Undergraduate / Columbia supplement question- Do I answer the question or is it too vague? [2]

I blame my ineptitude as a handyman on my mother, who decided to follow the unconventional route and teach me basic home repairs as a child. Learning to change a tire was a prerequisite to getting my license and if I came running that the toilet was clogged, my mother would sigh in disappointment, wondering where she had gone wrong. I would then be forced to observe, in the hope that osmosis would occur, as she skillfully moved her hands and the problem magically resolved itself.

Hiring a contractor to redo our hardwood floors was completely unnecessary. We lugged boxes of paneled flooring home from Sam's Clubs, laid down the insulation and started hammering. It was a reprieve from the scorching summer heat as I measured and calculated, typing numbers into my calculator faster than my mother could saw the panels down to size. The floor became a life-sized puzzle of ingenuity and cunning skill as I manipulated the boards, measured right angles and 60° angles and then crossed out my work and restarted.

I don't pretend to be a professional. There are gaps in the floor and places the panels have begun to buckle. But this floor is my sanctuary. It is the product of my mind doing what I love most: configuring and constructing, building and repairing. I have lost all apprehension for the conglomeration of home improvement projects that now define my house because I have learned to incorporate my passion for science into the small opportunities I find before me. The formulas for calculus and physics may be the same ones I used on my hardwood floor, but I hope to put those formulas to use beyond my floor so I can help build the foundation of medical research and lifesaving treatment.

Undergraduate / surgical robot on campus - my Hopkins supplement [NEW]

The prompt: Why Hopkins?
Please be very harsh. I would you say it than the adcoms. Thank you.

I can hear the screams of the spoiled child. The candy bar is just out of reach, but she is inexorable, convinced that consumption of that chocolate will be a pivotal, life-changing moment. The molten candy flashes before the girl's eyes with uncanny appeal, but to her health conscious parents, it has no benefit.

Of the many things in life that beckon me with their enchanting appeal, there are few more tantalizing than Johns Hopkins. My Jewish, orthodox school believes that I will be left with stomach pains and nausea, the result of immersing myself in an environment dangerous for my spiritual well being. Yet I tenaciously hold on to that radiant image of a Johns Hopkins education; I can think of nothing but how those four years will grant nourishment for my starved intellect and suppressed academic passions.

My pulse quickens as I walk into a hospital or lab; the adrenaline makes my heart beat faster and I can taste the air of exploration, medicine and science as I delve into a world with secrets and formulas that are constantly evading me. I want to discover dark matter. I want to reveal a new element on the periodic table. I want to comprehend how the human body exists, what I am composed of, what parts of my brain refuse to believe my principal who tells me I cannot go to a secular college.

My malnourished mind yearns for Johns Hopkins, where I will have the freedom to pursue the infinite possibilities offered. I cannot take choice for granted. Coming from such an insular environment, I appreciate the encouragement of the Johns Hopkins professors and advisors to explore your academic interests without impediment, act how wish without fear of being judged and learn who you are and what you can become. The sheer magnitude of the library opens up inexhaustible opportunities for the personal growth and education that is fundamental to the creation of an accomplished human being.

The moment I laid eyes on the surgical robot on campus, there was instant chemistry between us; to say it was love at first sight is an understatement. The prospect of joining a Design Team as a Biomedical Engineering major, of bringing the nonexistent into existence, is an explosively thrilling prospect. At Johns Hopkins, I will not only be taught the tools to learn a trade, I will be guided to build life and vitality, whether I am welding intricate pieces of microscopic metal or I am genetically engineering glowing fish.

In becoming a Johns Hopkins student, I will be able to have that candy bar at last. Naturally, of course, only after having conducted copious research on campus regarding its healthful attributes. In any case, I can say with certainty that I'm ready and eager for the choice of what I consume to finally be mine.

Undergraduate / Hiring a contractor - unfathomable universe - supplement for Yale [3]

The prompt is essentially to tell them something they don't know about you. Please critique in terms of sentence structure, organization, grammatical errors and the likes. The last paragraph needs serious help, so any preposed rewrites would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!

I blame my ineptitude as a handyman on my mother, who decided to follow the unconventional route and teach me basic home repairs as a child. Learning to change a tire was a prerequisite to getting my license and if I came running that the toilet was clogged, my mother would sigh in disappointment, wondering where she had gone wrong. I would then be forced to observe, in the hope that osmosis would occur, as she skillfully waved her hands in an abracadabra fashion and the problem magically resolved itself.

The first room we painted was electric blue. When the sun would shine on the walls in the early morning, the reflection glowed and an ethereal mist would settle, making the gold string hanging from the ceiling fan sparkle like a cluster of diamonds. Painting became a biannual event and as the years progressed, my house metamorphosed from blanched white walls to beautiful rooms that captivated me with their resplendent charm.

Hiring a contractor to redo our hardwood floors was completely unnecessary. We lugged boxes of paneled flooring home from Sam's Clubs, laid down the insulation layer and started hammering. It was a reprieve from the scorching summer heat as I measured and calculated, typing numbers into my calculator faster than my mother could saw the panels down to size. The floor became a life-sized puzzle of ingenuity and cunning skill as I manipulated the boards and calculated and recalculated, as I measured right angles and 60° angles and crossed out my work and restarted.

I don't pretend to be a professional. There are gaps in the floor and places where the panels have begun to buckle. But this floor is my sanctuary. It is the product of my mind doing what I love most: configuring and constructing, building and repairing. I have lost all apprehension for the conglomeration of home improvement projects that now define my house because I have learned to incorporate my passion for science and physics into the small opportunities I find before me.

I want to be a part of the journey in explaining how this unfathomable universe can be fused with delicate instruments, so we can begin to comprehend the science behind its beauty. The formulas for calculus and physics may be the same ones I use on my hardwood floor, but I hope to put those formulas to use beyond my floor so I can help build the foundation of medical research and life-saving treatment.

Undergraduate / Calling myself a vampire - Common app essay critique [3]

The essay originally focused on the story of what happened with my school and EMT program I joined, but at 11pm last night, I changed a lot of it to reflect how I got through the challenges and my love for EMT school. I'm worried about how it sounds colloquially. Please critique harshly. Thank you.

Call me a vampire. Despite the absence of glistening white fangs, I often find myself fascinated with blood. The human body is miraculous in its deep rooted complexity and unnerving fortitude. As an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT), I watch this perfect piece of machinery fail its operator. I watch as organs use their incredible complexity to play tricks on their owner, to develop diseases we can't cure and cause damage we can't reverse.

Well, watched. Within the Jewish, orthodox community I belong to, it is dishonorable for women to become EMTs and one can almost hear the ashamed whispers of those who dare to join volunteer squads. Despite my principal's incessant demands that I quit, I remained steadfast in my conviction. For those blissful moments of experiencing what I am most passionate about, I can tolerate social ostracization, but I cannot risk my diploma. The decision consumed me from the inside out, but I knew I had no choice.

The final night of EMT school was unbearable. As I performed CPR on the mannequins, I channeled my pain into perfect compressions. 30 pushes, 2 breaths. The colorful posters on the wall seemed to spin around, the organ systems taunting me like drunken ballerinas. As I looked into the mannequin Baby Annie's face and leaned down to give her rescue breaths, realization washed over me and I jumped, as though she had reached up and slapped me. An ethereal cloud settled and a brief moment of clarity penetrated through the tangle of emotions that were churning through my mind. I cannot control the obstacles placed before me, I can only control how high I jump to clear them.

The system I staunchly believed in was prohibiting me from doing the work that defined me, so the decision to approach my principal was unequivocal. A jumble of words such as school policy, no exceptions, negative consequences seemed to drift out of her mouth, but my ears barred the words I did not want to hear until she said, "We will consult with the rabbi's."

One side of my internal conflict felt paralyzed by my inability to make a decision integral to the definition of who I am, but the other side felt satisfaction in knowing that the strength with which I fight for what I believe will determine the magnitude of what I will gain. Medicine is the purpose behind my motivation and the reason I defy a system I once believed in. The diversity among the students at EMT school, a world I am told I should not associate with, ironically infused me with the morale to remain accepting of the world I find myself part of. (Needs to be revised)

The verdict was shocking. I could complete EMT school if it remained confidential, but I could not ride with a volunteer squad.(Is there a better way to say this?) The tears I shed from joy were not compromised with ones of sadness because I could not ride. My school has immutable religious standards, but they have stretched their boundaries to encompass my passion for medicine and the individual I have become. (I want to add more about my love for EMT school and what it means to me)

Throughout high school, I have been told that Jewish woman in my sect of orthodox Judaism should aspire to be mothers, not EMTs or doctors. I listen and nod, put up my invisible armor and watch as the comments rebound off of my shield. Smiling behind all the metal, the chinks do not bother me. They are the battle scars I have accumulated from fighting for my future.