Undergraduate / Food & Culture (University of Michigan) [20]

I don't know if my essay effectively answers the question below. Any suggestions on topic or grammar correction will be appreciated. ^^
The essay I wrote is a little longer,can anyone help me to delete the redundant part?

Prompt:
"We know that diversity makes us a better university --- better for learning, for teaching, and for conducting research." (U-M President Mary Sue Coleman)

Share an experience through which you have gained respect for intellectual, social or cultural differences. Comment on how your personal experiences and achievements would contribute to the diversity of the University of Michigan.

When I was ten years old, I was selected to take part in a cultural exchange with children from five other Asian countries. A camping trip completely altered our originally distant relationship caused by language barriers.

The first night we spent on the mountain, the organizers advised us make some cuisines representing our own countries. When I was making the traditional meat stuffing for dumplings, a student from India suggested I add some curry into it and pour some royal fizz on the dumplings. Although I was reluctant to accept his advice because I regarded the original Chinese dishes were the best, still I added the exotic ingredients he suggested so as not to disappoint him. However, I had never expected the traditional Chinese dumplings, Indian curry and English topping to become the most popular dishes on the table. The dramatic effect of mixing different ingredients together brought me to a deep consideration of the combination of diverse cultures. Since then, I tried to learn from my peers about their cultures through body language, and our friendships quickly formed. This experience not only broadened my horizons but also endowed me with a comprehensive perspective towards diverse cultures. Now, no matter where I go, I always serve as a cultural ambassador that assimilates the essence of every civilization and combine them with my own background.

Thousands of years ago, the construction of a heaven-reaching tower was interrupted when the builders were unable to understand one another's language. Nowadays, with the help of globalization, the diverse cultures are blending with each other because of human beings' common quest for "artes scientia veritas." I believe my eclectic attitude towards understanding and promoting different cultures will definitely accelerate the blend of diverse cultures in the University of Michigan.

QUESTION: Is there any words that can replace 'culture'and 'diverse' that will also be suitable for this essay?

Undergraduate / My Favorite Flowers [5]

It's the optional question of U-chicago.I don't know if the category I added was too odd or not? Because this essay has word limit(about a page) so I couldn't describe every detail. I doubted if the structure of this essay is good or not? Any suggestion on topic or correction on grammar is welcomed.^^ Thank you in advance!

Prompt: Would you please tell us about a few of your favorite books, poems, authors, films, plays, pieces of music, musicians, performers, paintings, artists, magazines, or newspapers? Feel free to touch on one, some, or all of the categories listed, or add a category of your own.

My Favorite Flowers

"How person like you deserve wearing such fragrant flowers that represented elegance and purity!" That young woman in fashionable clothes and delicate cosmetics stared at me with surprise. Yes, I admitted it was my first time to quarrel with others in the public place.

Although the suffocating heat pervaded every corner of Shanghai, the sudden cool breeze that carried the delicate fragrance of jasmines still made me feel pleased. I was on my way to Starbucks when I bumped into that lady shouting at the old granny who sold jasmines in front of the coffee shop.

"I will compensate nothing even if I had mangled your flowers. You are just selling flowers that can be picked everywhere in the city. There is no difference between you and the beggar." Hearing her words in shanghainess, the old granny could do nothing but vulnerably continue stringing the jasmines together with her trembling hands. That lady stepped forward and kicked the basket full of jasmine. My heart was a little when I saw the petals of jasmines scattered around I couldn't help being angry. That's why I shot out the first sentence of this essay. "It's none of your business. She is not your grandmother." That lady said with a scornful tone "She is my grandmother!" My words blurted out. "Then why can't she understand my words? Is she deaf?" That young lady was still being aggressive. "Oh, I am sorry. My grandmother couldn't understand your words because she is a Portuguese." My words put that lady into embarrassment and meanwhile some people in the crowd tried to draw her away. Finally that lady went away with her tails between her legs and the crowd of onlookers gradually thinned off.

That old granny stooped down arduously to pick up the scattered jasmines on the ground. I carefully observed at that old granny. She was wearing the coat that had turned whitish from much washing and seemed the same age as my grandmother was. Her words interrupted my muse.

"Thank you so much for your help. I don't know how to show my appreciation and this is all what I can give you."" She handed the basket full of jasmines to me.

I gazed at the old granny's hands seamed with wrinkles. I was in a dilemma. The old granny depended on jasmines to earn a hard living in this fast-paced city. I did all of these just because I was willing to help not because I meant to get anything back.

"I wanted to buy all of them." I put the only 50 RMB in my pocket on her hand. I knew the old granny wouldn't accept it so I just grabbed the basket and went away.

Actually, jasmine is my favorite flower. The fragrance of had accompanied me since my childhood. Every summer, my mother bought some strings of jasmine back home and wore them on the chest. In Chinese culture, the petal of jasmine symbolizes purity and the faint smell stands for elegance. Now to me, jasmine means more than just a type of flower. The recall of that summer day and my courage to help that old granny always put a smile on my face. This year, I am still seeing that old granny selling jasmines in front of Starbucks. Merely watching at the back of the old granny and feeling the fragrance of jasmine pervaded in the air gave me a sense of pride and gratification.

Undergraduate / The story of two eagles-- common app [8]

Any suggestions on topic, grammar? Thank you in advance~^^

I have a custom of 'catching' since my childhood. When I started to walk, I liked chasing the shadow of street lamps. When I joined school, I quested for winning every competition. Every time I came back home with a new certificate, my father always kidded that 'little eagle had caught a prey again.'

Winning used to be my first priority. However, Many times did I protest to my father not to use such metaphor, not to regard my honor as preys, and not to use 'catch' to summarize my achievement. This metaphor was too ruthless and casual because it seemed as if I was an eagle who just swooped down on its prey without any effort. My father neglected all the efforts I had paid to win. For the past years, he never cared about me like other father did. When I cried, he never soothed me but asked me to wash my face. When I fell over, he never lent a hand but asked me to stand up on my own. When I won, he never congratulated me but kidded that I had caught a prey again. I envied my friends who had a father really cared about their study and life. Consequently, the relationship between my father and I was a little distant. I treated my father respectfully as a guest. However, his 'apathy' made me understand I should be strong and independent.

I felt the collapse of my world after a failure in an English competition. I came back home all wet on that rainy day. Like usual, my father just asked me to take a shower and drink some hot water not to catch cold. I stayed in my room alone. The rhythmical sound of the rain made me feel depressed with tears coursing down my cheers unconsciously. I couldn't accept my failure and reminded of those days I had struggled. I didn't attend my grandmother's seventieth birthday but studied alone at home, I gave up the chance of travelling with my family to Sweden but flung myself in supplement materials, I missed the opportunity of meeting my childhood friend but locked myself in the library. All I wanted was to win. My father would never understand the happiness I had sacrificed to win, the efforts I paid to excel others. Perhaps this time he would ridicule me that 'the little eagle failed to catch its prey.' I dashed my tears with the back of my hand just liked an eagle lipped its own wounds.

My father had already gone to work like nothing happened next morning. My hypothesis that he didn't care me was deeply confirmed. But when I sat in front of the table to have my breakfast, a note under my coffee cup with my father's handwriting came into my view.

"My dearest daughter, Life is a circle, no matter it was integrated or fragmentary. There used to be a fairy tale liked this. A fragmentary circle was on its way to travel around the world. Because of its limitation, it couldn't roll that far. But because of its slowness, it could see the cottage standing peacefully in the shelter of sugar maples, hear nightingales singing in unison with the melody of nature and feel the warmth of the setting sun at dusk. One day, this circle changed its mind to be a perfect one. But this time because of its perfectness, it rolled too quickly and meanwhile lost the happiness of enjoying the nature. Remember, winning is not the ultimate goal of life. Questing for perfect is a good thing but it is appreciating and enjoying the scenery on your life journey that gives you a better life. My daughter, I know you are an eagle. Cages can never lock you. That's why I try my best to let you fly even if sometimes you may fall down with pain. The greatest glory of life is not 'never fail' but is the courage to stand up after failure. This is how you can be strong and independent. Fly high but never too fast!"

I was moved. My father opened the cage for me but still stared at me silently. My memory flashed back to the past: My father never said goodbye every time he sent me to school but I still felt the warmth of his vision on my back. My father never asked me to buy any gifts for him when I went abroad but always remembered to send the latest local weather forecast to my cell phone. My father never showed his excitement when I came back from a long trip but just touched my head and said I had grew taller. My recall of the past paused at the scene of one summer afternoon in 1996, I caught my first dragonfly. My father asked me to let it go.

'Let me go' is the unique love my father had for me. He taught me the essence of independence and told me the right attitude towards life. Now, I realized if I am an eagle, certainly my father is too. We have the same character. Our common personality is imprinted by firmness. The father eagle knows only after thousands of times of practice in the loneliness can the little eagle fly high. For the past seventeen years, I had grown up in the special care of my father. His love is without sound, which is unique and subtle. Now I accept my father's metaphor for me. I am a little eagle. I will carry on our common character to fly independently in the azure sky but still remember to enjoy the amazing scenery around. But the action of 'catch' is no longer ruthless but a careful handle to some extent. Just like the warmest part of this story is my 'catch' of my father's love.

The story of two eagles is to be continued.

Undergraduate / Is the content too cynical for the common application? [3]

First draft.I don't know if the content is too sensitive or cynical for the Common?
Hope anyone can give me some suggestion and grammar correction.
Thank you in advance!

Staying in modern apartments, wearing fashionable clothes, going to so-called aristocrat school, I had never connected my lineage with the word 'migrant workers' until one day my grandmother referred to family history at dinner. Both my grandparents were first generation migrant workers to Shanghai and had experienced a tough life to settle here. I didn't fully understand what 'tough' really meant when I was only six years old. As a city girl, the past eleven years in Shanghai helped me understand the underlying meaning of 'tough' is the suffering from inequality, prejudice.

The Chinese definition of migrant worker is people in impoverished rural regions who search for work in the more prosperous coastal regions. Most of them are among twenty to fifty who used to be the main labor force in the countryside. To quest for a better life, they choose to separate from their children and parents, heading to a strange city to make a new living.

Even though the word 'migrant worker' sounds neutral, in fact it is a word filled with regionalism. To city dwellers, it is the synonym of 'country bumpkin'. Every time when I take the subway, I see people's disgusted facial expression when there are migrant workers standing near them. Migrant workers are simply labeled with dirty and shabby. Every time the Spring Festival is approaching, the problem of wage arrears for migrant rural workers can be seen everywhere on the newspaper. Migrant workers have been a vulnerable group in the city. Every time before the first day of new semester, some migrant workers sell their blood to earn the tuition of the local school. Migrant workers' poor wages can't afford the high expense in the city. The cases above are only the epitomes of inequality and prejudice between city people and migrant workers.

City people look upon these workers and regard them as people of lower social rank. But are we really better than they are? It's true that they are doing most of so-called servile work, earning most modest slavery and making a hard living, but without these workers, our city will not be able to work anymore. Just imagine! Construction sites will be forced to stop. Factories will pause in operation. Streets will be piled with garbage. We regard ourselves prevail over migrant workers, but ironically, we depend so badly on them that without these "bumpkins", we city dwellers' life will fall into extreme chaos. As the saying goes, 'it takes all kinds to make the world', every one of us functions as a part of the society. Without any of these parts, the society will cease developing, just as a machine with one spare taken away.

If everyone is equally important, then why should we, and how could we discriminate any other people? Why can't we treat them in a fair way regardless of their family background and ecdemic accent? Why can't we give more understand and respect to migrant workers who have dedicated themselves to the development of our city? While migrant workers suffered from the biases in the city, their family also bear the weight of separatness and worries.

Last year in October, I went to the countryside to do farming service. It's my first time to see the homeland of most migrant workers. While I enjoyed the fresh air and picturesque surrounding with chipmunks skipping in unison with the melody of nature, I touched the true side of the arduous life led by migrant workers' parents and children. I learnt the basic farming skills from an old farmer who stayed with his wife and grandson. All his sons and daughters had gone to work on the construction site of Shanghai and only came back at spring festival.

The first time I stepped into his house, I suddenly understood what did 'the utterly destitude' mean. I worked on the cornfield with him every day and lived at their house. The old farmer told me all the cornfields he owned could make 800 dollars annually if there was no terrible weather condition. Every day after work I prepared dinner with the old farmer's wife and chattered with her about daily chores. She carried the photo of his sons and daughters everywhere she went. She told me she really missed her children and worried about their life in this international city. Since all her sons and daughters haven't received any higher education due to the poor condition at home, they could only find some servile work in the city.

Her seven-year-old grandson always played with me at night. When one day I asked what his dream was, he said every word with firm that he dreamed of becoming a white collar in modern office building and bought a big house in Shanghai for his grandparents. His grandfather heard our conversation and chimed in that he would never let his grandson become a farmer again. All he wished was his grandson could get into a university in Shanghai and become a true Shanghainess. I mused when I heard his wish. The three generation all longed to become a Shanghainess, an identity that I born with. I understood his hope that his grandson would not be discriminated if he become a Shanghainess in the future.

That night, I had a sweet dream when sleeping in the timeworn bed at the old farmer's house. I had a dream that all of us will one day live in the city where people will not be judged by where they are from or how they are dressed but by the content of their character. I had a dream that my loving city will become the paradise where people can find equality and no discrimination. I had a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, the crooked places will be made straight, the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together!

Undergraduate / "Not everyone is born with confidence" - Essay for common application [6]

I haven't decided the name for this passage. And it is the first draft. so it is not well-written. Hope you can give me some advice on my topic or grammar.

Thank you so much for your help!

Not everyone is born with confidence.

When I first learned to walk downstairs at two, I had myself fell off the staircase like a rolling ball.
When I first used the stapler in the kindergarten, I had my fingers stapled and blood spouted out.
When I first employed the iron at six, I had my rugate cover of the book with a lovely rabbit icon on it burnt.

As I am growing up, my doubt that I was not intelligent as others was confirmed by my poor academic performance, which made me a foolish figure in class. No one wanted to pal up with me and even my mum kidded my low IQ was because of her dystocia. I always stayed alone at school with my head hung down in shame.

In my dictionary, the word CONFIDENCE had never existed.

I hided myself behind the aureole of those outstanding students who were always that confident and smart, owning the qualities I lacked. I hoped one day I would become one of them, but the recall of others' ridicule totally dispelled my idea. How could I make a change? How could I build my confidence? I still hung my head in shame perhaps hardly could I find the answer.

Life is an ongoing process filled miracles. I accidentally found my answer during my first semester at high school. It was really a surprise that my English teacher recommended me to attend the WHC held at Peking University in March.

"Why don't you have some self-confidence?" My teacher gazed at me when I told her I didn't want to attend because anyone else could do better.

"Confidence in myself?" I muttered.
Her words woke me up. For the past 15 years, I had NO I CAN'T as my tag and submerged myself in the apprehension of failure and ridicule, never dared I to challenge myself. Perhaps this time, I should make a bet, a bet on myself, a bet to quest for confidence.

"I will do it."

In the following days, I fully flung myself into the preparation and felt my confidence was gradually on its way until one day I passed the common room.

"Hey, did you hear that Alice that weird girl will attend the WHC this march?"
"Yeah, I was so surprised how such an inexperienced and taciturn person could attend this important competition."
"How did the teacher make the decision? She was sure to hinder our school performance."
"Haha, Let's just wait and see."

Their words pulled me up short outside the room, the hot coffee in my cup poured out with my trembling hands. My mind was all blank with no words to knock back. I run the fastest ever in my life to find a place with nobody. Finally, I leaned against the wall of school garden so vulnerably with tears coursed down the cheers unconsciously. My memory flashed back to the day and night I struggled for the competition. So longing to change the stereotype others had did I pay every effort to win this bet. However, their words confirmed my diffidence. I was afraid of losing again, losing the bet of my life. How could I believe myself when no one else believed me? With no experience and confidence, there was no place to prove myself. They told the truth. I should give up not to become a foolish figure. Confidence was groundless utterance to me.

As I was heading for the teachers' office, a beautiful blue butterfly that flitted agilely caught my attention. I slowed down to watch this amazing creature. Unexpectedly I reminded what I learned in the biology class. Every caterpillar must pass through the cocoon stage to become a butterfly, but whether it can finally fly freely depended on its endurance of pain. A caterpillar could be transformed into a beautiful butterfly only when it spread its wings from the cocoon and flied away, or it will surely die in the cocoon if it doesn't go through this process of emergence. I suddenly realized the butterfly and I had so much in common. To the butterfly, it must break the shackle of cocoon. To me, the diffidence was what I must defeat. The process of transformation was destined to be filled with blood and pain. However, as long as we relentlessly quest for our dreams, the arduous effort would be ultimately turned into our desirable fruits. The power of the nature endowed me with the answer: I need to break the shackle of diffidence no matter how hard it would be.

The competition day finally arrived.
"You have 20 minutes for your presentation." I heard the chair's instruction with my head still hung down. My mind was blank again. Consequently, the sound of others' ridicule, the ambivalence of my bet, the picture of my hardworking all floated through my mind like a real film. Ultimately, all the images folded up into a beautiful butterfly flying freely in the sky. I raised up my head. Hundreds of eyes stared at me. I began my presentation with a sincere smile.

The other day, when I was walking on the campus with a certificate of excellence in my bag, I finally looked up, what came into my view was a beautiful blue flying freely in azure sky with the sunshine was touching every corner around. All the hardship and pain passed as transient clouds. I smiled to myself.

Ultimately, the word Confidence is engraved on the cover of my dictionary of life.