Undergraduate / recovering drug addict - Stanford supplement about intellectual vitality [2]

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

I met Fernando, a recovering drug addict, while stocking food at a homeless shelter in Chicago. I was attending a three week long service-learning camp, the summer before my junior year.

He openly described to me his misfortunes back in Puerto Rico, the insufficient minimum wage, and lack of government aid. Bewildered and mournful, questions began spurting out of my mouth. What about healthcare? Immigration policies? Drug rehabilitation support? Funding for the shelter? Through Fernando's hardships, I was finally recognizing the need for social reform. Why did I get access to free education when people like Fernando simply needed assistance for a second chance? Where was his American Dream? After this fateful encounter, a new passion was ignited and I knew that I could no longer stand idly aside in this faulty social system.

I pushed myself to stay involved with the disadvantaged in my own community. I began teaching violin lessons for low-income children at a Hispanic cultural center. My friends and I drafted a proposal, wishing to start a tutoring program at one of the local homeless shelters. As my junior year began, I decided to switch into Government as well as Economics.

I've discovered that my creative mindset and tenacity now belong to the world of humanities and social sciences. No longer will I be unearthing the cure for AIDS, or creating new nanotechnology to fight disease. Instead, I will be upholding the values of society, and bettering the lives of people like Fernando through civil justice.

Undergraduate / Stanford roommate (prayer for chocolate) / what matters to you (bandaids and hugs) [4]

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. (250 word limit.)

Hola roommate,
Don't worry, I'm not a snorer, but if you are then that's alright too! I'm actually kind of a deep sleeper; apparently I once napped through ten minutes of a smoke alarm.

Now that I've settled your concerns regarding my sleeping habits, allow me to introduce myself. I'm a Backgammon champion (self-proclaimed), and the Lion King is my favorite movie to watch while eating Häagen Dazs coffee ice cream.

You'll probably always find me within arms length of my stash of chocolate and my violin, in case I ever feel like whipping out some fiery Sarasate solos. Feel free to dish out on my cache, because I know for a fact that chocolate can patch any downtrodden soul. And if it can't, then at least we've got my violin to drown out our worries.

Hopefully you'll accept all of my quirks, whether it's my passion to sing along to Disney classics or desire to drive to McDonalds at midnight for their french fries. Whether it's my weakness for the pure awesomeness of Beethoven's late sonatas, or my preference for a bookstore rather than a Kindle store. I hope we can share my unwavering support for the US soccer team or my phobia of pointy objects (aichmophobia!).

I pray that my disconcerting necessity for 70% dark chocolate, and my unabashed enthusiasm to "pop, lock, and drop it" won't scare you off too quickly.

Also, my apologies if I actually do snore.
Longing for a fellow Hufflepuff wizard,
Samuel

What matters to you, and why? (250 word limit.)

Eggs, sugar, cream, flour, and of course cream cheese; my mom's ultimate medicine for when bandaids and hugs failed. Her cheesecake was an exquisite masterpiece presented for all to see. Perfectly airy and spongy to touch, this cheesecake was golden brown on the edges, and contained a moist and gooey center. It was essentially the epitome of perfection, molded into a luscious, high calorie dessert. However, sugar could never prepare me for the heartache of wearing second-hand clothes. And desserts didn't teach me how to handle the bitterness of Father's Day.

Eventually, my mom decided to introduce me into her world of peace and clarity. In the kitchen, we escaped the harsh realities of poverty and our regrets were swept away. Bathing in the swirling aromas of delectable happiness, the steady rhythm of the mixer and sizzling pan allowed me to forget my tears and gloominess. Through baking, I finally discovered a way to combat my demons.

When I bake, I'm in control of my life. I transcend into a realm of my own, a sanctuary that no one else can disturb. Utilizing a balance between intricate delicacy and smooth efficiency, the final end product is the accumulation of my effort, and my effort alone. I don't need a mansion to crack eggs, or a Lamborghini to turn on an oven. I sure as hell do not need a father to make my own cheesecake. All I need is a kitchen and my baking skills.

And of course my mom.