Prompt: Pick a topic that genuinely interests you-whether it's politics, sports, culture, environmental issues, or
something else-and share your thoughts about it in the form of writing that best expresses your perspective.
This could take the shape of an essay, a poem, a short story, or any other format that feels natural to you. We
encourage you to explore why this topic matters to you personally, why it's significant to others, and how it
connects to the bigger picture. Be authentic and thoughtful in your response, as we are most interested in
understanding your unique voice and the passion you bring to the topic. (Word range: 300 - 400 words).
Does the essay taking inspiration from a friend reduce its validity?
Essay:The thought running through my head the first time I saw the ocean was that it was impossible. Something so vast and immense could exist-it was mind-boggling. It left me feeling small and insignificant, unable to comprehend it, unable to fit it into a neat little box that aligned with my world view. It simply defied explanation. I would stand there, letting myself be engulfed, leaving behind everyday thoughts to immerse in something as grand as the ocean. Me, an insignificant cog, in the vast, significant machine that is the ocean.
Over the course of my trip, that thought kept turning over in my mind, leading to a realization that changed everything. I studied the ocean with zeal, a weeklong research fueled by desperation to understand. I learned things-1.3 billion cubic km, millions of creatures-but those were just facts. Fascinating, yes, but not what I was looking for. That is, until I learned about phytoplankton-something so small it's invisible to the naked eye, yet so vital. The very existence of the ocean hinges on it. That's when clarity struck. I'd been thinking about it all wrong. The ocean wasn't one vast entity; it was a patchwork of creatures, each with its own role and significance.
From then on, I tried to apply that realization to life. Humanity is like one great big ocean. But it still didn't feel quite right, like a skewed painting in need of one firm tug to correct it. That tug came during the funeral for my best friend's father. All week they'd built a façade of strength, fooling everyone-even me. The funeral was a hard one, their family offering condolences as their mother and sisters were on the verge of tears. I saw my friend's barrier cracking, the reality sinking in that their father was gone.
I led them to a private room, and we stood there, silently paying our respects. They began to share small, seemingly inconsequential memories of their father-things they held on to desperately. Then, they started crying, releasing everything they had bottled up. My only thought was to comfort them. But after that, the scene kept replaying in my mind. My strong, happy-go-lucky friend showing a side touched by something darker-grieving, holding on. The depth of it astounded me.
That's when I realized we're all our own little oceans, made up of emotions and experiences. Creatures made from our perspectives, swimming in the phytoplankton of our assumptions. That's what it means to be human-vulnerable, with depth.
Since then, I've approached all my interactions with this sacred understanding, thankful that people, even in their vulnerability, allow me to drink from the ocean of themselves.
something else-and share your thoughts about it in the form of writing that best expresses your perspective.
This could take the shape of an essay, a poem, a short story, or any other format that feels natural to you. We
encourage you to explore why this topic matters to you personally, why it's significant to others, and how it
connects to the bigger picture. Be authentic and thoughtful in your response, as we are most interested in
understanding your unique voice and the passion you bring to the topic. (Word range: 300 - 400 words).
Does the essay taking inspiration from a friend reduce its validity?
Essay:The thought running through my head the first time I saw the ocean was that it was impossible. Something so vast and immense could exist-it was mind-boggling. It left me feeling small and insignificant, unable to comprehend it, unable to fit it into a neat little box that aligned with my world view. It simply defied explanation. I would stand there, letting myself be engulfed, leaving behind everyday thoughts to immerse in something as grand as the ocean. Me, an insignificant cog, in the vast, significant machine that is the ocean.
Over the course of my trip, that thought kept turning over in my mind, leading to a realization that changed everything. I studied the ocean with zeal, a weeklong research fueled by desperation to understand. I learned things-1.3 billion cubic km, millions of creatures-but those were just facts. Fascinating, yes, but not what I was looking for. That is, until I learned about phytoplankton-something so small it's invisible to the naked eye, yet so vital. The very existence of the ocean hinges on it. That's when clarity struck. I'd been thinking about it all wrong. The ocean wasn't one vast entity; it was a patchwork of creatures, each with its own role and significance.
From then on, I tried to apply that realization to life. Humanity is like one great big ocean. But it still didn't feel quite right, like a skewed painting in need of one firm tug to correct it. That tug came during the funeral for my best friend's father. All week they'd built a façade of strength, fooling everyone-even me. The funeral was a hard one, their family offering condolences as their mother and sisters were on the verge of tears. I saw my friend's barrier cracking, the reality sinking in that their father was gone.
I led them to a private room, and we stood there, silently paying our respects. They began to share small, seemingly inconsequential memories of their father-things they held on to desperately. Then, they started crying, releasing everything they had bottled up. My only thought was to comfort them. But after that, the scene kept replaying in my mind. My strong, happy-go-lucky friend showing a side touched by something darker-grieving, holding on. The depth of it astounded me.
That's when I realized we're all our own little oceans, made up of emotions and experiences. Creatures made from our perspectives, swimming in the phytoplankton of our assumptions. That's what it means to be human-vulnerable, with depth.
Since then, I've approached all my interactions with this sacred understanding, thankful that people, even in their vulnerability, allow me to drink from the ocean of themselves.
