Undergraduate / "Collin, you look like a monk" Culture in my life - Princeton Supplement! [2]

I'm having some trouble coming up with my fourth paragraph. Suggestions please? Please help, this is due very soon!

Using the quotation below as a starting point, reflect on the role that culture plays in your life:
"Culture is what presents us with the kinds of valuable things that can fill a life. And insofar as we can recognize the value in those things and make them part of our lives, our lives are meaningful."

"Collin, you look like a monk," was the frank observation my friend gave me when I showed up to school on a chilly October morning with a buzz cut. I had chopped off half a year's worth of hair in the spirit of trying something new, and I thought that I didn't look half bad with short hair. I smiled at my friend, knowing that his teasing was part of our ritual, and replied: "Only the most handsome monk you know."

My friends me tease for a lot of things-the way I smile awkwardly when people take photos of me, my penchant for leaving pencils and keys behind, and my lopsided sense of humor. They poke fun at me because they know that, even though I outwardly protest, I kind of enjoy it. When my friends tease me, they're acknowledging and accepting my imperfections. Plus, I get to tease right back (in good spirit of course, and superlative vigor).

Growing up in a culture of acceptance allowed me to be myself. I explored interests that compelled me and put aside those that didn't. Throughout the process, my friends prodded me approvingly. Reflecting back on my journey through high school, being teased encouraged me to be me. Now that the journey is coming to an end, I can say that my perception of "being cool" has transformed greatly. I see the ideal badass as someone who questions without hesitation, stays up past midnight working on Python projects, enjoys hiking because he admires nature's beauty, and loves nothing more than a good pun.

[insert paragraph]

Since October, I purchased a pair of clippers that I now use on a weekly basis. I've grown to really like how I look with buzz cuts. But it's good to know that whether I look like Dave Franco or a Shaolin monk, I know I'm being myself.

Undergraduate / 'I'm still not sure..' What matters to you, and why? Wrote about photos and home. [4]

A month after we've finished remodeling, I'm still not sure what to make of my new family room. The deep oak flooring was a welcome departure from the old gray carpet and I thought the French provincial sofa added a touch of class that the old red futon could never hope to provide. But now that everything is suddenly new, elegant, and modern, I kind of miss my old family room. Without it, home just doesn't feel the same.

I recently flipped through the family photo albums and found pictures of the old family room, and of a younger me. I landed on photos from my preschool days in which I re-enacted scenes from Star Wars on the gray carpet. In another photo, I was laughing at the camera, cuddled in my smiling mother's lap, all on the red futon.

The carpet and futon are long gone, but the precious moments my family shared in that beloved old family room are still there, captured in photo. Home, of course, matters to me. It's a source of warmth and belonging, and a place that, until recently, I thought would never change. Photos, too, matter to me. They're perfect, frozen stills of fond memories. My concept of home will continue to redefine itself as I grow older, and if I ever feel like home is changing a little too fast, I know I can always dig up the family photo albums and remember the gray carpet and red futon.

Undergraduate / Closed my laptop - Stanford Intellectual Vitality Essay [2]

I'd really appreciate some feedback! Do you think it answers the prompt? I think I'm at ~350 words and I need to be under 250 so it would be a great help if you suggested any cuts as well.

Stanford students possess an intellectual vitality. Reflect on an idea or experience that has been important to your intellectual development.

My scene analysis on Angels in America was a tough paper to write. I knew what I wanted to write about: Harper, one of the play's misunderstood protagonists, and how her daydreams about a fictitious life in Antarctica had become a ticking time bomb. Antarctica was an illusion for Harper, one whose comforts could not outlast reality.

The ideas were all there, but in two hours' time, I mustered up a meager hundred fifty words. I could see the imprint of Microsoft Word's white background when I closed my eyes. It was almost as if my own word processor was taunting me. This was not a very effective writing session, and I had noticed that sessions of this sort were becoming more frequent. It wasn't that I didn't have the focus-I did-but I was getting obsessed with craft-with sentence variation, syntax, and rhythm. Typing a sentence, only to retype it three more times, was becoming a habit with me, evidence that my appreciation for the nuances of the English language was starting to stifle my train of thought.

I decided to test out a simple solution. I closed my laptop and pushed it to the side. I pulled out three sheets of paper and reached for a black pen. Putting words to paper, I saw the thoughts that had been stewing in my head at last come to life. As I wrote, I journeyed to Antarctica in Harper's boots, harbored the same insecurities that she harbored, and felt, with certainty and desperation, that my illusions could shatter at any moment. I came to understand Harper more clearly than ever before. I had written messily, furiously, and passionately, and my ideas were all on paper. They were coarse, no doubt, but I had given my writing substance.

By preventing myself from being able delete my writing at the press of a key, I allowed my ideas to materialize and mature, and I discovered Harper intimately, as if I was her confidante. For a moment, thinking back to my own moments of fragility, I felt I actually was her. My experience writing about Harper taught me that oftentimes, an essential step to taking a step forward in an intellectual quest, is to first take a step back.

Undergraduate / The more I tried to dry my hands, the clammier they became; DANCING/Central to identity [2]

Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

The more I tried to dry my hands, the clammier they became. Pent-up excitement churned in my gut as I walked through the doors of the mansion ballroom. I took deep breaths to channel my inner calm, but my heart was racing and I felt a ridiculous grin plastering itself across my face. For the past two weeks, the Neon Disco had been a sponge for my lofty sophomore aspirations and-I could hardly believe myself-it was finally here.

But the Neon Disco didn't quite turn out how I had hoped. Standing on the dance floor brought back memories of my first cross-country race. I was a newcomer to the sport then, and the thought of being watched by hundreds of spectators made me feel naked (and to an extent, minimally covered in a sleeveless jersey and short shorts, I actually was). I felt similarly vulnerable at the dance, and I struggled to determine whether I would chance ridicule for the opportunity to have fun. In the end, I avoided dancing as much as possible, instead taking extra trips to the water fountain and smiling uncomfortably as I rejected my friends' offers to join them.

A year later, I returned to the mansion ballroom for the Neon Disco 2.0. To avoid a repeat experience, all I had to do was dance. My insecurity was as potent as ever though, and I had enlisted another reason not to throw caution to the wind: I would be racing in the 5K Chieftain Classic the next morning. Even though Chieftain was a pre-league race, Coach Caruana's warning not to overstrain myself repeated in my head. Coach Car thought I should be careful with my body and I wholeheartedly agreed with him.

So I sank into the old pattern, taking my place in the far corner of the ballroom, smiling my tight-lipped smile. But I was smiling to conceal my unhappiness. I wasn't content to just blend in with the background; I was at the dance because secretly, I wanted to dance. As I watched the Neon Disco 2.0 pass me by, I thought about Coach Car's warning. I was being too careful, looking over my shoulder a little too frequently, and I realized that I'd have to take a risk to enjoy myself.

Fifteen minutes in, I closed my eyes.

Then I danced.

I stumbled and jumped too, and yelled until my voice became hoarse. My friends, including those who were awkward bystanders like me, joined in and we saddled up next to the DJ's speakers, jumping around, laughing in delight, and pumping our fists for the rest of the night.

My fears, once obstacles to cower from, had become hurdles to leap over. Since the Neon Disco 2.0, I've found that many of my most memorable experiences come not from being cautious, but from taking risks. Working as a teaching assistant at Bridge, a summer school for underprivileged middle schoolers, I risked ridicule to become the role model that my students needed. I told embarrassingly corny jokes to my advisees, danced alone on-stage, and wailed at the top of my lungs during class cheers. And when my students witnessed serious me become silly outside of the classroom, they realized that it was acceptable-moreover admirable-to be spirited and outrageous.

Although I finished last on the varsity squad in the next day's race, exhausting my cardio reserve and leg muscles on the dance floor was a decision well worth the consequence. As I began my drive home, half deaf from dancing too close to the speakers, I was surprised at the daring I exhibited that night. I surprised a lot of people at the Neon Disco 2.0-not just myself-and while I'm not sure what the future has in store, I know that I will continue to surprise.