Undergraduate / 'For whom would you risk it all?' - ESSAY FOR UCHICAGO [7]

This is an incredibly risky essay I wrote! I decided to do Essay Option 5: In the spirit of adventurous inquiry, pose a question of your own. If your prompt is original and thoughtful, then you should have little trouble writing a great essay. Draw on your best qualities as a writer, thinker, visionary, social critic, sage, citizen of the world, or future citizen of the University of Chicago; take a little risk, and have fun.PLEASE give me your truthful advice on this extended essay! I wanted to write something that I've never told anyone before, something that only her and I know. PLEASE give me you HONEST opinions Thank you all so much!

For whom would you risk it all?

It is true what is said about how life, the interactions of people, and the incorporeal bonds formed between them are all more than just superficial encounters, meaningless moments in the grand scale of existence. Someone once said, "Some people come into out lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on out hearts, and we are never, ever the same." It is strange and fascinating that such a complexly simple phrase could dig so deeply and penetrate through the heart of human emotion to the core of the soul. Happiness, sadness, joy, and pain each carry a dynamic dimension to what is called "living," yet what happens when such a bond is broken, and complicated and intricate intangibility crumbles? What happens when the truest rock of friendship, love, and support fragments into oblivion? How does one choose between what is right and what is lawful, one's country or one's friend, what God tells someone and what his heart tells him? For someone I risked it all, and I discovered what happens the hardest way.

We do not speak to each other anymore; there are too many conflicting impediments, mostly the cicatrices of pride and heartache. Though we sit near each other in classes and have the same circle of friends, we swore to never speak about what we would have done, how far we almost went, how deeply we planned it out, and that out of love we would have done anything for each other. In retrospect I wished she would not have told me. I wished my best friend of five years would not have cried to me that night. I wish I could have tried harder to resist helping her. I wish I could just tell her that I have been inexhaustibly in love with every aspect of her since we met in Eighth Grade. I wished that many things were different, but I would never change how I felt when she told me.

"Jacob," tears flowing down her eyes, "there's something I think you should know" she said with poorly concealed fear and an air of total weakness and trust. "Don't let this change us." I wish it would not have. "I'm an illegal immigrant." A few tears fell slowly down my cheeks as I searched for something, anything, to comfort her. Only a the most sincere embrace came to mind. She later explained to me that her parents had bought forged Social Security Cards from the Mexican black market, and they had crossed the border under nightfall several years ago, crossing the desolate desert into a strange, foreign country. For the first time, I saw a different side to my closest friend. I saw fragility past her unfazed exterior, trepidation in her eyes, and vulnerability in her smile as she tried to stop herself from crying. How could I see the girl I loved so deeply this way? Feeling of fear, worry, sadness, and shock all coursed through my body; there was only one thing I could say to say, "Will you marry me?"

We did not know what we were going to do; I had just turned eighteen! There was something inside me, though, something indescribable, a faint calling that this was what I needed to be doing, that I was in the right place at the right time, which propelled me to be ask her hand. We knew what it meant, and I was ready to sacrifice my life, freedom, and name for her. I loved her; she had to realize it at this point! I knew it was wrong, illegal, and a sham; she knew if we were caught, her entire family would be deported, and I would be imprisoned. Despite what my mind was telling me, I listening to my heart, and we started planning out our "wedding." The beauty was that no one would know, and we could still live our lives the normal way, just as two highschool seniors, secretly legally married with her family and herself as citizens. "It would be a piece of cake!" we though in ignorance. Yet, reality set in, and fear did as well. A fissure formed between us; I was blinded by love, and she was chasing her life's dream: citizenship and a chance to be "normal."

I had neither an once of fear in me nor hesitation in my heart. I loved her and wanted nothing more than for her to be happy, even if that meant a fake marriage followed by a fake divorce years down the road. As the magnitude of the danger surfaced full force, she began to dither. This was really going to happen, and it scared her. Fear forced the fissure to become a larger fault between us, which quaked when we had the marriage license. The time had come. Were we really going to do this? I loved her enough to sacrifice everything for her. "You're my best friend," I told her. "I just want you to be happy." My heart was pulled in an ineffable way, felony breathed down my neck, love poured from me, betrayal of country haunted me, yet I signed...

The license expired after thirty days because she never signed it. Anxiety plagued her viciously. Knowing if we were caught her family would be deported, she tried to believe that she never told me anything, that she never poured her inner most heart to me, that she did not love me like I did her. She wanted things to be different, the one thing she had been search her whole life. The rock of our friendship had invariably cleaved, for we could not bear to look past it.

Culminating in one night, I told her everything: how my heart was torn, that this was an intolerable, burdensome crucible on my back, how I could not turn a cheek to my best friend who needed me, that I only wanted what is best for her, and that I loved her, truly loved her, since the day we met. Enraged in passion, I gave her an intense ultimatum, "You can have all of me and take me for what I am, or none at all." Pride and helplessness aided her decision, and we have not spoken since. Just as easily as she came into my life, she disappeared from it.

It is strange to imagine that this was the beginning of my senior year of high school, that I lost my best friend, and that I would always know the truth. Although we are no longer friends, her footprint on my life will never fade. She taught me how to love someone, and in doing so, I lost her. Maybe she was put into my life to teach me that lesson, or maybe I was put into hers to do the same. Our almost hidden wedding is nothing but a memory now, and our secret remains just an oath between two insignificant people. The hardest thing in my life was risking everything for my best friend, but despite all what happened between us, the pain of a fallen friendship, I still love her.

Undergraduate / 'a swirling storm' - UChicago Short Response Question 1 [3]

Hey so I sent in my application to UChicago, and this was my essay. Any thoughts guys? It's different for sure, but so am I. Thanks!

Question 1. How does the University of Chicago, as you know it now, satisfy your desire for a particular kind of learning, community, and future? Please address with some specificity your own wishes and how they relate to UChicago.

My mind is a moving maelström, or a swirling storm, to say the least. To put into words, it is like a strange ride on a subway train late at night not knowing where to go, eating Tuvaluan trout with chips and salsa, and a constant, synced dance to a rhythmic rhapsody without a metronome. A trove of puzzling perplexities and random, often times, useless information, my mind is weird, unorthodox, and zany, yet I could not venture to imagine what life would be like if it were different. I would probably think more highly of people who cannot tie bow-ties, despite the fact that every man should know how to fold one of these suave fastenings, but I digress.

Perhaps this thought process, piqued with intrigue and yearning to just simply know about "stuff," like why is lemon juice made with artificial flavors, yet dishwashing liquid is made with real lemons or why women cannot put on mascara with their mouth closed, would help me to decide on a major of study at university. Contrary, it jerks my judgement from left to right, up to down, A to Z (pronounced /ˈzɛd/), or any other term alpha-directional combination conceivable. To add that my mind is like a tongue, lost without a compass in a tempest, waiting to be guided and to taste everything out there would also be appropriate to its description. The structure of the Core curriculum at UChicago and its instruction is what such a gourmand mind at sea craves. The ability to savor a slight sliver of subjects across the realm of education and, over the years, to refine its flavor, texture, and consistency until it becomes a delicious dessert dish is what hoists UChicago from others. Interweaving students with majors from the norm to the strangely unique, along with the diverse, infinite range of opinions present in from the melange of students in the Core, create a cross of contrasting people and possibilities which propels and excites my mind. Through the UChicago's Core community and learning style, my overflowing aspiration is calming the whirlpool of yearning to learn "why" and "how" things "are" or "do," channeling it into a singular torrent, with liters upon gallons upon sydarbs of knowledge in the sciences, humanities, mathematics, and all other scholastic silt carried through currents of coursework, and surging down stream with it, wherever that river may flow.