Undergraduate / Would you ever eat a guinea pig? - Rutger's college essay [NEW]

Please feel free to be honest and criticize. I would really love it if anyone would edit/recommend/give any sort of an advice to help make this essay a bit more interesting! Thank you so much!

Would you ever eat a guinea pig?

To many people around us, a very simple "No" would immediately follow by this question. However, I would like to say, if it means ____ I would gladly take a bite of a guinea pig. My mission trip to Bolivia changed my views and my perceptions of the world. It upgraded me to take an accurate approach to serve others.

I was never excited to eat all throughout my stay in Bolivia. Each day was a struggle as I forced myself to eat "soups that were basically consisted of rice and oil. Every four hours, Bolivian families came to our seminary school, taking turns in serving us a meal. Despite their care and effort, every day was a trauma for me as I feared each moment when I had to head to the kitchen. I forced every spoonful into my mouth, holding down my strong desire to throw up.

Nevertheless, the Bolivian families had a greater surprise for us, a surprise that brought more than just a shock. When I entered the kitchen not expecting any surprise, I stumbled upon the tables overflowing with fried guinea pigs. The guinea pigs were lying flat on each plate, hairless and sickening. There was no way in heaven and hell that I was going to eat a guinea pig. Yes, I was mature enough to feel the sincere appreciation in my heart; the fact that the Bolivians had prepared what was considered a very precious meal in their country. However, according to my first instinct and that of my fellow church members, it was obviously their misjudgment of choosing the menu. As the image of an alive, furry and cute guinea pig went across my mind, I could not help but to leave the kitchen door not even thinking twice about the grandmother who had prepared us the meal.

Shortly, however, there was a change in my perception of guinea pigs. One evening my missionary pastor took our church members to a busy market place. Startled by the new sight, my eyes were busy scanning the place. Nonetheless, after a few hours of roaming through the streets, I came across an old crippled grandma who seemed very familiar to my eyes. She was the grandma who prepared the guinea pigs for us that day. Leaning her weak body against a pole for support, the grandma continued to pour lemonades as she was wiping sweat off her face, which was forcefully hugging the raging sunlight. As I continued to observe the grandmother, I witnessed a boy grabbing a cup of the lemonade and handing her two Bolivian coins.

Even before I came to this mission, I have researched and found out that guinea pigs are an extremely special food in Bolivia. I have heard previously from my missionary pastor that children don't even get such a treat to eat on their birthdays. The scenes of the grandmother and the guinea pigs recaptured by my eyes traveled down to my heart and left a tingle. She was out in the sun working for so many days, hoping to collect enough money to serve us all. I knew the drinks weren't much hope, but the grandma continued to sell as it was her only way to serve us. Her crippled and old body looked almost helpless; wrinkle in her hands and her forehead told the story of her hard life.

At that moment I felt the little feeling growing into a hard squeeze in my heart that brought so much pain. I was awfully embarrassed of myself as I recaptured my past. For all my life, I have been thinking that I did goods and that I was more than caring. However, from the grandma's true serving to us, I accurately learned the meaning of serving. Serving doesn't simply mean giving and helping those who are lower and more deprived than I am. True serving meant being able to sacrifice and serve also those who are in greater position than I am in as well. Serving has no restrictions.

This kind of serving is almost nowhere to be found in the United States, where the fast-paced society is praising the individual success. Now, as I can proudly state the sincere meaning of a word "serving", I desire to start sharing this love at the Rutgers University where, I feel, there is much diversity and much greater potential than any other schools. It is my hope to take a part in this diverse community where I can certainly participate with fellow students and professors in renewing our lives through learning to serve each other.

Undergraduate / 'my mom is the most influential figure' - common application [5]

Please feel free to be honest and criticize. I would really love it if anyone would edit/recommend/give any sort of an advice and help me make this essay a bot more interesting and less cliche. Thank you so much!

* Indicate a person who has had a significant influence, and describe that influence.

There are approximately 13.7 million single parents in the United States today, and they are responsible for raising 21.8 million children. Living life without the support of a dad is really difficult. However, this hardship is outweighed by the incredible journey life has taken me under the wing of my single mom. Each day was a challenge and through these challenge, I gained strength, tolerance, and appreciation.

On top of the fact that my mom had to support two young daughters by herself, she also had to face the hardships of an immigrant life. Even though she was a graduate of South Korea's most prestigious university with a degree in literature, she did not know a word of English. With her broken English coated with an unmistakable heavy Korean accent, it was impossible for her to communicate in this foreign land. As a child, I frequently witnessed the rudeness of clerks and shopkeepers as my mother tried to make her desires understood. My sister and I often had to translate for her so that she could buy groceries or transact any business. Nevertheless, my mother's language barrier was the best experience there was to teach me about tolerating stress and handling important problems.

Even though she suddenly had to rely on her children and face barriers everywhere she turned, my mother never complained. She did the best she could and did all she could to make her English better. Gradually, she learned to make her voice heard, although her English will never be perfect. I admire her for having the courage to come to a new country and learn a new language. I admire her for having the spirit to face difficulty without ever feeling pity for herself.

In elementary school, I was in an ESL class and I hated it. I was bitter about being teased because I spoke English with a Korean accent. Gradually, however, I learned to follow her example and persist in my goal to become strong. Whenever I hear someone who speaks English with an accent, I think about how hardworking that person must be being able to challenge himself/herself with a second language. I am grateful to my mother for teaching me to face adversity with cheerfulness and for teaching me quite courage by her example.

Single moms are greatly looked down upon and pitied in Korea. However, I am so grateful to have a single mom. I am so grateful that my sister, my mom, and I were able to get through it all together in America and show my relatives in Korea that although the single mom may be alone and have it harder, she is a tolerant, strong, and appreciative woman. And that's why my mom is the most influential figure in my life.

Undergraduate / The overpowering voice -Common App Essay [4]

Please feel free to be honest and comment. I would love it if anyone can please edit it and recommend me a title for this essay. Thank you so much!

* Indicate a person who has had a significant influence, and describe that influence.

Rather than enjoying the voice of TV cartoon characters, I grew up listening to angry voices of landlords, lawyers, and billing companies. They were all a big threat to me: the cold and ill-tempered voice of the landlord, the elite and sophisticated voices of lawyers, and the desperate and demanding voices of billing companies. Regardless of my age, I was responsible for listening to the voices that my dad was supposed to hear and the voices that my mom was suppose to hear. Although my sister and I were normal teenagers just like the rest, we were faced to do the jobs of ordinary adults. Each and every day was a challenge; however, through this, I gained strength, tolerance, and appreciation.

Phone calls weren't a pleasure to me; it brought me fear instead. I hated phone calls because it introduced me to so many unpleasant voices in life. I could not ask my dad to pick up the phone because I knew he was no longer with us. I knew I couldn't ask my mom either. Some way or another, the phone would find its way to come back into my hands. The speedy fluent English were very difficult for me to understand; after all, I was attending ESL. However, throughout the years, it came natural to my sister I to talk on the phone for hours with the angry voices. Despite our young age, we had to understand the different contracts that our family was making with housing and banking companies. While kids played outside, I stayed in for hours arguing, understanding, and interpreting a tax collector's heated words. However, there was one thing that was able to soothe away my stress: my mom's warming voice. There was no better remedy to alleviate my stress from the irritating voice of the cruel world. Her delicate voice warmed me and lifted up my spirit.

With her broken English coated with an unmistakable heavy Korean accent, it was really impossible for her to communicate in this foreign land. However, my mom tried very hard to protect me and my sister with her broken English, fighting against people who are degrading her because of the language barrier. Knowing that she attended Korea's most elite university, it really angered me to hear her voice grow smaller and smaller as the society looked down on her with pity. Yet, what she had to go through did not matter to her; we were the first and foremost. Putting her fear aside, she spoke confidently to the outside world in hopes of supporting us.

Under the harsh voices was my mom's voice of strong desire to keep us safe and protected. Then I came to realize the voices taunting in my head are nothing compare to the pain that my mom was going through. I was complaining and she was not. She had the heart and the strength that I once could not comprehend. She was an independent woman who knew how to keep her priority, sacrifice her own emotions and convert the rages into such loving and warm voice. Her voice has overpowered those of landlords, tax collectors and lawyers; without me knowing, my mom had already influenced me to absorb her priceless love and effort. I am ready to express and share her respectful traits, which are now part of mine, to people around me.

Undergraduate / Would You Ever Eat a Guinea Pig? - A college essay for Rutgers [2]

Please feel free to be honest and comment. This is my first draft and i really need some help/guide to writing a well-written college essay.Thank you!

"Oh my goodness..." gasped Paul as he stared blankly and confusingly at the long wooden table.
"No, no, no, no, no. There is no way that this thing is going near my mouth" exclaimed Ashley as she sprung around panicking.

"Okay, seriously? Yea, it's true I came here to serve the Bolivian people. But, no one said anything about needing to eat guinea pigs for lunch! Alright? Are you kidding me? YUKKK" growled Grace as she walked out of the kitchen door.

"Ew...they're not even cut into pieces...Their eyes are staring right at me. Look at their claws! Do you see that? Do you? Oh my god, kill me now...I rather die, seriously" cried I in much shock and disbelief.

I held my breath and headed towards the door as I saw others walking out the kitchen door as well. There was no way in heaven and hell that I was going to eat a guinea pig. Think about it. Who would decide to grab a guinea pig that people normally see in pet shops and cook them for dinner? I was in much shock. It lied flat on the plastic plate, stiff and hairless, spreading its claws wide open across the table towards me. Yea, of course I appreciate that someone prepared us a meal to eat, but c'mon, they obviously chose the wrong menu. No? The last time I saw a guinea pig was when I went over my friend's house. From what I remember, it was furry and cute, and of course alive too! At the moment, I simply felt disgusted and left the kitchen door without thinking much about the Bolivian grandma who prepared us the meal. I left the kitchen table quietly and ate crackers that I saved from the day before. Of course, I didn't think much about this afterwards. If anything, it added to the many things I was excited to tell my friends and families back at home.

However, shortly, there was a change in my perception of guinea pigs. One evening, my missionary pastor took all of our church members to a busy market place; one of the very few market places in Bolivia. The place was filthy and crowded with people walking past one another busy getting to their individual destinations. It was packed with people buying and selling fruits, nuts, blankets and all sorts of souvenirs that caught my attention. However, as we were busy observing the place, our missionary pastor stopped us at a street corner where we noticed an old grandma pouring lemonade. Having a crooked/bent back, the grandma leaned against a pole for balance, sweating through the blazing sun that shined over her. She looked so weak and feeble; yet, she continue to pour the drinks onto each cups. When a man handed her two shiny coins I recognized a smile on her wrinkled face.. When I woke from thoughts and finally studied her face, I realized that the grandma's face looked very familiar. It took me quite a while to recapture my memory when I finally realized that it was the grandma who served us the guinea pig the other day.

It was then that my missionary pastor began explaining to all of us. The grandma over at the street corner was a disciple of my missionary pastor. She was the grandma who offered to serve us the guinea pigs the other day; the food that we were absolutely sickened by. He went on and said, "As I told all of you before, Guinea pig are a very special and a sacred food here in Bolivia. It is so sacred that children rarely get this treat even on their birthdays. But do you see her? Do you see how crippled she is? She stood there, pouring and selling those cups of lemonades in the hot sun, hoping to collect enough to serve you guys. Do you know how much those drinks are? It's probably around twenty five cents in your country. Do you know how much a guinea pig is? It's around 10 dollars, she needed to sell forty of those drink to buy just one of you a guinea pig. Can you imagine how long it took her to collect all the money to serve you guys the other day?" Immediately, I felt a cold __ run through my body. I felt shocked. & embarrassed...

My heart ached so much. I watched her. I watched her as she leaned towards the pole again, greeting those who passed by. She was crippled and old. She didn't need to do this for us. Why did she? We didn't do anything for her to deserve it. I didn't understand why she suffered so long in the streets, in the filthy streets, just to serve us. I didn't want to think of how much of those drinks she had to sell to serve twenty six one of us. And yet, we didn't even think twice and let the guinea pigs dry cold. My heart ached so much. At the moment, I felt ashamed of myself. She served us with a pure heart. She didn't do this because she needed to; she did this out of pure love and care for us. That day, I learned the true meaning of the word "serving." For all my life, I have thought I can only serve those who struggle, those who are in lower positions/conditions than I am. I realized I was wrong. Being able to serve doesn't mean serving those who are lower and more deprived than I am; true serving means being able to sacrifice and serve also those who are in greater position than I am. Serving has no limitations. It was a time that I was able to look back at myself in my past.

Bolivia changed my perception of guinea pigs. Through this, I learned true love and true serving. I learned that serving is not only meant for those who are below me but also to those who are above and greater than I am. This kind of serving is not present in the U.S. Because I was gifted to learn this kind of love and serving, I now feel the need to share it to all the people I will meet and come across in life. If someone were to ask me this question again, I have no doubt in answering it. YES, I will eat a guinea pig!