters, oblivious of my thinly veiled secrets that lay there and themselves expressed in these characters. But I have control in this world that I have weaved - I can make my own happily ever after. They are the endings that I cannot get, the ones I wish for - the way I deal with the pains and happiness of life. It's all part of me and who I want to be. These pages contain my dreams, but they are also my dream. They are just one of the many things I want, just one, but so very important.
Prompt #2 - Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are?
Cream the butter and sugar. Fold in the eggs. Add cocoa and a hint of vanilla. Mix in flour. Beat till smooth. I follow these instructions slowly, the same ones that I've followed dozens of times before. I add a hint more of sugar, only a scant teaspoon of vanilla and edit the recipe and make it my own like a dozen times before. I double, triple, quadruple the recipe and then make two different recipes. I taste the batter and adjust them all until I like them. I glance at the clock and watch time fade away. Pans move in and out of my oven, cupcakes fill my counter until there's no more space. Two hundred cupcakes line my countertops and slowly cool and I switch my attention to my frosting. Sugar and cream of tartar whisked together with egg whites and then a hint of vanilla and salt. I carefully pipe frosting onto the chocolate cupcakes and move on to the vanilla and then, finally, the strawberry. I add some sprinkles and a pinch of cocoa until I'm satisfied. I gently put them my cupcakes on trays and send them off to my cousin's wedding with a kiss goodbye. And then, later that night, as dinner is finished, I look over my shoulder and realize that the cupcakes are gone and the compliments start rolling in. Some beg for the recipe, others confess that they've eaten five, and others confess their undying love - to my cupcakes. I smile and know that the hours I spent in my kitchen were completely worth their smiles, their laughter, their joy.
Cream everyone in everything. Fold in laughter. Add love and a hint of passion. Mix in happiness. Beat till smooth. The recipe of my life. I follow this recipe too, every day; it's the one that I repeat to myself everyday at every moment in the day. Yet somehow, this one seems that much harder. That laughter is sometimes such a rare ingredient and that happiness just obscure and possibly a fantasy. But baking, whether it be a simple chocolate cupcake or éclair, helps make everything come together. It's my secret ingredient, the takes my day from good to great. It's my asylum from the world and my relaxation. Those dozens of hours spent mixing and stirring become worth it when I see someone's smile as they take a bite. It all becomes worth it when I know that I've made someone's day that much better. It's that knowledge that the same basic ingredients led to such a delicious product, that I can do what they can't. There's a little voice in the back of my head that wants to say dang straight, I can make a mean cupcake and you can't. And in that moment when someone tastes my food, it doesn't matter if they're smarter, richer, prettier, whatever - I can do something they can't. It's my way of proving my worth to myself and the world, of showing that I can, that I'm special, that I'm important. I whisk the batter of my life until the lumps have disappeared, until I am finally content with life. I pour the batter into cupcake pans and wait twenty minutes until the toothpick comes out clean and take a bite. Scrumptious.
My essays are 134 words over the limit, so I'd really appreciate if you could also help me chose what parts to edit out.
Thanks in advance!
Prompt #1 - Describe the world you come from - for example, your family, community or school - and tell us how your world has shaped your dreams and aspirations.
I'm happily dancing at a ball. But then suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm walking through Egypt on my way to the Pyramids. And then I'm whisked away, suddenly traveling through the cold frigidness of the North Pole. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them again, my heart is hurting like it has never hurt before. My husband has just told me he doesn't love me, right after I realized I love him. I am Elizabeth Bennet, Santiago, Frankenstein, Scarlett O'Hara. They are all part of me, their stories weave seamlessly into my own. I read and become lost. My aspirations become lost with theirs. Who is Hira? For those few hours that I am reading, she does not exist. She is the one that is a figment of my imagination. She is the one that isn't real. I finish Scarlett's tale and suddenly, I am her. For a few minutes, I wonder what I will do. And for the rest of that day, a deep sadness rests upon my heart.
The books that contain their stories, looking brand new or practically falling apart, somehow become my family. Or, are they me? It doesn't really matter anymore. They are just there, parts of my life that I can't escape - nor want to. And that's family, isn't it? They say that at seventeen, you haven't experienced anything at all. But I disagree. You see, I've experienced a love like no other, heartbreak that shattered my soul, adventures that made me millions - life. Living vicariously, I suppose. But nonetheless, that's how it is. I have experienced so much, more than I could ever hope to really experience. I have discovered so many personalities, so many people. I have lived life through these books.
And then one day, I realized that it was my turn. I wanted to be the one to craft all these tales. To make someone feel the way I did when I read these beautiful stories. Long hours of writing slipped away and my dream stubbornly refused to fade. Slowly and carefully, entire novels were planned out and halfway written. Lives were planned out, characters immortalized. Instead of reading about the young man that brought a monster to life, of the young woman dancing and whispering secrets to her friend, I was writing about them. They became part of me, extensions of my mind. Looking back, I realize that all my characters were based off certain aspects of myself - they really were me. They had my bravery, my humor, my quirkiness, my everything. But they were also imbued with everyone around me, friends, strangers, family. My characters became the way that I saw the world, how I comprehended it. They became my diary - they told the story of my emotions, of my day, at that moment in time. I passed my diary on to friends, who absorbed my stories and my characters, oblivious of my thinly veiled secrets that lay there and themselves expressed in these characters. But I have control in this world that I have weaved - I can make my own happily ever after. They are the endings that I cannot get, the ones I wish for - the way I deal with the pains and happiness of life. It's all part of me and who I want to be. These pages contain my dreams, but they are also my dream. They are just one of the many things I want, just one, but so very important.
Prompt #2 - Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are?
Cream the butter and sugar. Fold in the eggs. Add cocoa and a hint of vanilla. Mix in flour. Beat till smooth. I follow these instructions slowly, the same ones that I've followed dozens of times before. I add a hint more of sugar, only a scant teaspoon of vanilla and edit the recipe and make it my own like a dozen times before. I double, triple, quadruple the recipe and then make two different recipes. I taste the batter and adjust them all until I like them. I glance at the clock and watch time fade away. Pans move in and out of my oven, cupcakes fill my counter until there's no more space. Two hundred cupcakes line my countertops and slowly cool and I switch my attention to my frosting. Sugar and cream of tartar whisked together with egg whites and then a hint of vanilla and salt. I carefully pipe frosting onto the chocolate cupcakes and move on to the vanilla and then, finally, the strawberry. I add some sprinkles and a pinch of cocoa until I'm satisfied. I gently put them my cupcakes on trays and send them off to my cousin's wedding with a kiss goodbye. And then, later that night, as dinner is finished, I look over my shoulder and realize that the cupcakes are gone and the compliments start rolling in. Some beg for the recipe, others confess that they've eaten five, and others confess their undying love - to my cupcakes. I smile and know that the hours I spent in my kitchen were completely worth their smiles, their laughter, their joy.
Cream everyone in everything. Fold in laughter. Add love and a hint of passion. Mix in happiness. Beat till smooth. The recipe of my life. I follow this recipe too, every day; it's the one that I repeat to myself everyday at every moment in the day. Yet somehow, this one seems that much harder. That laughter is sometimes such a rare ingredient and that happiness just obscure and possibly a fantasy. But baking, whether it be a simple chocolate cupcake or éclair, helps make everything come together. It's my secret ingredient, the takes my day from good to great. It's my asylum from the world and my relaxation. Those dozens of hours spent mixing and stirring become worth it when I see someone's smile as they take a bite. It all becomes worth it when I know that I've made someone's day that much better. It's that knowledge that the same basic ingredients led to such a delicious product, that I can do what they can't. There's a little voice in the back of my head that wants to say dang straight, I can make a mean cupcake and you can't. And in that moment when someone tastes my food, it doesn't matter if they're smarter, richer, prettier, whatever - I can do something they can't. It's my way of proving my worth to myself and the world, of showing that I can, that I'm special, that I'm important. I whisk the batter of my life until the lumps have disappeared, until I am finally content with life. I pour the batter into cupcake pans and wait twenty minutes until the toothpick comes out clean and take a bite. Scrumptious.
My essays are 134 words over the limit, so I'd really appreciate if you could also help me chose what parts to edit out.
Thanks in advance!