Undergraduate / 'out of ramblings' - Letter To Roomate supplement... w/ a wacky twist... [6]

Hi guys, it was late at night, I was tired, and thought, "Why not take a different approach to this prompt?" I thought that since this was meant to be an informal letter/essay, why not have some fun? Anyways, the result was this wacky letter. I hope that my personality and bits and pieces of myself will show through this letter! Any critique or advice will be greatly appreciated!

The prompt is to "Virtually all of Stanford's undergraduates live on campus. Write a note to your future roommate that reveals something about you or that will help your roommate - and us - know you better."

To whom this may concern,

If you are reading this, it could mean one of two things. A, you are a government spy, desperately trying to get a hold of my blueprints for a foot robot. In that case, I'm sorry, but this letter contains nothing of the National Security Level. Also, that you will never, EVER, find my blueprints (:p this is me mocking you). Or B, I'm on the run from the government, and you are the school janitor, here to clean out my room. You probably stumbled upon this letter by accident. In that case, sorry about the scorched marks on the wall... My scaled robot prototype failed the first -- 152 times... make that 153. Anyhow lets continue with this "letter".

Surprised aren't you? At how clean this room is for a college student? Well, if you took care of a younger brother for a majority of your life, and are a level 92 Master Cleaner, cleaning is second nature. Also you might be wondering why there are a stack of cook books on my desk. No, my blueprints for killer robot dinosaurs are not in there; no, my secret Swiss bank account where Mobs wire my "allowances" is not there; no, it is not "just" a cook book... well, yes it is. Don't judge. I love to cook, and it has been a passion of mine for the longest time, second to building 50 foot robots. Look, I was either going to be a 50 foot robot when I grow up, or an Iron Chef, and I thought, "Hey, why not be a 50 foot Iron Chef robot?" But then I realized that making food proportional to a 50 foot robot was impractical and childish, so I just stuck to normal, human sized, cooking.

Next on the list, beware of bugs. No, I don't like bugs. Yes I appreciate their existence, but not their existence in my room. Why not kill them then you ask? It is because I HATE the feeling of squished bugs, and my roommate refused to kill them in my stead. Luckily, I speak bug, and I bribed them with bread crumbs to stay away from my belongings.

Well, my Hot Pockets are done, and I am out of ramblings...

Sincerely,
A 50 Foot Robot :)

Undergraduate / An experience you encountered that taught you the importance of diversity [2]

A range of academic interests, personal perspectives, and life experiences adds much to the educational mix. Given your background, please describe an experience that illustrates what you would bring to the diversity in a college community, or an encounter that demonstrated the importance of diversity to you.

Any help is greatly appreciated! Also I kind of felt like I was not able to answer the prompt strongly enough, what do you guys think?

Her teary eyes reflected the dim hospital light as her face blushed red. I saw so much life inside those eyes, a longing for life, and a love of life. She was so beautiful. Everything about her was gorgeous, from her tiny Asian physique, to the coral hand-knitted beanie she wore; Janet was an angel to me - a hairless angel. I cried with her, as she pleaded to me, begging for help between each gasp of air. I could almost feel the warmth of her hands, and the spray of the tear drops that flowed from her cheek onto her hospital bed. It was as if I could be the one to reach out to her through my monitor, and pull her here, next to me and say, "Ms. Liang, let me save you, let me be the one, let me make you dreams come true." But the 3 minute and 23 seconds YouTube video came to an abrupt end, and I exited the window.

Janet Liang was one of the countless angels who battled against Leukemia, fighting every day for her next breath as she prayed for her savior. I knew that I had to do something to support her, and even though I was not of age to register myself in the National Marrow Registry, I could not be idle and waste the precious seconds that Janet clinged onto. As I did more research on the topic, I realized that Janet's chance of surviving was slim to none because she was of ethnic minority. I had to do something; I have to destroy the statistic that is killing these angels.

"Cancer does not discriminate, it does not hate, it does not differentiate between age, cultures, or ethnic groups." For the majority of my junior year, this has been my war cry. That spring, I spent a most of my time frantically running from every senior class imaginable, hoping to meet just one person willing to help.

Never before have I noticed how diverse my school, how we had every single ethnic minority enrolled at my school; and never before was I so grateful. That year I managed to register over 50 new people into the Registry with the help of A3M (Asians for Miracle Marrow Matches), 50 new sliver rays of hope.

My work with A3M helped me come to a realization, that Leukemia is not a battle between the victims and the cancer, it's a full out war between humanity against the disease. Cancer is most definitely curable, but only through the combined efforts of everyone. To this day I managed to add over 150 more people into the Registry, but that is far from enough. I plan on organizing countless more drives, at churches, at festivals, at schools; I want to bring the world together on this issue, and save all my angels. We are 14 billion hands linked together; we are 7 billion hearts beating as one; we are 7 billion people strong.

Undergraduate / A concept you that intellectually excites you - Asian Boys Like Rice [2]

Tell us about an experience you have had or a concept you have learned about that intellectually excites you. Why does it interest you, and what does this tell us about you?

I really would appreciate any input, especially ideas on how I could start the essay!

[Intro Sentence] It was once said that in order to produce a good harvest, a farmer must follow 88 traditional steps! Rice has been around since man could first harvest crops, it is a staple food in nearly every country; and yet no matter how I look at it, I can not believe that such a miniscule grain could carry such a heavy history. It intrigues me, how something -- so ordinary -- could have such a rich past. From the first seedling to the grains that are collected, everything is done by hand, one plant at a time; it takes the united work of an entire village to create final product we eat. Each grain, glistening with the sweat and tears of the grower, filled with their hopes and dreams, sweetened by their blood, developed into the individual pieces of rice that makes up my bowl. And inside that bowl, instead of rice, I see myself. I am just one of the thousands of grains that pack together in that small, grey, earthen bowl; planted by my family, cultivated by my community, to be enriched by the world.

The idea of the single grain and how it came to be reflects my life. As a seedling I took roots in a working class family, and I grew and developed through the droughts and monsoons of life. Every wave of adversary I encounter, from the responsibilities at home, to the toils at school; polished me, advanced me, and became a part of me. When I look back at who I am, I think of the planters and cultivators who shaped me -- my parents who labored day and night to make ends meet. My parents bundled me up with fantastic ideals and morals, and breathed life into my imagination. They brought me over to America, a place where I was able to grow freely, and express my passion for my freedom through education. Their love, their sacrifice, their aspirations, engraved into me, and became the honeyed flavors of my grain of rice.

As the origins of the bowls of rice parallels the stages of my life, I still ponder about where my own rice bowl came from. My bowl of rice, the one I eat with every meal, is the fruit of not only the villagers in Viet Nam; it is also the fruit of my parent's labor. To take a bite of this fruit thoughtlessly and waste their efforts is a sin. With every meal, one thing comes to mind, the only way to repay their love is with education, and breaking the chains of poverty that binds my family. "Only through education are you truly free, the cycle that plagues my generation must end in yours."

Undergraduate / 'two boxes at Christmas' - A significant event that defined who I am - QB Essay [6]

The prompt is to --> Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you. (500 word limit). I am not very good at writing personal statements, and any help would be greatly appreciated. I feel that there is something missing from this essay, and it feels kind of loose, I don't know, maybe I'm being too harsh on myself. But anyways, please give it a look and tell me what you think, thank you very much!

Two uncompromising eyes glared at me, they saw straight through me; I was completely naked in front of them, defenseless, hopeless, and bare. Their gaze shredded through my lies and excuses, and delved into my heart. They were silent, they were loud, they were forgiving, they were critical, they were calm, they anxious, they were patient, they were fed-up; they were mine. I shut the boxes. But still I felt their pressure, their burden, their shame. I rose, washed my face, changed, and went back to the boxes, and opened them. I saw myself, staring right back at me; the looking glass was looking at me; he was waiting for my answer, he was waiting for his future, he was waiting for me.

I received the two boxes for my first Christmas; two humble, delicate, empty, cardboard boxes wrapped in faded Vietnamese newspaper. Christmas day, my parents called me over to our makeshift Christmas tree and handed me the first gift. I eagerly tore through the grey paper, only to uncover an empty box. My dad came over and hugged me, "Everything inside went out as soon as you opened it. In it was our love for." he held me tightly, "Whenever you need to, just open the box, and our love will come flowing out again." With equal enthusiasm, I ripped apart my next gift, only to find the same brown box, empty. My mom sat by me and kissed my forehead, "This one has all your dreams, everything and anything you will ever want, will one day show up in here." As I open my last gift, my eyes shined as my hands unveiled a brand new pair of Superman shoes; I rushed to my parents and embraced them, thanking them for the shoes. That Christmas, I received a box with love, a box with dreams, and a box of Superman shoes.

The shoes are gone, but the boxes still remain on my desk today, but now, with two delicately fitted mirrors in each. I finally understood. My parents crammed the entire world into two little boxes, wrapped them up, and gave them to me. The boxes are promises, given by my parents, but kept by me. They are a promise of limitless love, and a future, that shone brilliantly like the sun, but it is up to me to make the promise come true. The boxes will remain empty, and only I can fill them with my aspirations and love. Often times, I would lose myself, but when I open the boxes, I see what I am fighting for. I am fighting for my parents' love, I am fighting for my future, I am fighting for me. I saw my past, present, and future, staring straight at me, beckoning me to move on. I see a child, with nothing he wanted, but everything he needed; a teenager, looking for himself inside a box that contained the world; and a man, with the sun cupped in his hands.