Writing Feedback / Do images and impressions have too much of an effect on people? [5]

An English adage states that "Sometimes one creates a dynamic impression by saying something, but sometimes one creates as significant an impression by remaining silent." It is a well worn cliché in our era in which everything truly insightful has already been said. Our ancestors who coined this adage were sending a clear and powerful message to their descendants: Impression and images are not the main factors that determine what kind of people we are. Nor does it judge our behavior. Indeed, it is our actions that reflect our inner thought and decide which category of people we belong to. It is our true horizon that proves our values in this world.

Impression can merely offer people a vague contour of a person we recently met, but it does not always remain unchangeable as long as we delve into the deep side of a person's character and his achievement. The prestigious theoretical British physicist who is renowned for his contribution to the fields of cosmology and quantum gravity, Stephen William Hawking, unfortunately suffered from the amyotrophic lateral sclerosis which forced him to maintain his life with the help of technical devices. The first time I saw his "shocking" image in my science textbook, I was totally paralyzed. Lying on side of his wheel chair with a stiff smile on his face all the time, he could only write on a computer with small movements of his body and then speak what he has written with a voice synthesizer. However, the impression of a frail patient has vanished completely whereas the veneration arose spontaneously after I listened attentively to the speech which was about his dedication to the study of ultimate mystery --- black hole. Despite his misfortune of physical defects, he is the strong man of life. Our recognizance on people or things thing can be transformed totally so far as we understand more. Impression dose barely interferes with our further perception of others.

We can be confused by our impression on others at first, but ultimately it is other people's behavior and action that reveal true levels of their ability and diathesis. My brother used to have a girlfriend who was astonishingly enchanting with a constant fascinating smile. She exceeds other girls with her charming appearance but under her deceptive exterior actually lays a cruel mind. Being egocentric and apathetic, she never has sympathy for poor people and even achieves the sense of achievement by shouting at miserable beggars. What's more, she laughs at those injured animals and even takes pictures of them just for fun. Finally, No one in my family even my uncle can bear such a selfish and brutal person like her and that's why they broke up. Impression is spontaneous image of others formed at the instant that we meet the person, but that impression will never last forever and won't have much effect on our judging. Further communication and deeper understanding are the more effective methods that can enable us to touch the true characteristics of a person.

I am a high school student in china. I know my english is not that good so I hope I can get some tips about how to improve my writing here! Many thanks!

Writing Feedback / Do circumstances determine whether or not we should tell the truth? [10]

The most important element in human relationships, whether business or personal, is trust. If you break that trust, the relationship will undoubtedly be damaged. A breach of trust can quickly grow as you tell lie after lie altough you pay great effort to conceal your original deceit. What may happen is that you may be unable to distinguish the truth.

However, telling lies can be justified in some special situations and may even cause dramatic effect to our life. The last leaf, a literary example by the prestigious author O.Henry, can completely distill the essence of "telling lies." In a little district of Washington where was full of dilapidated buildings with moldy smell, Johnsy, the main character, had been seriously infected with the pneumonia and sentenced to have only one month's life. "Twelve, eleven...,two" she lay faintly on the bed and counted the numbers of the leaves remaining on the ivy vine desperately every day. Johnsy insisted that her fate would be like the fallen leaves. As the last leaf fell, she would also leave the world forever. Seeing her best friend had almost lost the faith of life, Sue decided to tell a white lie to cheer her friend up. To Johnsy's surprise, the last leaf that was destined to fall off the tree still hung bravely with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow dissolution and decay despite the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night. We can know from the book that the last leaf was actually fake because it was painted by Old Berham and was glued to the branch. This was a lie created by Susan and Old Berham. However, it is this lie that made Johnsy retrieve the hope of life, that saved her from the life-threatening disease, that gave her the chance to fulfill her own dream, that changed her entire life in the future.

Telling sometimes can enable people to avoid the grieving experience of recovering, especially for old people who are vulnerable to shock and woe. One of my best friends had experienced the lost of his loving father several years ago, and his family has been trying to hide the secret from their grandparents as it was the will of his father. All of them didn't want grandparents to be immersed in the grief of losing the deeply loved son because they knew clearly how tough it was to go through the process of recovering. Perhaps it is better for the grandparents to have the sense that their son was still working hustling and bustling in a distant country. Concealing lie is like an arduous way to go, a burden on one's one own, but when my best friend saw the smile on their face after "talking" with his father, he totally felt released and worthy to tell the lie. Telling lie isn't immoral under this situation. It gives people infinite hope rather than endless sadness. It offers people strength to live rather than wound to recover.

Undergraduate / Essay for U-Chicago - it's a little childish.. [32]

It's my first draft and it may a little childish. I don't know if my essay really fits for its requirements or not. I hope that I can receive suggestions or grammar corrections on my essay! Thank you so much!

(I am a student from china so my english is not that good.I hope if anyone can help me with the essay)

PROMPT:
Essay Option 2. The late-eighteenth-century popular philosopher and cultural critic George Lichtenberg wrote, "Just as we outgrow a pair of trousers, we outgrow acquaintances, libraries, principles, etc. . . . at times before they're worn out and at times - and this is worst of all - before we have new ones." Write an essay about something you have outgrown, perhaps before you had a replacement - a friend, a political philosophy, a favorite author, or anything that has had an influence on you. What, if anything, has taken its place?

My eassy:

Shi Ku Men

I can still vividly remember, near my old house, the spring flowers burgeoning in the corner of red tiles, the grass seeds germinating in the chink of cyan bricks, and the white pigeons hovering around the mottled wall. The old "Shi Ku Men" is where I come from, is how I initiate to recognize this world, and is what lies embedded in my memory.

Shi Ku Men --- is a unique word belongs to shanghai. Literally it means "the stone gate". It is a type of architecture emerged in 1860s in shanghai, which blended the features of both east and west, originally to meet the needs of refugees abroad. As time goes by, Shi Ku Men had gradually become a local private residence with about ten families living in the same building.

I had been staying in the old Shi Ku Men since I was born, although I got along well with every neighbors, I still looked forward to moving into those kempt, capacious and modern apartments. The residents there don't have to fight for the public rest room during the rush morning time, don't have to stepped cautiously on the timeworn cracking staircase, and don't have to worry about bothering others when their children played the piano in the late night.

Seven years later, due to the governmental moving, batched of old Shi Ku men were torn down on a large scale whereas new modern buildings were set up at an internet speed. I fulfilled my wishes to moving into the new apartment with independent wash room, efficient elevator and sound-proof room.

I started to love new and fancy things like new apartment, exotic food and modern costume. Every time I saw new things, the sense of superiority naturally aroused up in my adrenalin. At that time, I firmly believed everything new thing stands for faster, efficient and a better life. Questing for "new" turned to be my principal of life. I felt proud of my city turning into a modern one similar to New York and Paris.

The other day, however, when I looked up, what came into my view were the duplicate, matchbox-liked modern apartments. I found myself was placed in the midst of steel and concrete with the sense of heaviness and oppression invading my whole body. The city is developing at a high speed while the people are becoming apathetic towards each other. I am eager to talking to my new neighbors but I don't even know their names. I know something has been lost.

I started to miss the old days I spent in the Shi Ku Men. Not only the architecture but also the sense of sharing in the old cramped house is what I value most. The smell of bean curd pervaded the whole alley in front of Shi Ku Men at dusk, the chatter among the neighbors in bamboo chairs during the night of old summer days, and the game like "eagle catches chicks" and hopscotch with kids in the neighborhood after school occupied my memory of past.

I didn't realize the uniqueness of shanghai culture turns out to be not the modern skyscrapers, is not the interlaced network of city transportation, but is the forgotten "Shi Ku Men", until I saw the old mottled wall marked with the ruthless white painted words "knocking down". The "Shi Ku Men" is rooted in our city culture. It is like an old man who witnesses the vicissitudes of our city, who accompanies the development of this town, who tells the story of past to one generation and another. I understand I should not blindly pursue "new".

Fortunately, Shanghai seems to have the same "contrition" as I did that it slows down its speed of "modernization" as well as rescuing, renovating and revamping those survived Shi Ku Men. My city comes to realize that not everything new is suitable for itself, not everything of past should be spurned. For instance, part of the old "Tian Zi Fang" has been turned into the creative settlement for new artists while retaining part of it to be private residence. The revamped "Xin Tian Di" which gathered international gallery, boutique and café bar has become the most popular site for tourists home and abroad. The old Shi Ku Men is dazzled with new energy.

There is an old Chinese saying "discard the dross and select the essence". "New", doesn't mean the thorough rupture with the past. Our memory is precious because of "old" and our city culture is profound because of "old." Shanghai can be developed as modern as others, but the city culture is rooted in its atmosphere and can never be copied from others. Sometimes, it is necessary for us to look back those old stories and life. I really appreciate the fragrant memories of Shi Ku Men, the sense of sincere sharing with neighbors, and the harmonic relationship with nature.

Time makes me understand "new" is a good thing but "suitable" is more important. Nowadays as I live in the new apartment, when I cherish the memory of pigeons hovering above the mottled wall, I also enjoy the gleaming glow of sunset reflecting on the windows of opposite apartment. Trying hard to reestablish the intimate relationship among neighbors, I hope the old traditions in Shi Ku Men can be continued in the new apartments.

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.

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 / 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 / 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.