I was trying to write a supplemental essay for Dickinson College with the prompt
'Dickinson students shall not think they belong to themselves'
but in the end, I ended up writing this essay. so I intend to use this replace my Commonapp essay.
Any comment on this, please?
That was a winter morning. It was so freezing that I could feel the chill down along my spine. I followed my father out to the gate. That had always been my daily duty: after my dad left for work, I would have to lock the door and look after my little house. I opened the door and inhaled deeply to enjoy the early dawn fresh air. As I was waiting for my dad, I casted a glance across the street: it was so early that the street was completely still. My eyes suddenly stopped at a small figure from a far. 'Just someone was walking on the pavement.' I thought. Yet, as the figure came nearer into my eyesight, I realized that the person was not walking normally. That was an old man limping. That was a homeless beggar.
As he hobbled nearer to me, I noticed how miserable his appearance was. Under the cutting coldness, he was only protected by a grimy dark shirt and a thin, shabby 70s' coat. His bare head revealed his dusty and almost half white hair. His face displayed neither feelings nor emotions. He kept his eyes down to the ground as if he was searching for something. On occasions, he directed his view up, perhaps just to see how far he had staggered. And one of those few times, he spotted my presence.
I was startled to discern that old beggar was approaching me. I had encountered beggars many times previously, but the situation then was not similar to those I had experienced: the weather was cold, the street was silently empty and I was alone. The beggar's approach mysteriously created an unknown pressure on me. I did not know what to do. I did not have anything to offer. Neither did I want to reject his misfortune. I wished I could have displaced back to my room.
'Uncle, please help this old man.' The beggar stood in front of me, showed me his shivering bony hands and murmured.
I did not believe in what I heard. He addressed me as 'Uncle' while he was, in fact, of my uncle's age. That made me even more puzzled and 'Err...' was the only sound I could find out of my stuttering mouth.
Suddenly, my dad's voice echoed from behind 'Who is that, Cuong?'
'What a right time!' I was as happy as a sinking man who suddenly found a buoy to grasp. My dad appeared at the right moment to rescue me from that bewildering situation. He took the motorbike out of the narrow door and said the beggar firmly 'Sorry uncle, we don't have any money here.'
The old man, perhaps, had already been so familiar with this sort of answer that he turned away quickly and did not even show any nuance of disappointment. He continued to limp away on the silent street.
As I locked the door, the image of the old beggar kept haunting me. His unemotional face and his trembling fingers kept rewinding in my mind. I felt anxious and uneasy. My inner self told me that I must do something, that the old beggar should have received some help instead of my dad's apathy. All of a sudden, the drawer in which I kept my saving money came across my mind. I hurried back to my room, pulled out a ten - thousand - VND paper note and rushed back down to the gate to look for the old man. Fortunately, he was still there, still dragging on the seemingly endless road. I ran to him and offered him the orange paper note. Picking up the note with the trembling hand, the beggar looked up to me, still without expressing any emotion. As my eyes caught his glacial face, I felt a little scared. Not daring to look at him again, I immediately rushed back to my house and closed the door. Back to the room, I myself was shivering. And I knew that was the shiver of delight.
'Dickinson students shall not think they belong to themselves'
but in the end, I ended up writing this essay. so I intend to use this replace my Commonapp essay.
Any comment on this, please?
That was a winter morning. It was so freezing that I could feel the chill down along my spine. I followed my father out to the gate. That had always been my daily duty: after my dad left for work, I would have to lock the door and look after my little house. I opened the door and inhaled deeply to enjoy the early dawn fresh air. As I was waiting for my dad, I casted a glance across the street: it was so early that the street was completely still. My eyes suddenly stopped at a small figure from a far. 'Just someone was walking on the pavement.' I thought. Yet, as the figure came nearer into my eyesight, I realized that the person was not walking normally. That was an old man limping. That was a homeless beggar.
As he hobbled nearer to me, I noticed how miserable his appearance was. Under the cutting coldness, he was only protected by a grimy dark shirt and a thin, shabby 70s' coat. His bare head revealed his dusty and almost half white hair. His face displayed neither feelings nor emotions. He kept his eyes down to the ground as if he was searching for something. On occasions, he directed his view up, perhaps just to see how far he had staggered. And one of those few times, he spotted my presence.
I was startled to discern that old beggar was approaching me. I had encountered beggars many times previously, but the situation then was not similar to those I had experienced: the weather was cold, the street was silently empty and I was alone. The beggar's approach mysteriously created an unknown pressure on me. I did not know what to do. I did not have anything to offer. Neither did I want to reject his misfortune. I wished I could have displaced back to my room.
'Uncle, please help this old man.' The beggar stood in front of me, showed me his shivering bony hands and murmured.
I did not believe in what I heard. He addressed me as 'Uncle' while he was, in fact, of my uncle's age. That made me even more puzzled and 'Err...' was the only sound I could find out of my stuttering mouth.
Suddenly, my dad's voice echoed from behind 'Who is that, Cuong?'
'What a right time!' I was as happy as a sinking man who suddenly found a buoy to grasp. My dad appeared at the right moment to rescue me from that bewildering situation. He took the motorbike out of the narrow door and said the beggar firmly 'Sorry uncle, we don't have any money here.'
The old man, perhaps, had already been so familiar with this sort of answer that he turned away quickly and did not even show any nuance of disappointment. He continued to limp away on the silent street.
As I locked the door, the image of the old beggar kept haunting me. His unemotional face and his trembling fingers kept rewinding in my mind. I felt anxious and uneasy. My inner self told me that I must do something, that the old beggar should have received some help instead of my dad's apathy. All of a sudden, the drawer in which I kept my saving money came across my mind. I hurried back to my room, pulled out a ten - thousand - VND paper note and rushed back down to the gate to look for the old man. Fortunately, he was still there, still dragging on the seemingly endless road. I ran to him and offered him the orange paper note. Picking up the note with the trembling hand, the beggar looked up to me, still without expressing any emotion. As my eyes caught his glacial face, I felt a little scared. Not daring to look at him again, I immediately rushed back to my house and closed the door. Back to the room, I myself was shivering. And I knew that was the shiver of delight.
